The heart of the matter

I feel like I'm always tryyyyying to post something very important, very thoughtful. I'm not, really, it's just that the times when I'm emotionally bent are the times when I most need to get it all down and talk through my fingers. But not everything is a heart-wrenching Issue: (In fact, I just read this funny note about what we, the Internets, write in our blogs. Anti-history, heh.) Here are some of the more mundane things going on at the MySelf household at this moment in time.

• I'm trying to drink more water today because I think my face looks, in general, like ash. (ha.) Seriously, ashy is the adjective of the day. It used to be the description of my highlights - "ash blond" - but now means something much less decorative and flattering. I look like I don't sleep enough. Fancy that... The gray in my face matches my current 'highlights,' which my Darling (DARLING) Husband continues to point out to me with a mirror and a wide-eyed expression. So, more water. Hopefully more glow. And next week: Hair appointment.
• This week's dinner menu: Taco Salad; crock-pot lasagna; spicy fried chicken (frozen) w/baked sweet potatoes, and.... a couple other things. I'm feeling better about my cooking -- was in a real wasteland there for a few months, having a cupboard full of recipes I decided I hated. But I've researched, and sent out one of those chain-letter recipe exchange emails, and resurrected some old ones too.
• Laundry continues to trip me up. I dried two of DH's polo shirts all the way today, instead of taking them out to air-dry after they've fluffed for about 15 minutes. (Why yes, this IS the definition of high-mai!)
• Actually, it isn't: we watched MTV's True Life last night and the episode was called "I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder." These poor kids. Some really strange stuff going on there. What an affliction. I shouldn't joke about it anymore because those who live with it can truly be called sufferers. It was sad. One of the sufferers, a 23-year-old girl who was very aware that the rituals she did all the time (bending to touch the top stair every time she reached it, flipping light switches like mad, etc.) were unnecessary. She said she wasted so much time "tweaking out." I loved the expression in that context. Still, sad.
• AJ's fourth haircut this weekend went much the same as the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd ones. And by that I mean, Loudly and Stickily (lollipop-used-as-calming-device, not so bright). Besides that, the woman (new) nearly balded him. Oy. I am going to attempt Haircut The 5th my own self. Although, with his hair so short in the back, he looks even more like his Daddy which makes me GRIN. So cute, the two of them together.
• My only two living houseplants are finally dying. One of these plants, I have had since college. I am a killer of houseplants!
• We bought a potty seat and some step-stools this weekend at Crazies R Us. AJ likes his "Pooh & Friends" potty seat (yes, that's its real name), but he isn't so sure about sitting on it just yet. He'd rather wear it around his neck. :)

Revelations

...it's pronounced "meems?"

All along I've been saying "mehms." The French way, I suppose.

Shows how much I know.


* * * * * * * * * * * * *


Last night, upon putting AJ to bed thirty minutes ahead of schedule, I commented to Husband, "Man, I love that kid. But he is a PAIN when he is overtired. So grouchy!"

In return I got A Look.

Whhhhat? You think he gets it from ME? Surely Not.


;)

Spinning round and round

My little round pinwheel is spinning as I download the latest OSX upgrades from apple.com. How I love my Macs. Yesterday I was getting "POSIX error: connection reset by peer (54)" -- Peer 54, where are you? -- and today, after deleting three little .plist files, I'm back up and running, no more error. I love the .mac forums where I can get detailed fix-it instructions for all that ails me.

Sigh. If only that were true of all of life. Where can I find Mr. Steve Jobs' suggestion box?

I'm fretting about my friendships today. Had Book Club Tuesday night and... it wasn't very much fun. For starters, I had to drive all over God's Creation to find the hostess' house. Not that I'd want to BLAME her for being a complete ditz because I'm not catty like that, A-hem, but she gave me really bad directions: once, when she recited them to me, and twice when I repeated them back. Twice! I double-checked with her! She said turn LEFT when in fact, I needed to turn RIGHT, in 3 separate instances. What the...?? Thankfully I had the smarts to know those were errors, even though I'm clueless about her part of town and generally clueless in the geography department. I know she was getting ready to feed 6 hungry mommies while coralling her 3 young boys at the same time, so I forgive her, but it put me in a bad mood to start out with.

Then when the conversation went nowhere NEAR the book, and everywhere near SHOPPING to furnish and decorate my friends' NEW 5-br houses in the more expensive neighborhoods of our dear metro area? ...I just got depressed and sulky. Why am I hanging out with these rich women who have husbands who are partners in their law firms and who go cruising around the Greek isles in January? This is not my league. I can't possibly belong here.

I am not good at the shopping. I don't just go out and BUY things, on a whim. One friend explained her recent "perfect find:" a delicate wooden birdcage that she's going to fill with hydrangeas and ivy and place at the top of a cabinet. Sounds pretty. But the green-eyed monster in me reared back when she told the story, mad that she can just go out, so breezy, and "pick up" fun things whenever. I cannot. Purchases like that seem absolutely frivolous to me, even though we have money in the bank. I don't know why, but I'm like a parrot in my head, repeating, "We do not need that. Squawk. We do NOT need that."

