Britannanny

My little sis and her fiancee. Aw :)

The Holiday rocked the start of MY holiday season

Oh, bah humbug, Chris Kelly.

I saw it in sneak preview last weekend, and I loved it. (And so did the other five people with me, or so they say...well, the guys didn't exactly say "love" but they seemed to enjoy it quite well.) So there. I don't think it was meant to be any kind of overly intellectual endeavor, so pass the eggnog and enjoy a fun holiday love story, dude!

I've never even jumped on the Jude Law bandwagon until this movie, but now I have a bad celebrity crush. :) (Love ya, Todd, honey, darlin', sweetie pie...)

Tricky language

The girls and I were discussing a few sayings tonight on our way home from a lovely ladies' night dinner at Dickey's BBQ and a shopping stop at Kohl's. They just don't make sense, or at least not to me. Emi tried to convince me otherwise. What do you think?

To infinity and beyond...

For eternity and a day...

The other side of eternity...

Discuss. :-)

Weather weirdness

I've seen that weird rain and sun phenomenon and alway think it's amazing and bizarre, but I'm not sure I've seen snow falling in a sunny sky. This day has gone from wet, gloomy, sleety, mess to dry sleet and snow flakes flying around in a windy sky full of racing white clouds and the sun peeking its head through. I tried to take a picture, but the snow falling is not as obvious outside as it is from the windows inside.

The kids are thrilled with the half-day early dismissal. It's amazing what a quarter inch of sleet does for the hearts of Texas kids. I can't imagine what they'd do with the blizzards we had growing up in Colorado. They've already baked brownies and had hot chocolate with neighbor kids and have gone through several sets of clothing. I just looked out the back window and my 13-year-old is coatless in short sleeves.

Another weird site was on my way home from getting my 9-year-old from school. The streets were fine, and we made a detour on the way home to drop off books due at the public library and pick up some new ones in case we were snowed in tomorrow (in the Texas sense of the word, that is). I glanced in my rear-view mirror at one point to see if my window had finally thawed. I had no scraper and sat in the car with the defroster running until the ice on the front one could be wipered away, but forgot to turn on the rear defroster. I saw a basketball. My daughter was riding with the basketball that has lived in my backseat for three months balanced on her head. It has lost just enough air to make it possible. :) She is easily entertained. She likes the self-checkout stations at the library, too.

Didn't this happen at about the same time last year? I never did say how that day turned out...I think it was fun.

Thappy Hanksgiving

I'm still out there...wherever there is. :) Just haven't been much in the blogging mood lately. Thought I'd post a small list of things I am thankful for, in honor of that holiday tomorrow.

1) My middle child in the living room working hard to play Fur Elise from music with left AND right hand after I showed her the basics today, and no formal lessons. What a hard worker she is.

2) My little daughter who checks in for hugs and kisses as often as possible every day.

3) My old boy and his holiday attire today for a family movie outing--a t-shirt, black polyester jeans, and a knitted scarf wrapped around his neck.

4) Heather, who successfully remembered to thaw her turkey ahead of time, and her holiday crazy husband, her Cabbage-Patch lovin' kid, and Baby D.

5) My husband, my Toddy, my best friend, who supports me in my wild and crazy midlife crises quite well...for an engineer. ;)

6) The rest of my family and friends--too numerous to mention specifically, but all as unique and inspiring as they come. Seriously.

7) Grace.

Belated Bday Musings

Well, I neglected to mention that my baby turned 18 earlier this week. For his birthday, Todd and I registered him for the draft. ;)

(We actually did, much as I was not excited about it...we browsed to the website just to see how it was done and went ahead and filled out the form while we were there. Woo hoo. Pray this war's over soon.)

Kristen and I went on a special shopping trip for bday cupcakes, but while we were at the store, decided to buy 18 items Ryan has liked to eat over the years (past OR present) and gave them to him in a big shopping bag along with a couple of lists I made (18 favorite foods, 18 favorite songs, 18 important events since he was born) and a sappy little poem I wrote. :)

The winning item in the bag was definitely the maggie-roni and cheese IN THE ORANGE BOX!!! (No Kraft Mac 'n Cheese for my thrifty Ryan Scott.) I think, however, the pickled okra and pork rinds conjured up bad memories and nightmares. Heh.

Happy Birthday to the cutest little knucklehead nerd who ever lived.

Oh, yeah, I had a birthday lately, too. Nyah. I wasn't too excited about it, but I got some cool stuff from my family and friends, as well as a surprise announcement from my little sis. She's getting married. Wow. :)

My best/funniest gift award goes to Gail for the second year in a row. I was raving on and on about a B&N gift card Teri gave me, talking about how I was going to go buy the Stephen King book on writing, and all the while a gift bag from Gail was sitting at the Jason's Deli table under my nose...containing, you guessed it, the book. How well that girl knows me.

The really pretty origami paper from my dad "for when you are sitting around doing nothing" was also pretty funny. (The inscription, not the gift.) I don't get much of that (sitting around doing nothing...I sleep when that happens), so I think I'm going to frame it! Trust me, it's frameable, as weird as that sounds.

Silly Bwogwoll...

Blogroll has gone crazy apparently. If you looked over to the right at all the blogs I read at this very moment, you'd see that they have ALL been updated in the last 24 hours. I am almost completely 100 percent positive that is not true. If it is, I will pay each of you people that write them $5.00 for making me look like I read some hoppin' blogs. ;)

And Prince Ryan he shall remain

Well, Ryan may "only" be a prince among men, but as my friend Gail says, "He's the king in our book ... the king of crazy cool." :) His buddy Ben got to wear the furry blue and white crown, but I was so proud of my boy in his blue plaid suit and gold lame shoes that sparkled from clear across the football field. I'll post some pics later.

(Gail, I did those spaces around the ellipses just for you.)

Will he?

DVD photo slide show at onetruemedia.com

Prince Ryan

Ryan is one of the four Homecoming King finalists! We couldn't be more surprised or pleased. He and I both got a little emotional (don't tell) and I told him it's amazing coming from such a long familial line of nerds. Heh. Can't wait for the game Friday to see if we will have to bow to King Ryan.

(And did you know, by the way, that Ryan actually means "little king"? How crazy is that? Maybe it was a prophetic move on the part of the people in the waiting room who voted on his name when he was born. Of course, Samuel was my other choice and wasn't he a king, too? See, it was just plain meant to be.)

And, I'm most proud because I know it's not because he's Mr. Typical-Super-Smooth-Most-Popular-And-Snobby Boy, but because he's such a sweet, crazy, Goodwill-dressing, well-liked, kind boy. And maybe because he's tall. ;)

Stay posted for fun pictures, video, and celebrating either way.

