In other news, I can't decide if I'm going to slap down the $25 for a full year's membership to BJ's, our friendly neighborhood warehouse store, or if I'm going to let my trial membership die a peaceful death. On the one hand, I won't have to buy deodorant for the next YEAR, because I needed some yesterday and I got a 6-pack for $6.99. And I think those places are handy for your Gotta-Have staples, like toilet paper and Lysol wipes and Hot Pockets (shut up). And maybe, in the long run, it'll save me some dollars.
But it isn't like I live 60 miles from the nearest town. No need to stock up on supplies 'cause the long winter's ahead and Pa's leg is broke. I live in metro Atlanta. It might get down to 32 a few times this winter. And Publix is exactly 3.6 minutes from my door.
So, I dunno. Something about shopping there at the warehouse with its super-size boxes of Everything makes me feel fat and duped (e.g., "Welcome, Mrs. Middle-Class American! Just by being here you're saving money! Try a mini-quiche." ...When anyone with a brain can see that the impulse is to SPEND more, because: "Look at this Deal! And That Deal! Must Buy! When normally I wouldn't! Buy! Buy!").
Monday, October 31
Happy Halloweenie!
Halloween's never been my all-time favorite holiday, but I have to admit, it's hella lot more fun with kiddos around. I couldn't care less about dressing up myself -- in fact, I have a friend who has a costume party every year, and as much as I like her, I d-r-e-a-d getting that invitation when October comes around, because I begin the annual procrastinating about what I'll wear, and then 2 days before the party, I still have no good ideas and end up being something REALLY stupid, like a "farmer," wearing an old flannel shirt and putting freckles on my face with eyeliner pencil. (Until now I didn't even have long enough hair to put in pigtals.) Lame!!
But! With a little one to entertain, I find myself WANTING to decorate the house with cute little ghosties and black cats. I'm dying for AJ to taste a Kit-Kat, and I am anxious for him to go trapsing around the neighborhood tonight with us, ringing doorbells (because he likes to push buttons) and saying "Trick or Treat." He's going to be a puppy dog. Complete with "Arf!" sound effects -- he's taken to barking to himself in the wee hours of the morning, in his crib, by the way. We wake up to the monitor squeaking. "Arrr! Arrr!" I can only assume he's practicing. I haven't practiced "Trick or Treat" with him, but he generally clams up in front of strangers anyway so it'd probably have been futile.
We carved our punkins Saturday and I'm hoping for plenty of little goblins at my front door. We have lots of toddlers in our neighborhood, but I even like the 13-year-olds -- it's fun to give 'em the evil eye when they wear a baseball cap and say they're Uhh, the "The Mad Hatter." You gotta give 'em at least a couple points for creativity. I guess.
Boo for now. Don't eat too much candy.
But! With a little one to entertain, I find myself WANTING to decorate the house with cute little ghosties and black cats. I'm dying for AJ to taste a Kit-Kat, and I am anxious for him to go trapsing around the neighborhood tonight with us, ringing doorbells (because he likes to push buttons) and saying "Trick or Treat." He's going to be a puppy dog. Complete with "Arf!" sound effects -- he's taken to barking to himself in the wee hours of the morning, in his crib, by the way. We wake up to the monitor squeaking. "Arrr! Arrr!" I can only assume he's practicing. I haven't practiced "Trick or Treat" with him, but he generally clams up in front of strangers anyway so it'd probably have been futile.
We carved our punkins Saturday and I'm hoping for plenty of little goblins at my front door. We have lots of toddlers in our neighborhood, but I even like the 13-year-olds -- it's fun to give 'em the evil eye when they wear a baseball cap and say they're Uhh, the "The Mad Hatter." You gotta give 'em at least a couple points for creativity. I guess.
Boo for now. Don't eat too much candy.
Thursday, October 27
Menu... and, Manoooo
The first item is our dinner menu.
Broccoli and Garlic Cheddar Soup
Fresh Romaine and Parmesan Salad (which is a fancy way of saying lettuce, with dressing that has parmesan in it)
Steak, grilled on the deck (in 50-degree weather, God Bless my husband!)
Baked Sweet Potatoes with butter and cinnamon sugar
And it was Dee-lish.
The second item is AJ's "Meow."
And it is Preh-shis.
(Check me out, another poem!)
Broccoli and Garlic Cheddar Soup
Fresh Romaine and Parmesan Salad (which is a fancy way of saying lettuce, with dressing that has parmesan in it)
Steak, grilled on the deck (in 50-degree weather, God Bless my husband!)
Baked Sweet Potatoes with butter and cinnamon sugar
And it was Dee-lish.
The second item is AJ's "Meow."
And it is Preh-shis.
(Check me out, another poem!)
Pretty pretty poems
I used to write a lot of poetry; mostly in my journals and diaries. Not to worry, I don't plan on subjecting anyone in this journal. I don't even remember any of them; only snippets, like this one, the last line from a haiku about Autumn leaves:
Stand amid dancers.
Five syllables, boo-yah. I was soooo proud of that poem. And it was sooooo seventh grade. :)
I've had poetry on my mind a lot lately because it seems to be Right Here in front of my face. Of course, I've reacquainted myself with sweet old Mother Goose, and I think I have my own Mother to thank for the illustrated board-book version that AJ LOVES WITH ALL HIS HEART. We read it about a katrillion times a week. I have re-memorized many a stanza that I once knew as a child, most especially, the Three Little Kittens who lost their mittens. That is his Favorite, bar none. If only he knew the word "squeeeeeee!," he would say it the moment he reached that rhyme. (It was always one of my favorites, too.)
Mee-ow, Mee-ow, Mee-ow. No, you shall have no pie.
A few weeks ago I was cleaning out a file cabinet in the basement and found some leftover college papers, specifically, an assignment from English 205/Poetry. In that class, we read a book of Rita Dove's work, and I LOVED it. She wrote so gorgeously (there's how you know I'm NOT actually a poet -- gorgeously??), and every single word had meaning. I learned in that class how to really read poetry, and that it took more than one reading to really get it. And that, reading even MORE times would yield even MORE amazing, symbolic insights. I decided I want to go back and read more of her. I found this interview from a while back, where she says: "I carry a notebook with me everywhere. I write down lines that come to me... words that sound good...overheard conversation...anything that takes me out of daily existence. Then some of those jottings make it onto paper. I keep the drafts of each poem in color-coded folders... I don't want to think about the poems in terms of themes... I just say, "This feels green..." Don't you love that? I wish I had a career where I could just "feel green" and file things there. In "Weathering Out," she begins:
She liked mornings the best--Thomas gone
to look for work, her coffee flushed with milk,
outside autumn trees blowsy and dripping.