One Saturday when my girlfriends and I were all pregnant, we went to the trendy area of town to have brunch and pedicures, and to shop. We browsed precious boutiques and saw expensive antique-y things, and some bargains too, to be fair. I came home with exactly 2 things: a scented candle (about $6) and a ceramic bluebird which I love (on sale for $15). I bought them just to say I'd bought something, and I felt extraordinarily guilty about them.

I am jealous that some girls just shop without the trouble of spending-guilt. They buy fun stuff and decorate their houses on a whim. Not to mention they'll just "run in" to Talbots or Macy's or wherever, when there's a sale on cute blouses. Let's not even talk about my fashion sense and lack of ability to buy nice new clothes. Or, let's do... I only let myself shop, really, when I have a gift card or I'm on vacation. Or at Target. I think the vacation thing is because we're not at home, so my self-imposed "rules" are relaxed. At Book Club Tuesday night, though, I started not to like my own friends because they don't seem to even *have* rules.

All that said: I KNOW deep down in the cockles of my heart how blessed and RICH I really am. I have a husband who loves me, an adorable son, a decent job with kind coworkers, and these friends. Not to mention a nice, more than adequate home, and nice things. (Just maybe not so many nice things as they have.) It's ridiculous -- even sinful -- for me to covet their things, their lives. God gave me This life. And He could have given me any number of lives; I shouldn't even have to remind myself that there are hungry, poor, homeless, suffering millions who'd give anything to have all that I have.

I just feel down about the whole episode. I think loving your station in life is a lesson that takes a long time to learn. I am certain it starts with basic Thanksgiving. Therefore, the Gratitude Journal:

1. For my home and the way we've decorated it, which is good and charming. No one who came here would say we lack for nice things.

2. For my beautiful family, and for knowing the value of money is less than the value of time together. (My husband has been offered, more than once, a higher-paying position at the company, but it would be at a price. He'd have to work more and be here less, and he's not willing to do that. And that is a GOOD thing; I love him for it.)

3. For my father, who taught me to save money. Taught me a little *too* well. ;)

4. For my mother, who understands me.

5. For my girlfriends. I do love them. I learn from them. (Even this time, I guess.)

Breakfast

Mudslide Smoothie

1 banana
1/2 cup vanilla yogurt
1-2 TBSP honey
1/2 cup milk
1-2 TBSP Nestle Quik or hot cocoa mix
ice cubes (optional)

Blend and crush ice, and enjoy!

Untitled

It is raining, raining, raining. Has been since before I got out of bed this morning at six. The lowest part of our backyard is becoming a lake.

I'm a little chilly, but there's navy bean soup in the crock pot, making the house feel and smell awfully cozy.

AJ reached a milestone last night that we weren't expecting: He called out for DADDY, and only DADDY. I'd put him to bed per usual, and he let me sing one short lullaby to him before reaching for his blankies and snuggling down in his "child's pose" yoga position. I went back downstairs, settled in next to DH to watch the rest of the Seattle game and finish my book, when the monitor started screaming, "DA-DAH! DA-DAH!" We had to ask each other, "What kind of cry is that?" because it didn't sound familliar -- was kinda scared, kinda whiny, kinda raspy, but not his usual sound, nor his usual word, which is MAMA! He clearly wanted a particular parent, so DH went up to see what the deal was, and he reported ten minutes later that the little guy CLAMPED onto him with both arms and both legs. Like a magnet to the fridge. For a minute, he said, AJ's head was upright, eyes open, but soon he felt it fall to the side and the breathing became regular as he fell asleep.

I'm convinced he got scared about something, although I don't know what -- that's just what it sounded like to me. Glad he got over it pretty quickly. Perhaps a new era has begun, where Daddy is the big strong guy who can hold us when scary things like the dark or the rain or thunder threaten.

Dirt, new potatoes, irrigatin', manure, and other treasures

Early Saturday morning, I snuggled down into the couch with AJ while we both rubbed sleep out of our eyes and watched Baby MacDonald.

It's all about the farm, and the animals, and the fields. There are lots of pictures of farm equipment, and of course, "mooooooooooooooos!" When I started trying to explain the difference between a tractor and a combine TO MY 1-YEAR OLD, I realized something way, way down deep where it gets me misty:

One of my heart's greatest treasures is my childhood in the panhandle of Texas, my family's history, and the proud tradition of farming and cattle-raising that is part of my life.