A normal week

I feel like I should say something...it's been over a week since I posted.

My life is crazy right now. BUT...I did think of something one day last week. It seems we are always wishing for a "normal" life, doesn't it? We think that if only our lives were "normal," instead of (fill in the blank) we wouldn't be so stressed out. I realized we're wishing and praying for the wrong thing.

Guess what? Our lives are normal. What we should be wishing or praying for are "perfect" lives.

So, without further ado--

Dear God, please let me have a perfect life.

;)

But every day is just the same
Nothing lost and nothing gained
Same old re-run on some child-proof stage
So they say: Vacation in Eden
Bring an apple a day

In the land of childish wonder
Climb the fence and run away
Pretty to visit, but it's hell to stay
Vacation in Eden
Bring an apple a day

From Apple a Day/David Wilcox

Oh, Dad...

So my Dad, whose nickname is Ollie, sends a note that says:

Subject: Sounds like me!
Ollie does not walk that professional.
He teeters and totters and weevils and wobbles.
He fell down on the floor.

To which I say, MOO.

Great Halloween reading

I wonder if I should be worried. I could be going back to sleep for a while (3 hours short of my 8-hour quota)...I could be working...I could be writing...but, no.

I am reading Junie B., First Grader: BOO...and I MEAN IT!

Because I want to. I am not accompanied by my 9-year-old daughter who checked it out from the library. I am just reading it. I started out reading it as "research." Now, I am just reading it. This girl is hilarious! I wish I could find an excerpt from this particular Junie B. Jones book, but I can't.

So, I'll have to make my own. Thanks, author Barbara Park.

Grandma did a little smile. Then she finished buttoning Ollie's sweater. And she put him on the floor to walk to me.

Ollie does not walk that professional.
He teeters and totters and weevils and wobbles.
He fell down on the floor.
Then he patted my shoe very nice. And he said the word moo.
Moo is Ollie's favorite word.

He is not the sharpest tool in the barn.

Grandma bent down to pick him up.
I touched her softie white hair.
Bats would love that hair, I believe.

"I wouldn't go out on Halloween if I were you, Grandma," I said. "Not with that head of hair."

Grandma Miller did a little frown. Then she fluffed her hair very much.

Ian's perspective on things

So, apparently, when Todd moved our old kitchen table and chairs to its new home at Ian's house, Ian thought Todd was part of the package. Heather says when anyone tries to sit in "Todd's chair," he points his finger and gripes at them and says, "No! Ta's! Chair!"

He's probably wondering why Todd keeps forgetting to show up for dinner.

Isn't it ironic...don't you think

Ryan reported Friday that the choir nominated him for homecoming king/court. Each club gets to nominate a boy and girl, I guess, then the school votes. I told him it's ironic that when I was a highschooler, the way you gained popularity and nominations for things like the homecoming court was by being like everyone else--the same clothing, down to the brand and buttons on the fly and alligator on the...um, yeah, on that; the same hairstyle (Do I hear "wings," anyone? Oh, wait that was jr. high); the same neighborhood; and so on. Sameness equalled popularity.

These are the days, my friend. Here is what I came home to one evening recently. Here is your Summit choir choice for homecoming king:


And, yes, he did wear this to school.

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out
(from Ironic, Alanis Morissette)

Only in Tejas...and maybe Arizona and a few other places

Tonight while waiting for a pizza at Little Caesar's, I overheard one of the workers say to another, "It's supposed to be cold tonight." The low is supposed to be 59 degrees. We did enjoy our short cold snap today. High was 82, I think, and it was cool enough to play outside with Ian today while I watched him and his mama went to a "Baby Darce" appointment. (That's what he calls the new baby coming. Her name is going to be Darcy.) We played in the back AND the front yards and I took some silly pictures, some Ian pics, and some flower pics (which I haven't done in a while). Some pictures were all three! I think I'll post some here.

More on 9/11

I completely forgot about this photo I took last fall when we were in Newport, RI. Walking toward the little arch on the cliff walk where someone had painted the phrase "Love is Life," (I have it in my profile pic), I came across this. I have a little obsession with photographing graffiti, and usually it creates positive feelings (like here), but this chilled me. I've wondered ever since what the artist's thoughts were as he or she created this. (Click on the photo to see more detail.)

Whisper "Hope"

Does talking to your daughter in the car after you just dropped her off at school mean you are losing your mind, or does it mean you were distracted from everyday life for a moment by the radio while you listened to the bell toll and the names of those killed from DFW in the 9/11 events five years ago?

Everyday life is much the same, but completely different than it was five years ago. Some days, hope is a distant concept when reading the news, others it's so tangible you can feel it.

I remember curling my hair on 9/11/01 and stopping halfway through to listen in disbelief to the reports on the radio. I don't remember curling the other half. I remember lying in bed that night and several more, waking every hour or so to surprising emotion as I imagined myself in the shoes of victims and their families.

Earlier today, God gave us a metaphorical reminder in Arlington of his constant presence. The bright sky suddenly darkened and there was a fast and hard rain shower, followed by the burst of sunlight, unveiled again. Even in the storm, the sun was there.

Gently whisper "Hope."

Wow.

Wow.

Wow.

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

Who really runs the world?

I'm observing 13th birthday girl party dynamics this evening and contemplating one of life's little ironies.

Why is it that (loud) people have no qualms about asking, "Why are you so quiet? You never talk," and nobody seems to think it rude. BUT...it is considered in poor taste and we (quiet people) can only dream of saying, "Why are you so loud? You never stop talking."

Hmm.

What the challah's that?

Hey, I just realized I never posted the promised pictures of challah bread baking. (For the whole story, see all the July 5th posts.) I have nothing of value to report tonight, so I'll just do this:

And this:

(Doesn't the one on the left look a little like a roasting chicken?)

And this.

One just had to rebel a little.

Yum. I think I need to bake more challah very soon.

Book report

(I'm double posting this on both blogs...because I can.)

Last night, I finished reading The Tenth Circle, Jodi Picoult's most recent novel.

While not my favorite Picoult story, the presentation itself was unique. She used a cartoonist to graphically illustrate the book between sections, portraying a superhero and his travels through the different levels of hell (a variation on Dante's Inferno). Each cartoon revealed the emotions of the main character--in fact it was written as if he were drawing the cartoons.