I love the word "blowsy."
Last week on "All Things Considered," they did this wonderful story on our national Poet Laureate, Ted Kooser. I had forgotten, in my everyday working (read: boring details) existence, that we even HAVE a Poet Laureate. But I'm fascinated by this guy. He's regular and normal -- he was some sort of business man for 30 years or something. An insurance underwriter, I think. Studied poetry in grad school, but you know, had to feed the family. Wrote poems in the early morning, while drinking his coffee. In his recliner. It's so breadbasket American and thoughtful, and grandpa-like. I love his "So This Is Nebraska." An excerpt:
You feel like that; you feel like letting
your tires go flat, like letting the mice
build a nest in your muffler, like being
no more than a truck in the weeds,
clucking with chickens or sticky with honey
or holding a skinny old man in your lap
while he watches the road, waiting
for someone to wave to.
I'm reminded of something I read once about writing: That every piece of writing you see in the world, down to the indicia on your postage-paid envelope, was written by someone. "Affix Stamp Here" is mightily different from "To Help Defray our Costs, Please Use a Stamp," and both were written by someone. They're both worthy of having been written. Good to remember that when what I write seems nonessential or mundane. Kinda like this post will be if I don't find a point soon.... :)
That's it, really... poetry's neat. It makes the more ordinary details of life, like lost mittens and coffee with milk and rusted-out cars on the side of the road, seem like little diamonds to be marveled at.
Stand amid dancers.
Five syllables, boo-yah. I was soooo proud of that poem. And it was sooooo seventh grade. :)
I've had poetry on my mind a lot lately because it seems to be Right Here in front of my face. Of course, I've reacquainted myself with sweet old Mother Goose, and I think I have my own Mother to thank for the illustrated board-book version that AJ LOVES WITH ALL HIS HEART. We read it about a katrillion times a week. I have re-memorized many a stanza that I once knew as a child, most especially, the Three Little Kittens who lost their mittens. That is his Favorite, bar none. If only he knew the word "squeeeeeee!," he would say it the moment he reached that rhyme. (It was always one of my favorites, too.)
Mee-ow, Mee-ow, Mee-ow. No, you shall have no pie.
A few weeks ago I was cleaning out a file cabinet in the basement and found some leftover college papers, specifically, an assignment from English 205/Poetry. In that class, we read a book of Rita Dove's work, and I LOVED it. She wrote so gorgeously (there's how you know I'm NOT actually a poet -- gorgeously??), and every single word had meaning. I learned in that class how to really read poetry, and that it took more than one reading to really get it. And that, reading even MORE times would yield even MORE amazing, symbolic insights. I decided I want to go back and read more of her. I found this interview from a while back, where she says: "I carry a notebook with me everywhere. I write down lines that come to me... words that sound good...overheard conversation...anything that takes me out of daily existence. Then some of those jottings make it onto paper. I keep the drafts of each poem in color-coded folders... I don't want to think about the poems in terms of themes... I just say, "This feels green..." Don't you love that? I wish I had a career where I could just "feel green" and file things there. In "Weathering Out," she begins:
She liked mornings the best--Thomas gone
to look for work, her coffee flushed with milk,
outside autumn trees blowsy and dripping.
I love the word "blowsy."
Last week on "All Things Considered," they did this wonderful story on our national Poet Laureate, Ted Kooser. I had forgotten, in my everyday working (read: boring details) existence, that we even HAVE a Poet Laureate. But I'm fascinated by this guy. He's regular and normal -- he was some sort of business man for 30 years or something. An insurance underwriter, I think. Studied poetry in grad school, but you know, had to feed the family. Wrote poems in the early morning, while drinking his coffee. In his recliner. It's so breadbasket American and thoughtful, and grandpa-like. I love his "So This Is Nebraska." An excerpt:
You feel like that; you feel like letting
your tires go flat, like letting the mice
build a nest in your muffler, like being
no more than a truck in the weeds,
clucking with chickens or sticky with honey
or holding a skinny old man in your lap
while he watches the road, waiting
for someone to wave to.
I'm reminded of something I read once about writing: That every piece of writing you see in the world, down to the indicia on your postage-paid envelope, was written by someone. "Affix Stamp Here" is mightily different from "To Help Defray our Costs, Please Use a Stamp," and both were written by someone. They're both worthy of having been written. Good to remember that when what I write seems nonessential or mundane. Kinda like this post will be if I don't find a point soon.... :)
That's it, really... poetry's neat. It makes the more ordinary details of life, like lost mittens and coffee with milk and rusted-out cars on the side of the road, seem like little diamonds to be marveled at.
Tuesday, October 25
Hey, is anyone documenting this?
I experienced another one of those killer headaches this past weekend. Sunday evening, I think. I had put my now-long, flowing hair in a barette-and-two-clippies for a couple of hours. (I'm going to be dumbfounded if that is the connection between the headaches. A Barette?? A Headband??) But anyway, got a slight headache during the afternoon and by evening, it Hurt with a capital H. So I swallowed two Advil and went to get dinner at Applebee's, Carside To Go. (Husband and I have taken to ordering this, frivolously, on the occassional Sunday evening when I've Had It Up To Here with cooking. I think it's a winning new tradition. Except...) Driving there, the Headache, she got worse. Sitting in my special Pick-Up Parking Spot, she expanded to immeasurable depths. Waiting for the slow-ass server, she began driving railroad spikes into the top of my skull. Driving home, she caused that horrible sensation you get when... you know, the salivating sensation -- sorry.
But can I just say? OW.
Don't migraines have something to do with pain behind your eyes and an aversion to light? I didn't have that. Headache Research is on my to-do list. Kinda ruined the excitement of "good food, fast," too.
But can I just say? OW.
Don't migraines have something to do with pain behind your eyes and an aversion to light? I didn't have that. Headache Research is on my to-do list. Kinda ruined the excitement of "good food, fast," too.