I live very far away from that life now, in the suburbs in a major city, where I commute nearly every day and eat at chain restaurants. The farms here are obviously owned by the last vestiges of a time gone by -- and there are fewer and fewer of them, as the developers buy up every inch of real estate and build subdivision after subdivision. With names like "Robin's Ridge" and "Poplar Trace." Sporadically, you'll drive by a leftover little old home that you can tell houses Grandma and Grampa Farmer. Their property is large -- sometimes 5 acres, like my own Granny's -- and there's a barn and a shed, and the field has grown over in their old age, but you can tell it used to be a working farm. I get so nostalgic and sad when I see those homes, thinking about where those people have been and all the hard work they've put into that land, and knowing that in 6 years, a townhouse complex ("Starting in the $300s") will probably sit there.

Anyway, watching with AJ made me remember lots of little details of the childhood I loved. I wish that these tangible, real things could be part of his life, too, but that is probably not his destiny. (As much as I think it'd be a romantic adventure to find a little farm in middle America, sell everything and move there, and let AJ run around barefoot all summer, as long as he gets his chores done... it's not gonna happen that way.) So, for my wistful heart, and for the sake of his heritage, I want him to know my memories. I hope we can at least visit the places I loved when he gets older. I hope AJ will be able to dig in my father's dirt.

* * * * * *

One of my earliest memories is driving out to one of Dad's farms, and going to the very middle of the pasture to wait for the cattle. We sat down together on the ground, and a few minutes later, a quiet steer snuck up behind us and sniffed our heads. I know Dad had to tell me not to be scared, and I wasn't, really. But I knew I needed to keep still or I'd scare all the cows. And one might kick me.

My sister and I sometimes played cows, and licked the 2 salt-licks that Dad kept in our garage. I made her lick the yellow one, which had sulpher in it, while I took "plain." I feel pretty bad about that now. Hee.

At age four, riding along a dirt road with Dad, we had to stop to chop the head off a rattlesnake in our path. Using a shovel. (I know, by today's Steve Irwin standards it sounds rather heartless, but this is the way things are on the farm, so we all have to get over it.) Dad, of course, had a shovel in the back of the car.

At Granny's, we could go out beyond her pine trees and dig up new potatoes before they were harvested. We didn't do it often, and I'm not sure that was even our crop of potatoes, but when we did, it was special. I can still smell the way that dirt smelled: Clean.

You'd think I'd have run through, hidden in, and played among tall stalks of corn every summer. Not so -- too itchy for me. I only went into a cornfield once. However, I recall several summer evenings when we'd sit in the alley behind our house, shucking fresh corn that we were given annually by a friend. The silk strands underneath those husks were a real mess. But us kids wanted to be out there helping, sitting on a couple of bricks, being with the grown-ups.

Part of living in a farming town is having kids absent from school during the harvest. I can only remember one kid in my class who got this "free pass" every year, but I know there were more than that in my school.

When I was 10 or 11, Sis and I went out to the ranch with Dad on a snowy Saturday morning, and HE LET ME DRIVE THE PICKUP so that he could unload hay for the cattle to eat. We only drove along the fence, so I could keep it lined up, and no more than 4 or 5 mph (so Dad wouldn't fall off!), but I remember being excited and feeling so grown-up.

I also "drove" a combine at age 6 (with the help of the nice farmer who actually manned the thing). I got to put my hands on the wheel AND pull the lever, extending the arm that poured the wheat into a truck next to us. That was a kid-sized thrill!

My uncle lived at the ranch for a time, with his three horses: Yeller, Rick, and a black horse whose name was NOT "Midnight," and won't be repeated here. It never bothered us when we were little, that was just his name.

Granny's house had an antique, horse-drawn plow sitting in the side yard, rusting. We loved to play on that thing. We also played on a VERY old, VERY rickety wooden wagon, which was big enough to have had the "Laura Ingalls" canopy over it, like the pioneers had. I'm not sure it ever had one of those, but it was that kind of wagon. We climbed all over it, too, pretending it was a sailing ship. Granny's long driveway had cattle-guards -- hollow poles dug into the ground that, if a cow tried to walk over, his hooves would get caught in between. Now that I think of it, that's kind-of an odd (cruel?) way to guard against a cow getting into your yard, isn't it?

My grandfather had 3 brothers, and they moved from Oklahoma into Texas after managing a car dealership in Oklahoma City. I wonder what prompted them to move there? My grandfather and my Dad's branch of the family farmed wheat and corn and alfalfa (is that the same as wheat?), and raised cattle for the beef industry, while Uncle Eddie and his sons had onions and potatoes and processed them in their commercial "shed."

When we went with Dad to "help irrigate," he'd have to hoist us up and over the drainage ditch at the end of the rows of wheat. Mostly we splashed in whatever puddles we could find and threw dirt-balls at our feet; Dad switched hoses and moved pipes here and there to make sure the arid west Texas land got enough water.

I remember in the summers, sprayplanes would go over our house on their way out to the farms. I guess they were spraying for insects, which isn't exclusively a farm-thing, anymore, what with West Nile and all, but at the time those planes seemed special to our way of life alone.