I was never a big comic book fan (except Archie and Jughead--I bought every one of those books for months and months when I was a kid--and The Family Circus--my eyes still naturally gravitate toward that circle when I randomly open the newspaper to the comics. I have piles of both of those comic books hidden away somewhere in a box in the attic). Superheroes especially bored me to tears, so I struggled to concentrate on these drawings in the book long enough to "get" them, but wow, what a creative idea!

A surprise awaits the reader at the end of the book. Kind of gimmicky, but fun...and dare I say, educational. :) Other than going back to study a writer's technique, this is the first time I've ever flipped back and forth through a book for an extended period of time after I finished reading.

Oh, that I (or my future publisher anyway) should have such a creative idea for a novel one of these days.

Awed

Do you ever hear just a sliver of a song and become immediately hooked? I was watching a Grey's Anatomy rerun tonight and near the end, part of a song was played that started giving me chills. I snagged a few lines of the lyrics and plugged it into Google and came up with Foy Vance. His myspace songs drew me in nearly as much as this one, but dang, this is good. I just downloaded my first ever Itunes song. I've played it about 10 times already.

If you like Damien Rice, you will be mesmerized. The voice and the message are simply amazing.

Foy Vance - Gabriel and the Vagabond

There's a man in one corner and his clothes are worn
And he's holding out his hand
You could see in his eyes as the people walk by
He knows they don't understand

Ya see they just think he's gonna take their money
And go and spend it all on dope
Then a man stopped by and I saw a smile inside
As he gently whispered hope

Well the tramp started to cry, just kept saying,
"Why? why? why?
Can't you see I'm down and out
Well, I'm 32 and I've got this one pair of shoes
And a bad taste in my mouth
I think it's clear to see that even God don't love me
Or else why would He leave me this way."

Then Gabriel just smiled and said be peaced my child
Salvation is here today

He got up to his feet and he sang Hallelujah
People were turning around in the street
He looked them in the eyes and he sang,
"Hallelujah
There's someone here that you gotta meet
Someone you just gotta meet."

When the vagabond turned 'round well without a sound
Gabriel just smiled and disappeared
Then he looked to the crowd and they were laughing out loud
But he could not see them for tears

When his vision came round
There was a young girl on the ground
And he knew she was finding it hard to cope
She never was a fighter until he lay beside her
And gently whispered hope

They got up to their feet and they sang
Hallelujah
People in the street were turning around
They looked them in the eyes and they sang,
"Hallelujah
There's someone here we have found"

They sang,"Hallelujah, Hallelujah
We are the voices crying in the wilderness
Hallelujah, Hallelujah."
The people in the street started their sins to confess
And a chorus of,
"Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Every knee will bow and every tongue confess
I'm the voice of one crying in the wilderness
crying
Hallelujah, Hallelujah"

Calgon, please. And yes, I'd like to super size that.

May I just scream that BACK TO SCHOOL WEEK SUCKS!!!!

Thank you.

(Anyone know where I can find two packages of 9X12 manila paper?)

Back, but not back

I'm back from vacation, but my brain has not yet decided to follow. I'm too lazy to write much, so will just post some pictures from our trip that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I hope you enjoy them, too. Click on the picture for an enlarged view.

Here is Grandma Vera with her "Sweetie Pie." The look on her face was priceless. :)

She seemed pretty enamored of her first visit with the girls. She wanted Steak 'n Shake for lunch, so we went and here are the resulting girls with hats. I'm not sure what Emilie has in her mouth.

We didn't know this little boy, but he sure was hamming it for me, and I think Kristen was his hero. She seems to have that effect on little boys.

Our first road-trip picnic. Todd's arm was okay, it was just taking a little rest on the cooler.

My own personal Alice Peacock concert at the Apple Store. She is a very down-to-earth lady and talked to us for several minutes after the show.

The girls trade legs at Rocky Ridge Farm (where Laura Ingalls Wilder lived out her days with Almanzo).

That's all for now.

Kristen deserves her own blog...

...because she says the darndest things. Every day, including today.

Kristen, standing at the counter, making dip out of picante sauce and sour cream, banging quite loudly on the glass bowl as she stirs. When she finishes, she says:

"I had to be a real cook. Real cooks make lots of noise."

Kristen says the darndest things

I've decided to make this a regular feature. It's not difficult.

Emilie is coming home from LA tonight. She's been gone a week. Kristen and I were sitting in the parking lot of Schlotzky's this evening eating our drive-thru meals because we could. It's been a little cooler the last few days and we could actually turn off the car and open the windows without turning green and screaming I'm melllllllltinggggg...

So, Kristen asked when Emilie and her friend were getting home and I told her in about an hour or two.

She said, "I've kind of forgotten what she looks like."

This, her sister of 9 years.

I said, "That's kinda crazy! How could you forget what your sister looks like in a week?"

She said, "I have lost-term memory."

EDIT: Waddya know, I don't recognize her, either. Someone stayed in California and sent this mysteriously mature looking creature in her place.

A special day...a year later

If this doesn't say time flies, I don't know what does. Hard to believe that a whole year has passed since I wrote that post, and my little baby is another year wiser.

Happy Birthday, Little Kricket!

Walking...after midnight...

You never know what you might see driving after midnight in Texas. I had to run a little girl home who was spending the night with Kristen because she wasn't feeling well. She wasn't feeling well before she came, but decided to take a chance. Didn't work, but at least Kristen had company for a few hours tonight. She is lonely with her big sister and two best friends out of town.

I'm driving along, radio low, two half-asleep girls in the backseat, and see several unusual things as I go. I don't live in a quaint old neighborhood (such as Charlestown/Bunker Hill, MA...sigh...) or a place that never sleeps (NYC so I've heard?). This is suburban America. Cookie cutter neighborhoods, where the cars and bikes are in the garage and the porchlights are turned off at 10 p.m., except for the Motel 6. Well, there aren't any Motel 6s around here, but you know.

I guess the heat is just leading folks to do things late, late at night when it's cooler--when it's "96, feels like 99" instead of "106, feels like 116."

One gentleman was carrying a bag of groceries home from the Neighborhood Market, still dressed in his white shirt, tie, and black pants.

Two teenage boys were just walking...who knows where? I hate that I thought "I wonder if they have a gun" as I drove by, but more and more that is not so farfetched, even in this suburban area.

The best thing was a tall, lanky man leading a skinny little girl by the hand down a sidewalk, a convenience store a block or so away the only obvious destination. My first thought was, "Why does that guy have that little five-year-old girl out walking after midnight? She oughta be home in bed asleep." (Not that my own children were home in bed asleep, but you know.)

As I watched them for the brief instant it took to pass by, though, I thought, "No...that is a good daddy." A scene came to mind that I hope is true.