Our very own swing
Despite our concern that we didn't have a branch that would fit the demands of such a prize, we have secured the Number One Object of AJ's desire -- A. Swing. Later in his life, when he reads this, he'll have to call up his Grandad, or Papa J, or Grampa J - whatever he ends up calling him - and say, "Wow, thanks!" because this item has changed his world. When he masters Zen and realizes his potential to be kind, loving, and graceful, he will remember his Grandad. He feels True Joy now and forever, because that man is a Genius. Who knew that a small purchase at Lowe's could create such a smile on a little boy! He must have known, having been a little boy once himself. But I didn't. (As a matter of fact, swinging kinda makes me seasick.) I knew AJ liked to swing -- weeen! -- but having one in his own front yard??? It's Nirvana. Utopia. Heaven on Earth. The minute I go to put his jacket on him these days, he smiles and says "I?" Which means, "outside?" and immediately following that, he says, "Ween???" which means, "ohboyohboyohboydoIgettoswingnowinmyswingdoIdoIdoI??" The grin is unbelieveably charming, and wide, and toothy. His eyes narrow and his cheeks pinch themselves with the smiling! So, we're in a happy place right now. We Are Swinging. :) We did find the perfect branch; the swing sits low and therefore, has a great big loooooong arc (another of Grandad's genius indicators -- due to all the physics in his pilot's mind); and it is absolutely A Treasure.
Friday, October 21
Ya learn somethin' every day...
I am half-asleep, apparently, because I just noticed I can add photos for free without using any kind of photo service dealie-bopper. Um, duh.
Here's us, for your reference. A whole new world has opened up to me!
Again, duh.
Two things
You wanna know the two cutest and funnest things EVER EVER In This World?
1) All three of us on Mommy and Daddy's bed, AJ romping around like it's one of those plastic jumpy things at other kids' birthday parties. He throws himself at the pillows with a grin, and then turns his head to the side and pretends to go "ni-night," and then lays there for a minute to catch his breath. Then he holds out his arms and says "Da-DA," and crashes into Daddy on his right. Then same treatment for me, "Ma-MA!" Then he gets tickled by us (because how can we resist), then it's back to the pillows for ni-night! and another little rest. We do this for at least 15 minutes every day now. He'll play this game on the couch, too, but in that edition, when he climbs up onto the couch, he immediately stands, looking over the back of it into the kitchen, and asks politely: "Meee-oook?" (Milk, for you non-native-AJ-speakers.) Aaaahhhh, how do I love this child!
2) My AJ knows his vowels. He was given the Leap Frog Fridge Phonics System, and they can thank me later for the free ad, because I sit here before you, Singing its Praises. Is it normal for a 15-month-old to KNOW letters? Maybe it is. I probably suffer from 1st-time-parent amazement. But it makes my little heart burst with pride and yesterday I even had the thought, while reading him a Barney book about "what will I be when I grow up," on the Doctor page, "I bet AJ will consider becoming a doctor." Y'think I am getting a little ahead of myself? But he knows his letters, y'all! A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes S (still some work to do, as you can see). Oh yes, and B, and D. You can ask him "AJ, where's "S?" and he will search the fridge 'til he finds it. He concentrates. This is serious. But at the same time, he's like, "Easy one, Mom." Grabs that S and puts it right into its magnetic holder so it sings. And it is CUTE.
15 months is a magnificent age, I have decided. I think I am going to put a brick on his head so he stays this precious and small forever.
1) All three of us on Mommy and Daddy's bed, AJ romping around like it's one of those plastic jumpy things at other kids' birthday parties. He throws himself at the pillows with a grin, and then turns his head to the side and pretends to go "ni-night," and then lays there for a minute to catch his breath. Then he holds out his arms and says "Da-DA," and crashes into Daddy on his right. Then same treatment for me, "Ma-MA!" Then he gets tickled by us (because how can we resist), then it's back to the pillows for ni-night! and another little rest. We do this for at least 15 minutes every day now. He'll play this game on the couch, too, but in that edition, when he climbs up onto the couch, he immediately stands, looking over the back of it into the kitchen, and asks politely: "Meee-oook?" (Milk, for you non-native-AJ-speakers.) Aaaahhhh, how do I love this child!
2) My AJ knows his vowels. He was given the Leap Frog Fridge Phonics System, and they can thank me later for the free ad, because I sit here before you, Singing its Praises. Is it normal for a 15-month-old to KNOW letters? Maybe it is. I probably suffer from 1st-time-parent amazement. But it makes my little heart burst with pride and yesterday I even had the thought, while reading him a Barney book about "what will I be when I grow up," on the Doctor page, "I bet AJ will consider becoming a doctor." Y'think I am getting a little ahead of myself? But he knows his letters, y'all! A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes S (still some work to do, as you can see). Oh yes, and B, and D. You can ask him "AJ, where's "S?" and he will search the fridge 'til he finds it. He concentrates. This is serious. But at the same time, he's like, "Easy one, Mom." Grabs that S and puts it right into its magnetic holder so it sings. And it is CUTE.
15 months is a magnificent age, I have decided. I think I am going to put a brick on his head so he stays this precious and small forever.
Wednesday, October 19
Lists a-plenty
To Do:
Call vet to schedule annual exam.
Call financial advisor to set up 529 for AJ.
Call contractor about revised estimate.
Email DH that fax number he needs.
Look up freezing fresh basil/pesto recipes.
Do health benefits questionnaire and sign-up.
Write blog post about poetry that's in my head.
To Buy:
New 8x10 and 5x7 picture frames.
Next Book Club selection: Cloud Atlas: A Novel, by David Mitchell
Milk (skim and whole).
Fat-free half-n-half.
Cheddar cheese (hey, we like our dairy, what can I say?).
Bananas.
I'm sure there are more tasks on my list. And these don't even include work-stuff, which is also a-plenty. Can't think of them right now, though... wait 'til I finish my coffee!
Call vet to schedule annual exam.
Call financial advisor to set up 529 for AJ.
Call contractor about revised estimate.
Email DH that fax number he needs.
Look up freezing fresh basil/pesto recipes.
Do health benefits questionnaire and sign-up.
Write blog post about poetry that's in my head.
To Buy:
New 8x10 and 5x7 picture frames.
Next Book Club selection: Cloud Atlas: A Novel, by David Mitchell
Milk (skim and whole).
Fat-free half-n-half.
Cheddar cheese (hey, we like our dairy, what can I say?).
Bananas.
I'm sure there are more tasks on my list. And these don't even include work-stuff, which is also a-plenty. Can't think of them right now, though... wait 'til I finish my coffee!
Hiya!
You are Scooter.
You are a loyal, hardworking person, better known
as a doormat.
SPECIAL TALENTS:
Going for stuff.
LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE:
"Go For Broke!"
QUOTE:
"15 seconds to showtime."
LAST BOOK READ:
"300 New Ways to Get Your Uncle to Get You a
Better Job "
NEVER LEAVES HOME WITHOUT:
Coffee, clipboard, and Very Special Guest Stars.