When you drive into my childhood hometown, there's a crazy pungent (some say foul) scent in the air: Manure from the feedyards and, I think, the scent of sugarbeets being processed. It's a shocker, but once I get used to it again, I think it smells somewhat sweet every time I visit.

5 weird things

This little quiz is going around and, in lieu of sharing something intelligent or witty with you, I'll share some weird things about myself.

1. I prefer to drive in a complete circle, when possible. For example, there are two entrances to my subdivision. If I leave out the front entrance, I'd rather return through the back entrance, so that I won't "drive back over" my tracks. (Not that I really would, anyway, always being on the right side of the street, but a wider circle is nicer, and yes, I argue this to myself every time.)

2. When I eat things that are way too sweet, the insides of my ears itch. At least that's how I've always described it. It's like a little twinge in my brain. It makes me squeeze my eyes together and shake my head to think about it. Grapes and bananas used to do this to me. Now, it's more processed sugars, like, the other day when I ate 2 doughnuts. *lemon-pucker-face!*

3. I'm a compulsive note-taker. In college I'd really try to write down everything the professor said. As a choral student, it gets weird. Since I only take notes in pencil, there is an opportunity, every time, to make them PRETTIER than they first appear -- I will go back and erase/rewrite the word "louder," or "watch," or "crescendo" 3 or 4 times if that's what it takes. I even erase/rewrite breath marks (apostrophes) if they aren't to my liking. Because you wouldn't want a breath mark that's too long, or too dark, or not EX-actly where the breath should be!

4. I count the stairs every time I walk down them, in my house. This started when AJ was a newborn and I was concerned I'd drop him, especially in the middle of the night. So I counted the steps and thus at night, in the pitch black, I'd know when I hit the bottom. The habit stuck. (We have 14 stairs total.) I figure it will be good for teaching AJ his numbers at some point.

5. My sister accused me of being weird when we used to make our sandwiches for lunch in the mornings before school. I required that the mayo be spread Just Right, so that it reached, but did not go over, every edge and corner of my bread. I still do this, with peanut butter, margarine, cream cheese, mayo, mustard, you name it. I can hear her cringing right now.

What are your weird things?

Run for cover!

It's an avalanche

My husband is the real neat-freak in our house. But evidently, it is rubbing off and leaching into my system as well, because last night I nearly had a nuclear meltdown from all THE STUFF that is taking over our home.

Now, I love the UPS man. He brings me things from amazon.com. So you'd think that, on a day when we received 2 big boxes from the UPS man, I'd have been kissing him as I signed his electric sign-y thing. HOWEVER. Said boxes were delivered from DH's far-away cousins in South Carolina, and contained More Christmas Presents. More than the eighty-bazillion we came home from Florida with (for which I'm grateful, Mom! don't read into that!). One box, in particular, really got my Goat because...

It was SIX FEET TALL. Six! Feet! It contained what I thought was "the starter set" Thomas the Tank Engine wooden track. This had been discussed over and over on the phone with my MIL -- "V. found it on sale! Only $19.99!" I think I was on the phone with them while they were in Wal-Mart, wanting to know if AJ had it already. Such a peaceful little playset, all "classic" with the wooden track and magnetic wooden engine cars. "Ooh," I said excitedly, "we'd love that!" And proceeded to tell my own mom, and everyone else, that we wanted Thomas the Tank Engine. Wooden. Engine. Cars. for the cute wooden set we'd be getting in the mail on Christmas.

What was actually in the the Six-Foot Box was this GI-Fricking-NORMOUS "ULTIMATE THOMAS PLAYSET," with ONE-HUNDRED-FORTY-SEVEN tiny little pieces, it advertised, practically blinking with neon lights, that I will naturally be sucking up into my vacuum until kingdom come and infinity.

And by the way, it isn't the cute classic wooden one that I... I mean, AJ... wanted. It's synthetic.

The cousins also included several cute 18-month-old outfits, as well as some very random items for DH and me, like the flashlight that doesn't require batteries, but you have to crank for 30 seconds before it lights up. You've seen these, right? On the info-mercials. I have a closet that's slowly filling with weird gifts from these relatives who barely know us. Can you say GARAGE SALE? Why do they send us gifts?? I know I should be grateful, but, geez. Send me flowers with that 20 bucks.

But the toy clutter is getting crazy. And I know it's only going to get worse as he gets older. I firmly resolve, as the Act of Contrition says, that I will impart the lesson of giving to those less fortunate as the years go by. We will SO go around the house every year, collecting toys that AJ no longer plays with, and we will donate them. But, butbutbutbutbut.... what am I to do with this playset?? I have no playroom. I have no train table. I have no "grandad's basement" where I can set this thing up. I guess we'll just get out SOME of the pieces, and then find a (convenient?!) place to store the box (Six Feet!) and the rest of the trains. Lordy.