The houses in the neighborhood next to where they are walking are aging--at least 15 or 20 years old. I would imagine the air conditioners in some are not humming along as well as they used to.

I'll just bet that little girl was struggling to get to sleep in a hot house, tossing and turning. Finally, she gives up and walks to the family room where her daddy is watching television, trying to make himself sleepy enough to fall into bed and get some rest. Rubbing her eyes, she says, "Daddy, I can't sleep...it's too hot!"

The young father runs through his options. A drink of water? A cool rag? They might help for a moment or two, but what is the best way to help this little girl go to sleep. Should I? No...people will think we're crazy. But, maybe. Yep, let's do it.

"Honey, get your shorts on. Let's take a walk down to the gas station and get something cold."

Eyes huge, the little girl runs and puts her droopy shorts on under her mama's castoff t-shirt, slides her tiny toes into her flip flops, and hurries to the front door, where her daddy is waiting. She is relieved he doesn't change his mind before she's ready.

He grabs her hand, and they walk the two or three blocks to the gas station, pay for the extra-large cherry Icee, and off they go, back toward the house. He takes occasional sips, but mostly enjoys watching his daughter's sunken cheeks as she tries to finish it before they get home. She pauses to cast the occasional comment about what she observes around them.

"Daddy, look at the stars. They are winking at us!"

"Daddy, there are a lot of people driving so late. I bet they wonder what we're doing walking down the street in the middle of the night!"

He smiles and enjoys her wonder.

When they get back to the house, he gives her a few more minutes to sip on the icee, then tells her to put the rest in the fridge in case she gets thirsty again and run to the potty. Afterwards, she gives him a big hug and kiss before settling back into her now strangely soft and cool Dora the Explorer sheets.

"Thank you, Daddy. You're the best daddy in the world."

The daddy watches for a few minutes while his little girl drifts quickly to sleep. He is thankful he ignored the practical voices in his head and stole a few precious moments with his little girl, walking after midnight.

Kristen says the darndest things

Todd, Emilie, and Kristen are sitting around the coffee table playing 21. Kristen (8) is our little random comment maker, and keeps us in stitches most days. She's been on the loud side today a few times, screeching things for no apparent reason. A minute ago, she screamed, "Twenty three!!!" which got my complete attention away from surfing, and even stopped the other card players in their tracks.

We all looked up and she leaned back in the rocking chair and said, "I'm harmless."

Between Yesterday and Someday Soon

"Again! Again!"

How many times have you watched a father laugh to hear that when he's just caught his two-year-old daughter after throwing her in the air and catching her a hundred times, or a mother after her five-year-old son swims across the pool to her for the 23rd time in the same afternoon? The joy seems to be not in the fleeting seconds in the air or the water, but in the anticipation of doing it over and over again.

Like little children, we tend to live in the "between" places. We remember yesterday, hope for tomorrow, and often forget about today. As a child, I counted the days until summer. As a teen, I gazed up at a starry sky, dreaming of first love. Three times, I counted the days until I could officially cross the stage and flip the tassel to the opposite side of the mortarboard. I anxiously watched my belly grow centimeter by centimeter—once...twice...three times until my little ones entered the world, wailing and squinting at the cruel light. Then I both anticipated and dreaded the day each would take their first steps and encounter the dangers of a vertical world. (Little did I know my youngest would run instead of walk.)

As an aspiring writer, I dream of the day my first book contract will arrive in the mail and my gift will be "validated," even as I remind myself what Anne Lamott said about that whole thing. My 12-year-old girl counts the days until she's a teenager, while my baby girl counts the minutes until she can giggle and whisper secrets with her best friend again. My raggedy son dreams of a record deal...and also of the day he can have guns tattooed on his biceps without his mother's permission. My husband and I longed for the time when we could have a date night again, and now wonder if there'll ever be one summer night when all three are home in their own beds at the same time. We anxiously count our pennies while we worry about sending raggedy boy to college. There is always something to dream of or dread. Strangely, it often passes when we're not even looking, because we're already thinking about the next big thing.

We always want just a little more. When you've finished redecorating the living room, the family room looks mysteriously shabby. Upon returning from one vacation, you are on the internet planning your next. Your pride in your promotion at work quickly turns to desire for your really big break when your budget so easily adjusts to the raise.

I used to buy the theory that if you weren't living for today, you were somehow living wrong. You've seen the chain email that relentlessly winds its way around the internet, haven't you?

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present. (Author unknown)

Oh, I agree we should strive to live life to its fullest and not waste another minute regretting what's happened or worrying about what hasn't. We should hug, bake bread, and take time to admire the ladybugs, and how many people have expressed regret over not taking the time to say what they should have said while they could have said it?

But, you know, I have recently decided that life is meant to be lived in between. More than one person has penned lines to the same effect. The only solo I ever sang said it perfectly, and I didn't even realize it at the time because I was so hopelessly nervous, worrying that I'd pass out before I finished. In "Reaching," songwriter Carolyn Arends wrote:

The more we learn the more we know
We don't know anything
But still it seems a tragic fate
Living with this quiet ache
The constant strain for what remains
Just out of reach

Can't you just relate to that? But then, at the end of her song, Arends tells us:

We are reaching for the future
We are reaching for the past
And no matter what we have we reach for more
We are desperate to discover
What is just beyond our grasp
But maybe that's what heaven is for

Folk singer/songwriter David Wilcox takes it even further by hoping when he gets to "Someday Soon," there's still a bit wrapped up with a red ribbon:

Now if heaven is perfection
I'll get my deepest questions answered
Like a child tears into presents
To a Christmas tune
But in that big hall,
Let there be a bright red ribbon
That stays wrapped around the mystery
Of Someday Soon

Someday Soon made a promise I will follow
Someday Soon is why I try
Someday Soon told me:
"Take this cup of empty hope
Up to the well that's dry
Where there's just enough of
Someday Soon to satisfy"

So, on those days when I'm feeling a little blue, aching with that nervous sense of anticipation...of what might be, I try to remind myself that we are here on earth to live in between, and the things we truly seek lie just on the other side of Someday Soon, right where they belong.

This story was inspired by this month's Blogging for Books contest at Faster Than Kudzu, the blog of Joshilyn Jackson, author of gods in Alabama and Between, Georgia.

New Music Thursday...or Friday

I just got an email telling me my autographed pre-order of Alice Peacock's new CD Who I am shipped, and checked the USPS site and it arrived in Arlington this morning. That means it'll probably get delivered tomorrow...or even today, who knows?!