What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Tuesday, October 18
Three graphs of nothin'
I should be getting to work right now. Although I did get my work done yesterday -- more than I expected to, actually -- I just haven't had any time to sit and Think lately, and that is bothersome. I like to Think. To Ponder. I wonder when the Slow-Down is supposed to happen at work? Or if. I think it's "if" more than "when" at this point. Sigh.
It's gotten cool and I have contracted my annual sore throat. You can call me Demi...uh, Kucher -- I'm thatsexy croaky. Perfect timing since I was the choir soloist last Sunday morning. No broken stained glass, so I think I did okay, but some of the middle-range notes sure felt like high ones. Ouch. I just set up the humidifier in AJ's room to combat this change of seasons. It would figure that we'd pick the hottest AND coldest room in the house for him. Last night he was bundled up in sweatpants so I wasn't worried, but when he woke up at 3:45 am because he'd flung his passie out of the crib, man! were his little feets c-c-c-old! He didn't seem to mind, and went right back to sleepy-land, but Mommy minded. Poor feets.
We had one of my favorite dinners last night -- Taco Kit. :) I adore Mexican food (maybe I've mentioned this before??) but I won't eat a taco at a restaurant. G-ross. All greasy on the bottom and they're nothing but plain meat. But with Taco Kit dinner, you get those Super-Crispitty shells and the tasty red powder stuff to go in the meat -- and plenty of lettuce, tomato and sour cream lite. It's a little pocket of processed-food heaven right there. GGAh! I ate too many, and... skipped the walk this morning. But see above: it's Cold. I'm planning to DVR some FitTV and not use any more excuses this week.
It's gotten cool and I have contracted my annual sore throat. You can call me Demi...uh, Kucher -- I'm that
We had one of my favorite dinners last night -- Taco Kit. :) I adore Mexican food (maybe I've mentioned this before??) but I won't eat a taco at a restaurant. G-ross. All greasy on the bottom and they're nothing but plain meat. But with Taco Kit dinner, you get those Super-Crispitty shells and the tasty red powder stuff to go in the meat -- and plenty of lettuce, tomato and sour cream lite. It's a little pocket of processed-food heaven right there. GGAh! I ate too many, and... skipped the walk this morning. But see above: it's Cold. I'm planning to DVR some FitTV and not use any more excuses this week.
Monday, October 17
Creative parenting
I worry -- what, me? worry? I should have just named this blog "Me, Fretting" -- about being a creative parent. Sometimes, I Just Don't Know What To Do with the young creature under my immediate supervision. We'll play in the den, scoot about through the kitchen, pull out all the pots and pans, move to the fridge magnets, hit the living room and that set of toys, look out the window together, go upstairs to his room for more books and toys, and then... I'm out of ideas. Oh wait, we also go outside and do our requisite perimeter-walkabout of the yard. And play a little ball with the dog. And water flowers. And that is It. We have to start over.
I'm not too concerned about my lack of ideas at this point because, thank heavens, the same old toys still seem to interest him -- and, seriously, he's only 15 months old! Not like he needs Shakespeare performed LIVE or a 2-part lab experiment to stimulate his thinking! But I just hope that someday I can be the kind of parent who provides wondermous, thought-provoking activities and FUN things to do on a rainy day (or any other day). My Mom seemed to have a knack for it, although I know she wasn't down on her hands and knees with us all the time. I guess I worry because of the kind of babysitter I always was -- never the kind who would get out all the Star Wars action figures and set up a "land" and create "missions." I'd play a board game, or a good few rounds of Hide-n-Seek (okay, I admit I still love H-n-S), and then I'd want the kids to settle down and watch a video! And, then, hooray! They're going to bed!
Anyway, in this spirit, I've bought AJ his first Crayons (the fat ones in a pack of 8), I've been exploring Crayola.com and creativeparents.com, and madly clipping arts and crafts projects from "Parenting" mag. Hope they'll all come in handy someday.
I'm not too concerned about my lack of ideas at this point because, thank heavens, the same old toys still seem to interest him -- and, seriously, he's only 15 months old! Not like he needs Shakespeare performed LIVE or a 2-part lab experiment to stimulate his thinking! But I just hope that someday I can be the kind of parent who provides wondermous, thought-provoking activities and FUN things to do on a rainy day (or any other day). My Mom seemed to have a knack for it, although I know she wasn't down on her hands and knees with us all the time. I guess I worry because of the kind of babysitter I always was -- never the kind who would get out all the Star Wars action figures and set up a "land" and create "missions." I'd play a board game, or a good few rounds of Hide-n-Seek (okay, I admit I still love H-n-S), and then I'd want the kids to settle down and watch a video! And, then, hooray! They're going to bed!
Anyway, in this spirit, I've bought AJ his first Crayons (the fat ones in a pack of 8), I've been exploring Crayola.com and creativeparents.com, and madly clipping arts and crafts projects from "Parenting" mag. Hope they'll all come in handy someday.
Wednesday, October 12
Clean is relative, and other truths about toddlerhood
There are, in fact, a few things I've learned in this 15-month-lifetime that I've been a parent. Many of them have occured just in the last few months. Perhaps they will be helpful to me in the future. Or perhaps they'll be helpful to someone else.
- Being smug about the pacifier might come back to bite you. AJ wasn't exactly hooked on it in his infanthood, and DH and I.... we let it go to our heads a little. "Aren't we good parents? OUR baby doesn't need his passie." (Yes, that's what we call it. I just can't do "binkie" for some reason. Could be that our friends call their SON "Binkie." His name is perfectly good -- Brennan -- why they choose to give him such a sissie nickname is beyond me. But, back to the smugness:) "We must have a super-well-adjusted child, because he is Very Independent. He sleeps with no sleep aid. He is talking a lot, and early, according to the daycare teachers, and it's probably because we're such good parents that he Doesn't Need His Passie and therefore, his mouth is available for all the talking. [pat ourselves on our collective back]"
WELL.... at 13 months, I'm being called out. I’m that explorer -- who was it? Oh yes, Vasco Nunez de Balboa, thank you Google -- looking at the Paci-rific Ocean for the first time and calling it "Peace." He began wanting it again, And How. We discovered it after the fact -- one day at daycare I showed up and he was Using! Shock-n-awe! So now at home, when nothing else will soothe him, we give in to his addiction, we feed him the baby-crack. We're okay with it -- he's supervised. Sometimes he asks for it in his pitiful crying, hiccuping voice: "Paaad-deeeee??" It's adorable. Although the first time he walked around, passie casually hanging from his mouth, I laughed out loud. I'd not seen him use one in so long, he kinda looked like someone else's kid for a second.