It all hit like a windstorm last night, because aside from all the toys, I also had left out a stack of bills that wanted filing, and piles of laundry that needed to be put away, all in the living room making me crazy. Then DH got home in the rain, telling me there were 2 boxes getting wet on the front porch, so I thought he was mad about that, (he wasn't, but it added to the stress). So we opened the gifts and were then swimming in packing peanuts and wrapping paper, and the aforementioned Clutter had arrived. Meanwhile, dinner's on the stove and going to get cold, and I panicked because I always for some reason try to have dinner at a predictable hour, like, right when DH gets home (self-induced, unnecessary stress, I admit). Thank goodness AJ wasn't screaming because then it really would have been an avalanche. And I probably wouldn't have survivied my own insanity to tell the tale!

Note to self:

No more cookie dough.

Ohthehumanity my tummy aches. I didn't even eat that much, just a spoonful or two... but, oh. So determined to make the cookies, though -- because I want to be the kind of Mommy who bakes cookies on cold Sundays.

* * *

Yesterday at Mass we sang "Here I Am, Lord." And the thought occurred to me, very late in this game, that (duh) perhaps I am CALLED to be in this place, at this time, working full-time and mothering, even though I *think* it's not what I want. The lyrics say, "I will go, Lord, if you lead me," and for some reason that phrase hit me differently, although I've heard the song seventy trillion times before. This might sound trite, but perhaps it's: "OK, Lord, I will GO to work (sigh) if you lead me and help me through it. I will go." Like, maybe I'm meant to inspire someone (at work? or at church, or in another circle) that they can, like I can, be a mom and work, too. Maybe they're struggling with a decision of their own, or wondering how it can all work out, and I'm meant to be a graceful example to them.

So now all I need is the graceful part. Heh. I know I've been given the grace -- it's displaying it that I probably need to work on.

(While I was cantoring this song at the mic and the thought struck me, I had to also quickly pray, "yipes! lead me through *this song* so I don't get choked up In Stereo!")

Rainbows and lollipops (and a wee bit of Coke on the carpet)

Yesterday, she was a good day.

I dropped AJ off at 7:00am, ready to tackle my second day working at home without him, grateful for the impending 8 hours of Pure Silence ahead of me and an editing assignment, to boot. I didn't quite achieve Pure Silence -- the dogs, mine and the neighbor ones, must have been telling knock-knock jokes ALL DAY LONG.

"Arf! Arf!" says Ginger from the yard behind us.

"Mfph," replies Napoleon, from under my feet.

"Arf!" explains Ginger.

"Woowoowoowoo!" snap Tony, JD, and Jane, the three amigos on the other side of our house. (They'd heard this one before, perhaps?)

"Arf! Arf, aarf!" concludes Ginger, and then, "Aroo? Arrrroo?" from the whiney puppy who's just moved in next door (and is often relegated to the screened-in porch, where she gets lonely... She can go on like this for hours, "Arooo?" Poor thing.).

"Well (understood), Mpfh," grunts unimpressed Napoleon. "Mfpfh." Grumpy Old Man-Dog.

So anyway, with all that going on, it was kinda hard to get my head around the admission policies of yet another college; however, I was impressed that I kept focused on it much longer than the time I spent ripping CDs to iTunes. And I only got up a few times to get a drink or a snack. I worked through lunch. I didn't dilly-dally by doing laundry, either. No personal phone calls. I impressed myself with such a devoted-employee work ethic. (Mpfh.)

I also took 25 minutes or so to workout with Denise on Lifetime. The launch of my 6-month countdown to Beach Week '06 and toned thighs (or at least non-saggy ones). Hello, swimsuit.

At 2:50 I tidied up the kitchen, pulled on my shoes and jumped in the car, eager to get my little boy. His playtime report was marked "Happy (check) and Active (check)." Good Day! We giggled while getting into the carseat. A rare treat. We sat outside on the back deck for a bit, enjoying 70 degrees Fahrenheit, thank you, Georgia. AJ loves to sit in the big-boy chairs -- like a little adult, he invites me to sit with him and just wants to visit. :)

Around 4, my newest mommy-friend came over with her son, Matty. She's a fellow chorister, and sweet and humble and good-hearted. Always has something nice to say about everyone. Borders near the high end of Pollyanna, but isn't overly bubbly or smiley -- just cool. Pleasant. She even told me I am kind, and somehow in a grand hyperbole the word "holy" got thrown in there, at which I Guffawed. SOOO not holy. (But what a compliment. Good day!)

Matty's about 2 months older than AJ, and the two of them played (separately) well together. -- Aside: It's so funny that kids this age still just want to explore on their own. No collaboration, unless it's to fight over who had Elmo first. And then, in a year or two, they'll be secretly plotting our demise together, giggling and sharing. Awww. -- Only one "Oops" for the entire day, and that was when Matty decided that the little bowl of Cheerios they were sharing should be scattered onto my living room floor. Absolutely "No Damage Done," as my Grandmother used to always say, but as we began picking them up ("Okay, who wants to help clean up? Let's put aaaallll the Cheerios back! Cheerful! Happy!), IDIOT ME set my 3/4-full glass of Coca-Cola AT KID LEVEL. It was impulse, I just set it there while I bent over.... Well, LEVEL it, Matty did. Swiped it with his long arm. More sad was I to lose all that refreshing beverage than to sully my (brand-new) carpet -- and of course, Kat was 110% embarrassed, but once again, no real Damage done. "We have OxyClean," I told her calmly, and berated myself for doing something so dumb! When you have kids, HELLO, you don't set a Coke down at their level!?!? And if you do, you get what's coming to you(r carpet).