If you have not checked her out, you should do so. I saw her when she opened for um...um...um...what was that dude's name? Some well-known folk singer whose name is momentarily slipping my mind because I was so much more taken with Alice Peacock, who did a full set with just herself and her acoustic guitar and her piano for a song or two. She is sickeningly pretty and was cute that night with her hair in a bandana with two braids sticking out, and so down-to-earth and moving that I found a new favorite female singer for the first time in who knows how long.

I posted lyrics to one of her new songs, Runaway Day (which you can listen to on her myspace), on my writing blog a few weeks ago when I made it the soundtrack of my day for writing.

She just happens to be playing a free in-store concert at the Apple Store in Chicago the week we are going there on a road trip later this summer. I didn't even plan that. :) (I usually do plan my travels around concerts, but this time I promise I didn't.)

So, hopefully later this afternoon or tomorrow I'll be peeling open that new CD and listening to it obsessively for the next few weeks!

Up-to-the-second-date

...and they are quite delicious! We have pulled off all the mutant tenticles and eaten them, and now the delicious and pretty loaves are sitting on my stovetop cooling.

Here's where I found the recipe. It's a "quick" recipe, which means we only had to let it rise one time, after it was braided. Of course, it took me and Emilie about two hours just to prepare it, so it was probably the equivalent of rising two times. Watching the instructional video we also found online and then braiding them three or four times each added to the prep time. (Funny how the first one turned out better than the second, though.) I'm sure we can reduce it drastically with practice! We learned the "traditional six-stranded braid" which is "much prettier" according to the video lady. She might not approve of the quick rise recipe, though.

Well, that was fun.

Up-to-the-minute-date

Oh, my goodness! They're getting quite HUGE!!!

Who knew?

According to Wikipedia.com:

Shellac is a brittle or flaky secretion of the lac insect Coccus lacca, found in the forests of Assam and Thailand. Freed from wood it is called "seedlac." Once it was commonly believed that shellac was a resin obtained from the wings of a bug (order Hemiptera) found in India. In actuality, shellac was obtained from an excretion of the female bug, harvested from the bark of the trees where she deposits it to provide a sticky hold on the trunk. Unfortunately there is a risk that the harvesting process can scoop the bug up along with the secretion, leading to its death.
When purified, the chemical takes the form of yellow/ brown pellets, this possibly providing the basis for the "Wing Source Story." Shellac is a natural polymer and is chemically similar to synthetic polymers, thus it is considered a natural plastic. It can be molded by heat and pressure methods, so it is classified as thermoplastic.

I am pretty sure we'll eat the bread now.

Update on Midyear Resolutions

Just letting you know--

1) I haven't used tp ONCE since Saturday for a bookmark.
2) I'm doing okay on the hugs thing. Todd has reminded me a few times. ;)
3) AT THIS VERY MOMENT...I have Challah bread baking in my oven! One very pretty loaf, and one mutant loaf, but they have both risen and doubled and everything else they were supposed to do and they are baking!! I have taken pictures to prove it, which I will post soon (which means here, whenever I transfer them from my camera...mebbe soon, mebbe not). I will take another (or 4 or 6) when they're done. I'm so prouda me! I'll let you know how they taste, unless I decide to shellac them and put them in glass display cases. Maybe we'll eat the mutant one and display the pretty one...

Midyear Resolutions

Yes, did you realize that today is the first day of the rest of your year? I was pondering that heavy thought at 4:30 this morning when my husband was snori....I mean, when I was trying to sleep. ;)

I thought that because I never make New Year's resolutions, I should try to make some midyear ones, and only ones that are somewhat possible to keep so I don't go around feeling like a loser for the next six months. So, here ya go.

1) Do something new and different, or at least different, if not new, most days. (Write myself a note the night before reminding myself what it is I'm supposed to do.) During the night I decided I wanted to make challah bread, maybe in the bread machine. I've already possibly broken this one, because our yeast apparently expired in 2004, although we never noticed. That might be why the last few times we've made bread or rolls it didn't work so well. I love challah and Todd is at the store this very moment purchasing new yeast and more bread flour. We'll see if I can summon up the energy to do it tonight, or I might do it Monday with Emilie.

2) Hug more. (Easy for you to say, but I'm not a real huggy person, so I have to work at it.) Especially my kids, and of course, my Toddy.

3) Stop using sheets of toilet paper as bookmarks. It's embarrassing when I get to the pool, or anywhere in public. It speaks volumes about my reading habits. I have plenty of bookmarks.

So, I've posted it for the world to read--I am now accountable.

Equal Time

Because I've highlighted the creativity of my other two kiddos in the last few days (even if some of it was rather odd creativity), it seemed fair to give a Emilie chance in the spotlight. :)

I think she's picked up my little propensity for taking lots and lots of pictures of the same thing over and over again, hoping for that just right shot. Here are a couple of the things she has found worthy of capturing lately, playing with filters on her digital camera, and taking a photo of her big brother, of whom she is quite proud (although would not admit it freely).

Travels with Santa

Remember my mention of Ryan still believing in Santa and rescuing him from the people who kicked him to the curb?

Check THIS out. If you have to sign up on myspace to see the pictures, it's well worth it. (Except for that one word my son isn't supposed to use that's on there. Maybe his friend typed it. Righhhhht.)

CAVEAT: I take no responbility for comments his obnoxious acquaintances may leave on there. Especially the one from which Santa was rescued. To think he lives just across the street. Whew.

Some pictures of my own to follow...when I load them onto the computer.

Those boys. :0)

For the beauty of the earth

I love it when creativity starts sneaking out of my kids when I least expect it! That says to me maybe I've done a good job here and there encouraging them to find their creativity and letting it bloom. Or, maybe I have nothing to do with it, but whatever. :)

On the way back from taking Em to volleyball camp today, my 8-year-old was riding quietly in the backseat through an oh, so-not-lovely part of the area. There is lots of ugly construction going on, new neighborhoods that already look old and rundown, drainage ditches, and so on. I was wandering through some unfamiliar streets trying to avoid getting back on the not-quite-finished crazy road. It's all kind of in the country.

Kristen spoke up and said, "That's a pretty field."

I looked over, expecting to see maybe a field of wildflowers or something. We have lots of wild sunflowers that brighten up the otherwise dreary and dusty brown places. What I saw was a cornfield. I asked if that was what she was talking about.

She said, "Yes, I like the colors."