- Unpredictability is a way of life. This I intend for the Feeding category, although I could type for days and days about my uncertainty as far as feeding is concerned. Table food feeding, that is. But by unpredictable, I mean AJ will eat like a horse one day, and the next day refuse to put anything near his mouth except the Dog's bone, which he's been repeatedly instructed NOT TO EAT. On those days he will pooh-pooh the foods he once lovingly inhaled, preferring instead to writhe about in his high chair and ask to get "Owww?" exactly 2 minutes after he's gotten in. Sigh. I worry, every single stinking time, that I need to get him something that he WANTS to eat, or else he'll starve. Even though I know from The Books that my responsibility is only to provide the healthy balanced meal. His is to eat it (or not, if his little body says no, thanks). Usually on these delightful occassions, at around 8:00 pm he will ask for 2 full sippy-cups of milk and drink each one in a single swallow, and I'll be reassured that he won't, in fact, starve. But it gets me every time.
- The next size up, in diapers, is often your best friend. Don't resist growing with Baby. Or else you might be sorry.
- This is a gimme, but: Babies need to be loved as much as possible in the first year (and a half). And comforted when they cry. But at about 8 months it's okay to leave them in the crib for a while, after dutifully doing your bedtime routine. They will learn to love the crib! This is a message for the Future Me: Just stick with it! Remember how AJ, at first, cried and cried when you left? But then around 14 months, he started reeeeeaching for his mattress, knowing how cool and clean and comforting the sheet and the blankie can feel after a long day! The same way you, yourself, feel about the sheets and the blankie! So stick with the routine.
- Letting Little Ones HELP you works. We have both found that if we act like AJ is essential to the Very Important Thing we want to do instead of obediently sitting on the floor playing with
His Highnesshim -- Dishes, Reading the Mail, Putting on Socks, Feeding the Dog, etc. -- he will very gladly touch whatever object it is we're trying to use, in the name of HELPING. :)
And, a fringe benefit -- he's learned to say "Tank Oo" while pulling spoons from the dishwasher, because I say "Thank You" ever-so-politely each time he hands me one. This morning he said it directly to the cook at daycare who brought his breakfast in! Everyone was Impressed! I was Best Mother In The Room for a moment. Cue Whitney Houston -- "Oooonne moment in time, when I'm all that I thought I could be..." - The vacuum-/dust-/insert-housekeeping-chore-ing will keep. Sure, the dog hair is swirling around your feet each time you swish through the kitchen. Who cares. The longer you put it off, the MORE satisfying it will be when you finally have it done.
Tuesday, October 11
Wait, wait, wait....!
I want to change my b4b entry! (Not really, you b4b judges and spies. It's just a nice lead-in...) I am listening to one of my favorite albums of ALL TIME, BAR NONE, FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN: Johnny Mathis' Merry Christmas. (Shut up, I know the date.) Now THOSE songs, sung by him, transport me right back to being a kid in my parents' home, and the excitement and wonder and FAMILY that Christmas is absolutely supposed to be. They hit me like no other music I know.
(I got my eMac at work 2 years ago around holiday time, and loaded all this Christmas music -- including Barry M.! -- into iTunes. Then I got sidetracked, so it's all I've got, locally. Hee. Good for the soul, though, in October.)
(I got my eMac at work 2 years ago around holiday time, and loaded all this Christmas music -- including Barry M.! -- into iTunes. Then I got sidetracked, so it's all I've got, locally. Hee. Good for the soul, though, in October.)
Monster in the bedroom?
I can't decide if I'm getting sick or if I'm just tired, or if it's a weird combination of both, plus a headband. The headband I wore yesterday -- since I was working from home, I didn't bother drying my hair, just pushed it back and left it there all day. I had the inklings of a small headache by end of day, which isn't unusual for me and headbands, but in the middle of the night, WHAMMO. "Hello, it's 12:47 a.m., and I am the Headache Monster, and you'd better get your head up off the pillow, for I am SPLITTING it down the middle." The only thing that felt better was to stand up, but even that didn't help much. I even had a touch of nausea on the side -- how nice. I stayed upright for about half an hour or 45 minutes, sitting on the tub, walking around the hallway -- which seemed so silly without holding and shushing a newborn or something -- then I gently eased back down into my pillow, hoping not to piss off the monster again. It worked and I slept and woke up fine, but as I sit here sipping my morning caffeinated beverage, I'm feeling kinda ookie again. Boooo.
Friday, October 7
The disco in my life
Okay, this month's Blogging for Books has got me all conflicted. On the one hand I'm enthused, because the theme is "your personal relationship with a song." And, I mean, who doesn't have one of those? Songs are everywhere, songs are eternal, it's the perfect writing topic for the masses. But it's hard to pick just ONE song I have a relationship with. There are too many and some of them are too stupid. For starters, I can personally recall the day before I left my home and my high school boyfriend, bound for college -- singing Garth Brooks' "The Dance" all the way there, in my head. "Our lives are better left to chance... I coulda missed the pai-ai-ain, but I'da had to miss... The-uh-uh-uh..... Dance." (Sob, "Our Prom!!" I wailed inside.) Hindsight... quite the personal cliché. A little embarassing, but that's the memory that happens when I hear that one, these days.
There are certainly songs in my life that, in all seriousness, make me cry every time -- one is an insturmental lullaby by Bobby McFerrin that I heard early in my pregnancy with AJ, when I was vulnerable and overwhelmed with the whole idea of becoming a Mom. Its tenderness and innocence (the words are simply, "La-la-la-la-la,") spoke to the frightened child -- me -- who just needed comforting that day. The other is a sweet Amy Grant song about believing God's going to handle things, which: Sing to me of my faith and watch out -- I really get going.
I think I'd really prefer to talk about a happy song. One that makes me laugh, and is associated with one of the sweetest memories of my life. You can laugh when I tell you. Go on, I want you to: "It's A Miracle," by Barry Manilow.
The Story?...I'd been single for nearly 2 years, and had stopped "looking." That stage where you're all of a sudden Happy with Who You Are and you realize you don't NEED a capital-R Relationship to be fulfilled. I was there: working, succeeding, hanging out with friends, but not even that -- hanging out with myself, and FINE with it. And then, at work of all places, I met a guy. There had been one or two that I'd considered 'cute,' at the office, but all of a sudden, where did this one come from?? He blew me away at first glance. When I think about it now, I realize there is, in fact, a "type" that I am attracted to, and he's It. Big, sensitive eyes (some say Puppy Dog), clean hair, tall and thin, and a straight, perfect smile. And then, after we'd talked a couple of times, I was intrigued. He didn't attempt in any overt way to flirt with me. He was Nice. He was Casual and Genuine. He was friendly, but in a way that didn't make me wonder what he wanted, and I hadn't seen that in a LONG time.