Kat and Matty left an hour later -- just the right time, knowing instinctively, I guess, that I was about to start fretting over how to get dinner on the table at a reasonable hour if they didn't leave. I like that in a friend -- knowing how long to stay. It's a delicate skill.

At 7:00pm we ate spaghetti dinner and garlic bread, and AJ didn't put it in his hair, and we talked and laughed, Conver-sat-ing. (The TV was off and no one even noticed!) Then AJ had a fun bathtime, and only mildly screeched when I tried to dress him -- the little boys, they like the nekkid! -- and he went RIGHT to sleep and husband and I got to watch Project Runway, with impeccable Heidi Klum (girl-crush)... And like this paragraph, the relaxing portion of our evening seemed hurried and unfinished... but, dear Internet, I ask you gratefully and somewhat out-of-breath, what could be better than that day? :)

Big D and the ears

My friend Katherine and I were talking about the Empire of Disney last night. We're both worshippers at that altar (see: Little Einsteins). She said that she was excited to take her son to the pediatrician the other day because they got to see "Jungle Book" in the waiting room. It's sad that one has to visit the doctor in order to watch a Disney movie, but this is the reality. Jungle Book's In The Vault. Disney's not releasing/selling it until their next pre-determined, reason-to-jack-the-price-up at-least-five-bucks time period.

I sighed, "Ah, Disney. They've really got us by the... uh, ears... don't they?"

Kind people

Every day I have to turn left across 2 lanes of oncoming traffic to get to AJ's daycare to pick him up. Sometimes, the oncoming traffic is stopped at the light behind me, and so the kind people of the world leave the intersection open for me (even though they totally have the right of way). I always wave and say, "Thank you, Kind Person," and go on my merry way. (Unless they hesitate, and scoot out like they want to go a little bit, but don't go. Then I think, "Stupid person! You have the right of way! Go, if you're going... Just GO!") But ususally I think the good thoughts.

This morning, I was really grateful for the same act of kindness when I turned at a different intersection. I started to imagine being one of the two cars who let me through. Maybe their drivers were thinking, "The woman in that Highlander might really need her coffee this morning, I'll let her in." (I was turning into a strip mall driveway and the only thing open at that junction, in the dark morning hours, is Starbucks.) Maybe they were thinking, "I'll let her in because who knows? She may have had to sit up with a sick baby in the wee hours. Maybe she's running late because she let him sleep in a little bit extra. Or maybe she's late because she lay there close to him a bit too long, even though he smelled a little pukey, just because she felt sorry for him. Maybe she's going to order 2 shots of espresso."

At least, I hope that's what the kind people were thinking. They'd have been correct.

*waving!*

Announcement, announcement! This is a very special day....and hooray for Sheryl, who invented De-Lurking Day/Week! I admit, I was once a chronic lurker. But I discovered it's waaaay more fun if you leave comments and make friends. The world is just one big conversation waiting to happen, y'all! So if you come here once in a while, or often, even, (I thank you and) don't be shy! Leave a little commenty-love. It'll make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Off to say "howdy" to a few of my latest favorites.

Shots hurt.

My little man had to get shots today, at his 18-month checkup. This time, he had the situation figured out before he even got into the exam room. Since he was there not long ago with flu-like symptoms, he knew that unpleasantries were associated with the paper-covered cushiony table... and associate he did. Not! Havin'! It! Luckily, it hardly fazes me anymore when he cries and holds his breath, turning his lips blue. The doctor was impressed, though. "Great show, AJ," he joked. "...Very funny, cruel doctor-person," I'm sure AJ was thinking, "Now stop piercing my thighs with that Heinous Instrument of Torture." (He channeled Angry Stewie from "Family Guy," cussing his pediatrician out -- with that hilarious affected accent: "I cannot believe you would submit me to such criminal attacks, Mother! You. Will. Pay, mark my wuuuhds. Evil Villain! And stay away from me with the pointy sticks, Fat Man.") I hate it for the little ones, though. After today, no more shots 'til we're 5 years old, hooray!

I'm thinking of my friend today, who's starting a new job, for all intents and purposes. She's still at her old job too, but now getting the student-teacher portion of her degree done. Cool! I hope she'll enjoy it -- I hope she'll get to choose interesting, educational books and media for her students, and lead story-time, follow the youth book publishers' websites, and plan interesting Book Fairs and research projects.... and not get stuck updating the hundred-year-old card catalog with a typewriter or running the annual textbook sale out of a non-air-conditioned 6x6-foot "room" (closet) in the dead heat of August.... which is what my Mom did as librarian at my high school. Blech! Poor Mom. Surely M.I. will fare better. Shout-out to ya, girl! Have fun!