The corn is about half-grown, and the fields really are pretty...if you take the time to look. The stalks are about 2 1/2 feet tall, a vivid dark olivey green on the bottom, and the tassles on top are full and a reddish-brownish-yellowy color. And, of course, the perfectly even rows are amazing! Kristen's been really interested in art for the last few years, and especially lately, so I told her she should try to draw a cornfield when we got home. She's working on it! She was questioning me about the exact color of the tassles, and we decided that blending dark red, brown, and gold colored pencil strokes should work.

She's taking a break right now because she felt like cooking something, so she's making some chocolate chip mini muffins. Yummy.

What a smart girl.

More trust, less doubt?

The greater your trust, the lesser your doubt.

I read this on a church sign coming home from lunch today. Todd was in mid-sentence about calling his mom and inviting her over for dinner and I just flat-out interrupted him.

Me: THAT'S NOT TRUE.

Todd: Huh?

Todd (internal thought): It's not true that we should invite my mom over for dinner? What a horrid wife I have married!!!

Me: NO! That sign! It's not true, if you really think about it.

I launched my argument and then told him we could go back to discussing dinner with the family.

My theory is this. On the surface, yes, it makes sense. We trust our spouses, so we don't doubt their love and fidelity. On the other hand, we've been having a lot of discussions in our house lately about beliefs and doubts--both about life and its eternal qualities for us and others around us, as well as moral and lifestyle issues. My son especially has come to the age where he is really exploring his beliefs, making sure that he believes what he does for himself and not just because he was brought up to believe a certain way. I think that's a good thing.

Hence, we come to the argument the sign brought to mind. I personally believe that the more you trust, the more you feel free to doubt. Ryan trusts that we will love and accept him even if he doubts and questions what he has been spoonfed. I trust and am trying to teach my kids to trust that God is a big enough God that he can handle our doubts. In fact, he might be pleased by them. Is that too radical to say out loud? I don't think so. I have been around a lot of people in my life that have been terrified to doubt or tried to convince others that doubts are an abomination.

"If you doubt, you surely lack faith!"

"What? You question what I'm saying? But, God told me this! This from God!"

You see where I'm going? The same God who gave us life also gave us brains and analytical abilities, and I can't see that he would be happy if we were to simply shut down that part of our brain that tells us to question and explore and not blindly believe what others tell us is true.

And having said all that, I have to mention that my son still believes in Santa Claus. He just rescued him from our neighbor's trash. More on that later.

Did they or didn't they?

We went to see The Breakup last night. I had been talking myself in and out of it, but the Old 97s made an appearance, so we had to go. Todd and I met officially at an Old 97s concert, so they're "our band." :) Well, we met at a restaurant before the concert, but you know.

SPOILERS TO FOLLOW...DON'T READ IF YOU STILL WANT TO SEE IT.

So, what did you think about this movie? The reviews are fairly straight on, although it probably didn't deserve a Star Time grade as low as C. It was funny in spots, and heartwrenching in others--mainly, as a friend of mine said after she saw it, because the things they fight over could be fights any of us have, and also because there were several points at which they could have patched things up and didn't.

I asked Todd later if he thought they got back together after the final scene where they meet on a street after a year or so of being apart. He said, "Yes." (He is a man of many words.) I think "No." You could tell they wanted to talk more and see each other, but the politeness was just too awkward. I think they would leave it as a "what if..." forever.

A question I was left with was, "How did she change?" (I am horrible about remembering the names of characters in movies--I can't remember either of their names!) I felt like he finally, toward the end, made some overt efforts to compromise and try more to be what she wanted, but it was too late. On the surface, her efforts were less changing on her part and more "I will be willing to put up with him."

Is this really change? What is change in a relationship? Simply being more accepting of a person "the way they are," or being willing to try to change some things about yourself (even if you're perfect the way you are, in your humble opinion)? Should we try to change, or should we expect others to accept us just the way we are? Tough question. I think perhaps being accepting might be the easier half of that.

I promptly came home and dreamed Todd and I had a horrible fight. It was not pretty. We were on our upcoming road trip, and now I will be really paranoid. Heh. Ryan also had a really rough night last night, and I am praying for him, but not sure how much those prayers are going to help--at least today. I actually fell asleep praying for him last night because I just felt like he needed it, but didn't know how much until this morning. How's that for a mother's intuition?

Weird stuff. Things to think about.

No news is good news, but boring

I feel like I should be posting on my blog tonight, but for a change, I have absolutely nothing to say. What's up with that?

Oh, well. I guess I have blogger's block. I should get some sleep while I can.

World on fire

http://www.worldonfire.ca/

It must be Flag Day

The only reason I guessed is because of the row of flags in front yards leading into my neighborhood. One of the clubs in town places flags in yards on appropriate holidays if you pay them money. Then I noticed a few more in the neighborhood.

I don't know much about this holiday, so I thought I'd look it up. Educationworld.com says, "Flag day recognizes the June day in 1777 when the Continental Congress adopted the 'Stars and Stripes' as the official flag of the United States," and it was observed for the first time in 1877. I must have learned that in school, but I had obviously forgotten.

Our country is in a lot of turmoil right now, and it's hard to find two people who agree about the state of affairs and what should be done. It seems that's what those Stars and Stripes are all about, though. People don't come to this country to agree with each other; they agree to disagree and be united in that. That's what freedom is about. That's my take on it anyway. It's strangely comforting to realize that, at least on that front, we're doing quite well.

So, it's Flag Day here in the U.S., and I do love that pretty red, white and blue and what it's supposed to represent.

Campho-Phenique...It *is* Magic

When you were growing up, what was that one thing your mother always told you would fix anything? In our house, it was Campho-Phenique. That magical tiny green glass bottle, filled with slippery fluid. I have a love/hate relationship with its noxious odor and burn.

When we were kids, whatever happened, no matter what hurt, Mom sent us to the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror for Campho-Phenique.

"Mommy, I cut my pinky toe!"
"Get me the Campho-Phenique."
"Owwww, Momma, it stings! Blow on it! Blow on it!"
"Phhh...phhhh....Sorry! Better?"
"Yes. Thank you, Mommy!"

As we grew, Campho-Phenique taught us independence.

"Momma, I fell and scraped my elbow!"
"Get the Campho-Phenique. It'll sting for a minute, but then it'll feel better. Just blow on it after you put it on."

It even taught us better hygiene.

"Mom, my...um....my...umm...you know, my (whispered) rear end itches."
"Ewww. Take a bath! Then get the Campho-Phenique."
"How'm I gonna blow on it?"
"I don't know. Don't ask me."

Seriously, she thought it would cure anything.

"Mom...Gary dumped me."
"Oh...sorry. Get the Campho-Phenique. No wait. He what?"