So we played Professional for a few weeks, and then, the Company Picnic. I went. He went. We chatted over ice cream, with co-workers looking on and raising their eyebrows, unbeknownst to us. When we drove away separately, I did watch his car go down the highway and note to myself, "He is a very nice guy. I wouldn't mind a date with him, even."
The very next day I was in his part of the building for a meeting. I stopped by his desk since now we were officially friends, just to exchange small talk and see his smile. My stomach was starting to feel a bit fluttery around him. He Very Casually asked me if I'd like to have lunch Wednesday. I mean, it was such a subtle invitation, I almost didn't even catch it -- y'know how coworkers team up for lunch? You going? We're going? *shrug* It was almost like that. But, as I walked away, I realized he meant "Would you like to go to lunch with ME?" and in my mind I started thinking, "It's a miracle: A guy that I'm actually attracted to, and enjoy talking with, has just asked me out!" And then, before I could stop it and thanks to a childhood full of the Barry Manilow 8-track, "It's a Miracle" started playing in my head. I practically danced down the stairs, a goofy smile oozing out of me. Not kidding.
"...And baby, there'll be
Dancin in the streets!
For the miracle
A true blue spectacle
The miracle is you!"
Perhaps you don't know this song. You're missing out -- it's disco to the Nth. And it's AWESOME. With background "doot-doot-doos" and everything. Not one of Manilow's lovey ballads, but a dance hit. 'Cause you know Manilow was a dancin' machine. (And so am I, naturally. Ahem.) It's too cheesy for words, that song -- I thought so even as it was spinning in my brain that day. But it made me laugh, too, that my heart wanted to sing a song like that, just because of a little lunch invitation. Surely you've guessed that The Guy ended up being my husband. So, that's the song that started it all for me. When I hear it, I remember the heart racing, spring-in-my-step feeling of everything being new, and... um... true-blue... and spectacular.
There are certainly songs in my life that, in all seriousness, make me cry every time -- one is an insturmental lullaby by Bobby McFerrin that I heard early in my pregnancy with AJ, when I was vulnerable and overwhelmed with the whole idea of becoming a Mom. Its tenderness and innocence (the words are simply, "La-la-la-la-la,") spoke to the frightened child -- me -- who just needed comforting that day. The other is a sweet Amy Grant song about believing God's going to handle things, which: Sing to me of my faith and watch out -- I really get going.
I think I'd really prefer to talk about a happy song. One that makes me laugh, and is associated with one of the sweetest memories of my life. You can laugh when I tell you. Go on, I want you to: "It's A Miracle," by Barry Manilow.
The Story?...I'd been single for nearly 2 years, and had stopped "looking." That stage where you're all of a sudden Happy with Who You Are and you realize you don't NEED a capital-R Relationship to be fulfilled. I was there: working, succeeding, hanging out with friends, but not even that -- hanging out with myself, and FINE with it. And then, at work of all places, I met a guy. There had been one or two that I'd considered 'cute,' at the office, but all of a sudden, where did this one come from?? He blew me away at first glance. When I think about it now, I realize there is, in fact, a "type" that I am attracted to, and he's It. Big, sensitive eyes (some say Puppy Dog), clean hair, tall and thin, and a straight, perfect smile. And then, after we'd talked a couple of times, I was intrigued. He didn't attempt in any overt way to flirt with me. He was Nice. He was Casual and Genuine. He was friendly, but in a way that didn't make me wonder what he wanted, and I hadn't seen that in a LONG time.
So we played Professional for a few weeks, and then, the Company Picnic. I went. He went. We chatted over ice cream, with co-workers looking on and raising their eyebrows, unbeknownst to us. When we drove away separately, I did watch his car go down the highway and note to myself, "He is a very nice guy. I wouldn't mind a date with him, even."
The very next day I was in his part of the building for a meeting. I stopped by his desk since now we were officially friends, just to exchange small talk and see his smile. My stomach was starting to feel a bit fluttery around him. He Very Casually asked me if I'd like to have lunch Wednesday. I mean, it was such a subtle invitation, I almost didn't even catch it -- y'know how coworkers team up for lunch? You going? We're going? *shrug* It was almost like that. But, as I walked away, I realized he meant "Would you like to go to lunch with ME?" and in my mind I started thinking, "It's a miracle: A guy that I'm actually attracted to, and enjoy talking with, has just asked me out!" And then, before I could stop it and thanks to a childhood full of the Barry Manilow 8-track, "It's a Miracle" started playing in my head. I practically danced down the stairs, a goofy smile oozing out of me. Not kidding.
"...And baby, there'll be
Dancin in the streets!
For the miracle
A true blue spectacle
The miracle is you!"
Perhaps you don't know this song. You're missing out -- it's disco to the Nth. And it's AWESOME. With background "doot-doot-doos" and everything. Not one of Manilow's lovey ballads, but a dance hit. 'Cause you know Manilow was a dancin' machine. (And so am I, naturally. Ahem.) It's too cheesy for words, that song -- I thought so even as it was spinning in my brain that day. But it made me laugh, too, that my heart wanted to sing a song like that, just because of a little lunch invitation. Surely you've guessed that The Guy ended up being my husband. So, that's the song that started it all for me. When I hear it, I remember the heart racing, spring-in-my-step feeling of everything being new, and... um... true-blue... and spectacular.
Ooh, I just thought of the other thing I've been wishing...
It's not all convents and rosaries:
I've been wishing that I'd chosen to teach music lessons for a living. How great would it be to (be an accomplished pianist and) teach voice lessons to sweet high school students, in my own home, with my very own grand piano, and collect cash doing it?
Plus, unlike the nunnery option, I'd still get to have a real-live husband.
I've been wishing that I'd chosen to teach music lessons for a living. How great would it be to (be an accomplished pianist and) teach voice lessons to sweet high school students, in my own home, with my very own grand piano, and collect cash doing it?
Plus, unlike the nunnery option, I'd still get to have a real-live husband.
Suh-weet!