Obey Mary Kay

I am, indeed, a "Warm"

Somebody whap me next time I start to put on blue or green eye shadow. It makes my whole face look gray, no matter how delicately or strategically I apply it "just in the corners." I've told myself this twice now, yet I insist on trying.

Smart-ness, and other tangents

How can the word onomatopoeia come up in conversation twice in 2 days? I must hang with a pretty smart crowd. (Which makes me smart by association.) ....except that, when it came up the other night at the dinner table, I couldn't remember what the hell it means. Nor could I remember how to spell it. I sat there trying to for at least 4 minutes before I gave up and moved on to my second soft taco. I couldn't pronounce it, really, either, without stumbling over my tongue. So, the part about me being smart? Forget I said that. But this morning I was reading Finslippy and SHE was talking about onomatopoeia, too! (I even understood it, in context. Woo-hoo, back to being smart!) The definition, for those of you who are as smart -- and as forgetful -- as me, is the formation of a word, as "boom," by imitation of a sound. Thank you, Mr. Webster.

My neck hurts. There is no explanation. I'm considering chiropractic. (Sounds wrong, but Mr. Webster also says that "chiropractics," plural, is not a word.)

My mother's email this morning: "Today we did an aerial tour in another rain forest: swinging through the trees like monkeys!"

If you know my mother, you're saying, "No way."

The server is Up. So far.

Today is Epiphany, the day the Wise Men arrived at the stable with their gifts. In Madrid, this is the night the kids go to bed anticipatorily (also not a word, but I like it), hoping for presents. This makes infinitely more sense than Santa Claus, doesn't it?

I'm grateful for:
--Days when I have something to say, unlike today.
--A wonderful day with AJ yesterday.
--The checkbook error that cleared up the second time I did that complicated adding/subtracting/balancing routine. (Did I say smart?)
--A husband who makes Cheesy Chicken and Uncle Ben's: Yum.
--A full two days ahead, free of work or other committments commitments. (I always spell that one wrong the first time. Sigh. Somebody call the Phi Betes -- they'll be wanting their pin back.)

They said OK

So tomorrow'll be my last full day at home w/AJ for a while.

Logically, "yay," but it still hurts a teency bit.

Mixin' it up

I've written the proposal to my boss to alter my work-at-home schedule. I don't think it will be a problem for him; thankfully, he's grown quite receptive to flex-time options for his employees, as long as the business is still successful. But I'm hesitating to hit "Send," because I calculated out the number of weekday hours I currently spend with AJ and the time I will spend if my proposal is implemented: It's 35 versus 19. Maybe 20, if I fudge a little on Tuesday mornings. And that's a big difference that I wish I hadn't seen. So I'm coming here to wrestle it out in words rather than numbers, and make sure this is really what my heart desires.

Clearly, I'm "making do." But I'm resolved in 2006 to stop complaining about being a working mom, stop wishing for What Is Not, and just enjoy the enormous blessings I've been given, so that's the end of that topic. (See, I told you I had real resolutions!) The truth is that I have sort-of come to dread my work-at-home days. It's so HARD to be motivated to work when AJ's right there, being cute and needing me to be his Primary Caregiver. It's so SAD to actually use the Disney Channel and PBS as babysitters, when I know very well that is exactly what you're Not Supposed To Do. (Besides that, "Little Einsteins" is a damn good cartoon and I'd rather be watching it with him than rushing to the closet to secretly check my email! Rock on with tha Mozart and Bizet! Plus, it's fun to hear him shout "Eye-Tie!" and point when he sees the opening titles. *Smile*)

I have started reading a wonderful book by Katrina Kenison called Mitten Strings For God, Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry and it speaks to me. (Check it out.) It talks about kids needing time to just sit, and daydream, and have Quiet. As much as I love and trust AJ's daycare, I'm not convinced he gets that kind of time there, and he sure as heck doesn't get it at home when I'm working. I mean, yeah, he plays by himself for moments.... but it's usually not that quiet because I'm tapping and he's looking for me (I hide in the closet, remember), or else Cookie Monster is singing in our CD player, or the TV's on. (I absolutely turn it off in the afternoons, I swear. And do ya think I'm a little obsessed with the TV topic?? Y'think??) I rarely allow us the time to go into the backyard and just sit for an hour or 2 -- not without some amount of job-guilt, anyway. He's just not old enough for me to do that WITH my laptop, and to be be away from it that long is just guilt-inducing. Who told me I need to be working NON STOP from 8 to 5, anyway? I'LL TELL YA WHO -- iChat. My team uses it to "stay in touch" but it makes me feel like everyone's watching my Status, and like they're Counting The Minutes when I'm shown as "Away." PARANOID MUCH??? I've never had to punch a time clock, but man, does it feel that way sometimes. I hate that.