Well, almost anything.

And so it went. If Campho-Phenique didn't fix something, we went to the doctor. And we didn't go to the doctor often. When I grew up, got married and moved into a place of my own, I resisted at first, but eventually that little green bottle made its way into my medicine cabinet.

Then, the day came when I heard the words come out of my own mouth. My little boy came running to me with an ouchy, and I said:

"Get the Campho-Phenique."

Whaaaaaaaat? No, I didn't just say that. Was my mother there hiding? No, it was me! I was turning into my mother. I checked around just to be sure. Yep, Scott toilet tissue on the roller. Tide laundry soap on top of the dryer. Goober Grape in the pantry. Her influence was all over the place, and I hadn't completely realized it until the moment I sent my son to the bathroom for the Campho-Phenique.

The magic handed down from generation to generation comes in different shapes and sizes. To some people, it looks like duct tape. To others, Pepto Bismol. My dad swore it was iodine, but Mom cured him, I think.

Yesterday, my 12-year-old came in my office and showed me her pointer finger. She asked me if I could see the angry red bump on the side near her fingernail. I said, "Yep, that's swollen because of a hangnail. Go dip it in Campho-Phenique, let it soak in for a minute, then wipe off the extra. If it stings, blow on it."

A minute later, I heard her come back through the bathroom door behind me. She was talking to herself.

"Campho-Phenique. It cures anything."

I smiled.

This story was inspired by this month's Blogging for Books at Faster Than Kudzu, the blog of Joshilyn Jackson, author of gods in Alabama and soon-to-be-released Between, Georgia.

Video test/Ryan singing

Just experimenting with a video service...not sure if it'll work or not, but if it DOES...this is Ryan leading worship at our church back in February. My boy. :)

EDIT: So, the video was causing problems. My brother said it wasn't working, and it also knocked all my links to the bottom of the page (too wide). So, I'm going to remove it, but include the link here. In the future, I'll just put links.

No, she didn't.

Last night, I took the girls and Heather to see Little Women, the musical version, at Fair Park Music Hall. It would have been a lovely, but fairly uneventful evening, except...

As we were getting close, I pulled into a lane I wasn't sure about. I thought it was a double left turn lane into Fair Park, but I was confused. There weren't any clear signs, and there was nobody behind me, so I was a little worried. When the police officer who was directing traffic began signaling people to turn, I wasn't sure if I should go or not. I waited for him to make eye contact, but he didn't seem like he was going to, so I kept waiting. I certainly didn't want to plow him over or any car who happened to be in my way if I was wrong.

FINALLY...he looked directly at me and with great exaggeration, gestured for me to turn. As I turned, I put my hands in the air and shrugged my shoulders and said, "Sorry!" because he looked a little put out. (I know, stupid women drivers and all, yeah.)

So, apparently, he was put out. He then stuck his tongue out at me!!!!...in a big way, with a big ugly look on his face. I reacted very maturely. I couldn't help it. I stuck my tongue out back at him!!!...with a big ugly look. Just doing exactly what he did.

All hell broke loose in the car. Heather, in the front, didn't see him, and saw me, and started ducking in case there were guns. Emilie, in the back, didn't see me, but saw him and lost forever her perfect vision of police officers. Kristen, in the back, saw him and said with great wonder, as only an 8-year-old can, "Wow, he looks like he's directing traffic with a different finger!"

We were soon all screeching and screaming and hooting.

I didn't get arrested. That's all I have to say about that.

The one that got away

Years ago, I pulled into a parking space at my local megamart one afternoon. I got lucky. Not only did I find a close spot, but I was able to pull through to the spot in front of it so I wouldn't have to back out when I left.

Across the row, a young mother was unloading groceries into the back of her car. Her toddler, maybe 18 months or two years, was sitting peacefully in the cart seat, an unusual thing for a child his age. A "Happy Birthday" balloon was tied to the cart handle. It looked like the mom was anticipating a celebration.

As she busied herself with the groceries, the balloon came loose. It soared quickly into the air, or I might have tried to jump out and catch it, but that was impossible, so I just watched. Without a noise, the toddler solemnly lifted his head and tracked the balloon with his eyes until it was just a tiny spot in the sky.

Eventually, the mother turned her attention to taking the child from the cart. As she did, she realized the balloon was missing. She quickly looked around. Perhaps she thought some selfish human had grabbed it, or maybe she hoped it had come loose, but then become snagged somewhere where she could easily retrieve it. Realizing that wasn't the case, she looked at the baby. He casually glanced back up at the sky.

Following his eyes, the mother looked up as well. By then, the balloon was nearly invisible, blending into the atmosphere, but just present enough for her to spot it. She looked back down at the little boy, rolled her eyes, and shook her head, then got him settled into his car seat and drove away.

I've always wondered what was running through the child's mind as he watched the balloon escape. Was he concerned? I doubt it. He wasn't old enough to realize the importance of keeping it safely tethered to some chair at a birthday party to honor its recipient. I figured he had experienced some other thought or feeling—that of wonder or amazement as this living object (in his eyes) was able to free itself of the cart and soar high into the sky, off to epic adventures in another galaxy.

My only regret that day was one I often have—I didn't have a camera to catch the scene in pictures as it unfolded. As someone said, often "a picture is worth a thousand words." It would have been a fun series of photos, and surely a more vivid way to tell the story of this freed balloon.

It was the one that got away.

One hand in our pocket...And the other one is giving the peace sign

Yesterday, I went on a bus tour of some areas of South Dallas that are struggling for survival. A few folks are putting lots of time and what money they can into revitalization efforts.

You know those areas are there...perhaps they don't look as bad as the pictures of slums in New York City or Los Angeles, but they are still slums. They just have more grass because of all the empty lots and the few proud homeowners who are trying to make a difference.

It was a kind of bizarre experience riding around in an air-conditioned bus. It felt rather like watching a movie. Normally, I'd be in a car and feeling nervous for my safety at points. But, when you're riding in large machinery and the tour guide is a respected pastor in the community who gets waves from the residents as you drive by, it's different.

I also heared on the radio today that only 1 in 6, or 16% of Louisiana kids evacuated to Texas passed the Texas TAKS test.

This all makes me sad. We are so blessed and so not blessed all at the same time here in our United States. I wish I'd had a camera and could have taken a few pictures yesterday.

For instance, of the beautiful little three-year-old boy sitting at the end of his sidewalk in the housing project in his red Little Tykes car, watching us go by...Behind two layers of locked fencing to keep him a little safer from the world around him. He looked stoic, and not unhappy.