My cholesterol just got checked -- first time ever, that I'm aware of -- and it was 172. And now, all together now, let's siiiiiiiiiigh with relief. It could be better, of course (thus, the workout regimen that began this week), but I'm just happy it's within normal levels. I fully expected it to be through the roof. Especially since I had a PIECE OF CAKE for breakfast! HA! I am of the "Bill Cosby, Himself" generation that fully believes cake has eggs, milk, and flour in it -- it's absolutely breakfast food. But I now qualify for lower health insurance rates because I took their little tests, right here at the office with all my coworkers standing by. One guy stood a bit too close to the scale while I was on it. Rude. (Can you believe they didn't have any curtained-off areas for this? I fully expected that, too, in this age of health information privacy and all. But as is the case with most of my company's procedures, this is the cheap seats, people. No frills.)
My friend J is moving in a few months, to beautiful coastal North Carolina. I am going to miss her terrifically but... last night she called me to her house to go through years' worth of her 5-year-old son's garage-sale-bound clothes. SCORE! I got jammies, long-sleeved t-shirts, the cutest mittens/hat set I've ever seen (like we need it), and a bunch of precious, preppy Striped Socks. She said I was preppy and that's why I liked the socks -- I was flattered but told her I think I only Aspire to be preppy. I think having a boy helps, though. What does a preppy girl wear, exactly, these days? I'm not sure. I think "classic relaxed" wins over "preppy" in current trends for women. I also bought AJ some jeans and cords the other day at Target, so we should be set for Fall. Of course, there's always room for more clothes (GRANDMOM). ;)
Tonight, DH and I will be poring over the loan papers for our mortgage re-fi. What fun. And then we'll talk about the health insurance we were tested for this morning -- enrollment next week. And then, if we're not trying to throw things at each other or cross-eyed with our tongues lolling about like CRAZY PEOPLE, we will revisit this vinyl siding situation and see just exactly how much cash we can afford to put into it. Don't you wish you had such an awesome Friday night planned? You know you do. Don't worry, we'll be having Stiff Drinks with a side of Alcohol for supper.
P.S. I love using the word "cords." I used to read it in books like "SuperFudge" but didn't exactly know what it meant. But it sounds so sturdy. And sort-of sophisticated. Next, I'll start calling AJ's jeans "dungarees," for that essential rough-n-tumble connotation.
My friend J is moving in a few months, to beautiful coastal North Carolina. I am going to miss her terrifically but... last night she called me to her house to go through years' worth of her 5-year-old son's garage-sale-bound clothes. SCORE! I got jammies, long-sleeved t-shirts, the cutest mittens/hat set I've ever seen (like we need it), and a bunch of precious, preppy Striped Socks. She said I was preppy and that's why I liked the socks -- I was flattered but told her I think I only Aspire to be preppy. I think having a boy helps, though. What does a preppy girl wear, exactly, these days? I'm not sure. I think "classic relaxed" wins over "preppy" in current trends for women. I also bought AJ some jeans and cords the other day at Target, so we should be set for Fall. Of course, there's always room for more clothes (GRANDMOM). ;)
Tonight, DH and I will be poring over the loan papers for our mortgage re-fi. What fun. And then we'll talk about the health insurance we were tested for this morning -- enrollment next week. And then, if we're not trying to throw things at each other or cross-eyed with our tongues lolling about like CRAZY PEOPLE, we will revisit this vinyl siding situation and see just exactly how much cash we can afford to put into it. Don't you wish you had such an awesome Friday night planned? You know you do. Don't worry, we'll be having Stiff Drinks with a side of Alcohol for supper.
P.S. I love using the word "cords." I used to read it in books like "SuperFudge" but didn't exactly know what it meant. But it sounds so sturdy. And sort-of sophisticated. Next, I'll start calling AJ's jeans "dungarees," for that essential rough-n-tumble connotation.
Thursday, October 6
Dig this...
I love reading old journals and previous blog entries. So I'm super-glad to get this meme and go digging around in my archives. Again, it's one that everyone's done before:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.
He can't wait for kisses from Polie, through the spindles of the banister.
AJ had just discovered slobbery kisses from the dog. I'm reminded that this was before we'd installed the netting across all our upstairs banister spindles. Before the days of the baby gate, and well before the days when he could go up and down them all by himself! (He's finally figured out "down." We are a Tummy-Toes family. It's fun to watch him slide down! Such a big boy!)
No tagging this time. Don't want to wear out my welcome in that department!
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.
He can't wait for kisses from Polie, through the spindles of the banister.
AJ had just discovered slobbery kisses from the dog. I'm reminded that this was before we'd installed the netting across all our upstairs banister spindles. Before the days of the baby gate, and well before the days when he could go up and down them all by himself! (He's finally figured out "down." We are a Tummy-Toes family. It's fun to watch him slide down! Such a big boy!)
No tagging this time. Don't want to wear out my welcome in that department!
Wish I may, wish I might
First of all, I wish I had the time to really write more, and I don't just mean my usual drivel, but I mean a good, solid, well-thought-out entry about something I care deeply about. Or a really impressive Blogging For Books entry. I feel like I'm squeezing time in for the blog between work stuff and of course, life stuff. What I'd do if I had my druthers would be to have a list of posts I'm working on, and come back to each one several times and get it right, and feel great about it. But that does not seem likely as I can barely start one before some other committment calls.
I also wish I would quit whining about my lack of time. There are 24 hours, that is that, I can't change it or fix it, so why am I so consumed by it? I apologize to you, my readers, for this constant grumbling. I resolve to do better. :)
Yesterday on the way home, I was driving next to this little old beat up Corolla, which caught my eye as I, too, own a Corolla (DH drives it), and it has a special place in my heart. It's My Little Car. My "Crayola," as Dad called it. Anyway, I peered into the window to see who was driving (I'm nosy like that -- always want to know more about the car next to me than its color and style -- and this way, in theory at least, if said car cuts in front of me, I can put a face to it and not just glare hatefully... of course it works the other way, too, if I get cut off before I see who the driver is, I glare in direct hateful proportion once I do see them). The driver was a little nun. I say "little" nun out of great respect, mind you. She looked about my age, was wearing a veil, and had a rosary hanging from the mirror and a little gold crucifix on her dashboard. And I got to thinking, what a nice life that might be. It was almost, "I wish I were a nun..." but not quite. More like I wish I had some of the benefits that go with it. I bet you didn't know there were benefits. ;)
I wonder why I never ever considered nun-dom seriously when I was at the "what to do with my life" stage. One might say it's not such an attractive option, what with the vow of poverty and all. But.... when I think about it now... with all this LIFE EXPERIENCE behind me -- it sure would be nice to have just a little bit of the poverty, by choice. Poverty's okay in a small dose, if it's by choice (and if the parish is paying for your meals and housing). If I were a nun, I wouldn't own a home, and therefore wouldn't have to worry about the fact that new siding is going to cost us $AnEnormousSum.95. I wouldn't have to care that the house will never sell without the new siding. No one has to sell their own convent and hope to make a profit! They just "live in community" within it, and let Someone Else handle the details. Quelle Bliss!