Okay, one more "con" of the current set-up: I. Never. Sit. Down. Between jumping over the gate, reassuring AJ that I'm still here, stepping over the dog, taking the dog out, taking AJ out, bringing him back in, putting him in his high chair for lunch and going to check email Just Once More... it's a very tiring day. It feels scattered and hurried, all the time. I think I've had about enough of that.

At any rate, I've proposed ending my work-day at 3pm and if that flies, I'll be picking up the little guy and taking him to the public library once in a while, to sit and whisper between the short shelves of pictures books. Or to the park. Or just, to our house, but with the freedom to focus directly on him. Or to let him play alone, and observe silently from a corner. Kids are so fun to watch when you can actually see the gears whirling. They figure something out and grow a little with each move.

It's a tough choice to give up hours. But I think the gains might just be worth it.

*hitting Send now*

P.S. Ooh, hey, just thought of something else! I might get to actually cook something decent once in a while, with a bit more time in the afternoons. Bonus.

Grace

My favorite Christmas present came yesterday evening, right after we put AJ to bed. Husband was doing the dishes, as he does most every night. (As much as I love him for this (!), it's not THE reason I married him. But it helps. *wink*)

I watched him from the other room, where I was diligently packing up all my merry decor -- and he stopped what he was doing for a minute just to stand there, staring at the floor, dishcloth in hand, mulling over something. I called to him, "You okay?" And he replied, "Yeah. But I'm sad. I just love my little guy so much..."

He came over to me and put his arms around me. "I just had the best time with him this week, you know? It was like we really got to know each other...and just watching him play... because when I'm at work all week... he usually isn't as talkative to me as he is to you, but this week?... y'know? He's such a sweet boy. Growing so fast... THANK YOU, for giving him to me. And for sacrificing yourself for 9 months to keep him healthy and safe, and being so calm and good with him. He's sweet because of the way you are with him. ....I'm just really going to miss him tomorrow."

Of course I don't accept his theory about AJ's sweetness being my doing -- it's certainly not -- but the loving, life-giving, genuine things he said? I needed those, as much as I worry about not having any grace as a parent. We forget to tell each other these important things -- forget to acknowledge them to ourselves, even. I am so, so blessed and thankful for the moment. It was an instance of Finding the Sacred in the Everyday. It was Sacramental. Warm. I was sharing fully in his sadness, but I find great joy in his feeling, during the holidays, like he received such valuable blessings. Such Gifts. I received one, too, in his telling me.

Hiatus!

Hello, hello, and welcome back to the world. I don't know about you, but I took a total hiatus from everything-requiring-effort to enjoy the holidays. No choir, no work, not even email. How I needed that kind of escape from the trials of (my admittedly not-that-hard) everyday life! It does a body good. I realized about halfway through the vacation that I wasn't even having any usual blog-thoughts, because it was a time of Actual Living. Life, I discovered, is not a blog post. Although I did kinda miss my online pals and stopped by to read one or two of you when I could sneak into the computer room for a minute. And I am glad to be back now. (What's nice is that I have plenty of catch-up reading to keep me busy today, since a lot of our clients -- schools -- are still on hiatus! Woo hoo!)

I'm late to the table with New Year's resolutions, but here they are. 1. Buy 2 bottles of conditioner for every 1 bottle of shampoo. Do yours always run out unevenly like mine do? That is annoying. 2. Eat more, weigh less. Notice this is not your everyday diet resolution! I am positive it will work, because the regular version never does. 3. Be a better shopper. If Mama needs new shoes, dammit, Mama is going to buy new shoes. Rather than walking around on the Payless Shoe Source pair whose heel is hollow because the bottom piece of plastic fell off last year.

I do have some serious ones, too, like blessing my circumstances and yoga, but I know that making resolutions is a great way to set oneself up for disppointment, and who needs that, this time of year?! It's disappointing enough to have to rejoin the ranks of my fellow Soulless Drones in corporations all over America. :) No need to write down the future disappointments for a sad review later in the year! I'll keep 'em to myself, thankyouverymuch. Good luck with yours, though.

We really did have a wonderful 12 days. We relaxed, we did CROSSWORDS (Sis, after you and HB left I got the bug... and really wished I'd had a book called "Light and Easy!"), we drove AJ around the backyard, in 70-degree weather, in Dad's wheelbarrow. How fun is that?! (Hint: That is Very Fun.) We saw a movie in a theater. We got haircuts. We looked at photos. We went to parties -- family ones, with all their charm and goofy annual same-ness. We ate and ate. I got to play with my best friend and her 2-year-old at the park. AJ, too! We got sand in our shoes.

For now, back to my iPod nano. It is so teeny tiny and I'm in love with it. So, see? that's not a bad way to start off the New Year. :)