I would also sorta like to try my hand at teaching, but am not at all interested, right now, in changing my career direction and going back to school (especially not as I listen to my friend who's in grad school talk about all the crap she has to do). But if I were a nun, I'd have known teaching was in my future, and I'd have taken Education courses to prepare for it. And I'd be Expected to teach. So it'd have been an easy choice. (Of course, one of the reasons I wish to be a teacher is for their nice hours and to be with my kids while they're in school -- and that obviously wouldn't apply if I were a nun. But they still get summer vacation... they just don't get to wear their swimsuit at the beach for a week. Whoa, I'm derailing here...)
And oh, the wish for time to spend in prayer and contemplation! Those nuns probably get up early to do it, but having a Mass or chapel gathering at least a couple times a day -- right in your own house? -- that wouldn't be such a bad deal. (Plus, I am now GOOD AT getting up early! 4 days in a row, people, 5:30 am!!) I'd know the Bible backwards and forwards, and I'd know prayers and even know (better) how to listen for God in the silence. I'm not talking about being a cloistered nun, but I have to say, a silent retreat or two would probably do me a world of good, too. As long as I'm imagining this nun-life. I was even thinking, as I drove past her, "I bet she's praying right now, in the solitude of her car." And I've tried to do that, but it's not easy. I bet nuns are much better at it. Their Job is to pray, after all. It would feel like such a "sisterhood," the bond with all the other nuns. There aren't that many these days, you know. So we'd be rare and interesting -- and I can tell you, among Catholics, they're always held in pretty high regard, especially since there are so few. It's like seeing Santa Claus -- you don't get to very often, so when you do, it's special. Kids are in awe of 'em, parents remember having them as teachers, and the priests rely on them to help run the schools and churches. It might actually be fun to be Sister Mary Lee Cecelia Felicity Perpetua.
It goes without saying how much I'd be missing, of course, without my wonderful husband, and my days as a Wife and a Mother. I'd never give that up now. I truly love my life (siding issues notwithstanding). But it's interesting to imagine it. I do hope young girls out there are considering it for their lives. I'd hate to lose the nuns altogether. I have a cousin-in-law who really did consider it. Prayed about it. And chose marriage and motherhood, in the end. I think it's wonderful she was even that close to it, though.
I also wish I would quit whining about my lack of time. There are 24 hours, that is that, I can't change it or fix it, so why am I so consumed by it? I apologize to you, my readers, for this constant grumbling. I resolve to do better. :)
Yesterday on the way home, I was driving next to this little old beat up Corolla, which caught my eye as I, too, own a Corolla (DH drives it), and it has a special place in my heart. It's My Little Car. My "Crayola," as Dad called it. Anyway, I peered into the window to see who was driving (I'm nosy like that -- always want to know more about the car next to me than its color and style -- and this way, in theory at least, if said car cuts in front of me, I can put a face to it and not just glare hatefully... of course it works the other way, too, if I get cut off before I see who the driver is, I glare in direct hateful proportion once I do see them). The driver was a little nun. I say "little" nun out of great respect, mind you. She looked about my age, was wearing a veil, and had a rosary hanging from the mirror and a little gold crucifix on her dashboard. And I got to thinking, what a nice life that might be. It was almost, "I wish I were a nun..." but not quite. More like I wish I had some of the benefits that go with it. I bet you didn't know there were benefits. ;)
I wonder why I never ever considered nun-dom seriously when I was at the "what to do with my life" stage. One might say it's not such an attractive option, what with the vow of poverty and all. But.... when I think about it now... with all this LIFE EXPERIENCE behind me -- it sure would be nice to have just a little bit of the poverty, by choice. Poverty's okay in a small dose, if it's by choice (and if the parish is paying for your meals and housing). If I were a nun, I wouldn't own a home, and therefore wouldn't have to worry about the fact that new siding is going to cost us $AnEnormousSum.95. I wouldn't have to care that the house will never sell without the new siding. No one has to sell their own convent and hope to make a profit! They just "live in community" within it, and let Someone Else handle the details. Quelle Bliss!
I would also sorta like to try my hand at teaching, but am not at all interested, right now, in changing my career direction and going back to school (especially not as I listen to my friend who's in grad school talk about all the crap she has to do). But if I were a nun, I'd have known teaching was in my future, and I'd have taken Education courses to prepare for it. And I'd be Expected to teach. So it'd have been an easy choice. (Of course, one of the reasons I wish to be a teacher is for their nice hours and to be with my kids while they're in school -- and that obviously wouldn't apply if I were a nun. But they still get summer vacation... they just don't get to wear their swimsuit at the beach for a week. Whoa, I'm derailing here...)
And oh, the wish for time to spend in prayer and contemplation! Those nuns probably get up early to do it, but having a Mass or chapel gathering at least a couple times a day -- right in your own house? -- that wouldn't be such a bad deal. (Plus, I am now GOOD AT getting up early! 4 days in a row, people, 5:30 am!!) I'd know the Bible backwards and forwards, and I'd know prayers and even know (better) how to listen for God in the silence. I'm not talking about being a cloistered nun, but I have to say, a silent retreat or two would probably do me a world of good, too. As long as I'm imagining this nun-life. I was even thinking, as I drove past her, "I bet she's praying right now, in the solitude of her car." And I've tried to do that, but it's not easy. I bet nuns are much better at it. Their Job is to pray, after all. It would feel like such a "sisterhood," the bond with all the other nuns. There aren't that many these days, you know. So we'd be rare and interesting -- and I can tell you, among Catholics, they're always held in pretty high regard, especially since there are so few. It's like seeing Santa Claus -- you don't get to very often, so when you do, it's special. Kids are in awe of 'em, parents remember having them as teachers, and the priests rely on them to help run the schools and churches. It might actually be fun to be Sister Mary Lee Cecelia Felicity Perpetua.
It goes without saying how much I'd be missing, of course, without my wonderful husband, and my days as a Wife and a Mother. I'd never give that up now. I truly love my life (siding issues notwithstanding). But it's interesting to imagine it. I do hope young girls out there are considering it for their lives. I'd hate to lose the nuns altogether. I have a cousin-in-law who really did consider it. Prayed about it. And chose marriage and motherhood, in the end. I think it's wonderful she was even that close to it, though.
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