The corner grocery store, where kids and adults alike congregated out front in large clusters...the same store where they sell diapers and cigarettes "by the each," or "brown bags" if you don't look like a cop. (Kits for smoking crack, in case you didn't know. I didn't.)

The $27 a day "American Inn," where I could only imagine what goes on behind the closed doors, but they do have "colour t.v.," even in America.

The public high school tennis court, where the white trimming along the top of the net has somehow come undone and droops somewhere near the bottom instead, along with lots of leaves and dirt and months or years of other accumulation. Who has time for tennis when you're fighting for your life many days?

The narrow streets where every other house is boarded up, a few are painstakingly maintained, and the rest have junk spilling out onto the sidewalks from the broken porches and windows.

The beautifully-kept historical Jewish cemetery, where there, at least, it looks like people either respect the grounds, or someone does a lot of cleaning up on a regular basis.

The scrap metal shop open 24 hours a day; the other one that opens at 11 p.m., where money can be had for church air conditioners and the police don't respond to the call until four days later.

The True Lee Missionary Baptist Church, where a congregation and pastor, and his father before him, have struggled for something like 60 or 70 years to exert a positive influence on a community that is vastly covered with concrete parking lots created by "eminent domain" for the State Fair 20 years ago. The pastor is dressed in a suit and tie on a Wednesday evening, and directs the bus driver to stop while he goes to the door to pick up his wife, in a black Sunday dress, after he takes the time to direct our casually and expensively dressed group around his neighborhood.

Truly a humbling experience, and although I went to high school in a similar neighborhood in Denver, it has been a long time since I had a reminder of what is tucked away in our country. We are definitely a nation of disparities.

What can I do? I'll have to think about that.


(FYI...Title of post borrowed from Alanis Morissette, "Hand in my pocket." Wish I could say it was my idea, but it's not :-) I just thought the whole song lyric fits well with this subject, from my POV.)

On time Mother's Day gifts

Well, Emilie's would actually qualify as early. It was earlier than I wanted to wake up, anyway. :)

She and her best friend worked really hard all weekend making me and her friend's mom unique gifts. They got Elena's dad to take them grocery shopping Friday night (and I didn't even question why Emilie wanted to go grocery shopping with her friend's family--you know how pre-teen girls are--they just want to be together!). They bought all the ingredients for and spent that night and a few more hours Saturday cooking and creating. We got baskets with all kinds of chocolate goodies, and a little homemade recipe book with all the items' recipes. It was so cute! There was even chocolate sushi. I must say that was interesting...I didn't eat it all. Rice apple juice, chocolate and some other stuff. The word sushi just make me a little nervous, and it had all kind of liquified. Chocolate chip muffins and scones...yum!

So, Emilie couldn't stand it any more and woke me up about an hour before I really needed to get up to bring it to me in bed. Awwww :)

Ryan's gift was actually kind of early and on time as well. Last night he performed at a local coffeehouse for several hours. I got there late with a few people we had over to the house for the Mavs playoff game and hamburgers. He had already played one of my favorite cover songs (Kathleen by Josh Ritter), but with lots of yelling from me and the audience, he was convinced to play and sing it again just for ME! It was cute. He said "Julie" instead of "Kathleen" in a spot or two and the teenage girls just beamed. That was very strategic. Many brownie points with the ladies for that one, I'm sure. Hehe. He also gave me a card and chocolate today.

Kristen painted me a beautiful picture of flowers and waited all weekend for Tood (as she spells it on occasion) to take her to Hobby Lobby to get the perfect card she had seen the weekend before while with a friend. Unfortunately, it was gone, but she found me a cute one anyway.

This morning (well yesterday by now) at church, I also got a special rose and babies' breath from my little foster daughter from last year. She is a cutie and always comes to me for a hug and a chat each Sunday. She is a reader and today we talked about books and how she likes the Boxcar Children books that I also liked when I was a little girl. I need to pick out some special books for her for a late birthday present.

I got a nice long nap this afternoon before freaking out watching Grey's Anatomy and working for 4 hours!

Early Mother's Day gifts

My 8-year-old brought me some early Mother's Day gifts home from school today. Those are the kinds of things you always look forward to and hate to ever throw away. Hers are a special joy--we never quite know what to expect.

Today, I received an acronym of sorts (don't think that's the right word, but you know...) of the word "Mother." You know, the thing where you list all kinds of words that start with the letters that represent what the whole word means to you.

So, I was reading along...
Memories...Mine...Magical...
Hmm, this is all sounding pretty good.
Magnificent...MAXIMUM CONTROL??

I had to stop reading, choke, and then quiz K on this. She explained that they were all just throwing out words in class that could go there and she was just writing them down. Okay, I felt a little better.

So, the next item...a fill in the blank sheet decorated rather nicely, "These are the Top 10 Reasons Why I Love You."

I love my mom because she reads me books. (Awww! I do???)
I love my mom because she helps me do my homework. (Well, on occasion. I'm terrible at it. Very impatient.)
I love my mom when she makes me laugh by telling jokes. (She's got me mixed up with Emilie, but okay, I'll take that.)
I love my mom because she taught me how to spell.

HUH????

Those of you who know and love me and my girl are rolling on the floor laughing now.
For those of you who don't, let's just say that I'm a great speller and a terrible teacher.
:)

Chillin'

Just sitting here at the kitchen table, at the end of a long afternoon of work, listening to my son play a song for me. He doesn't exactly say, "Let me play a song for you." He just comes to wherever I am (and I mean wherever...thank goodness for bathroom doors) and starts playing.

I usually just let him play and sometimes we interact and I give him some advice (they are usually songs he's in the process of writing). I am always flattered the next time he shows up with the same song and has taken some of my advice. :) I tell him I expect part of the royalties one day.

I always feel guilty when I am in the middle of something where I can't give him much attention, and sometimes even have to gripe at him when I'm doing something as heinous as trying to carry on a phone conversation when he appears. ;)

It's not one of those moments. Nice song...and he did take some of my suggestions! If we can get my input jack fixed on my computer, he'll be able to record some of these new songs and post them on his myspace site.

Just eating my salad

My mom and I have started an informal tradition since I started working from home, moreso in the last few months--Salad Day. She runs by Jack-in-the-Box on her way home from her volunteer work, usually on Tuesdays, but this week today, and picks up salads for our lunches.

She is far more salad adventurous than I and gets different kinds, sometimes even insisting on going to different fast-food joints...bleh!!! They're not the same. I want my Jack-in-the-Box Southwest Chicken Salad. It has this yummy grilled corn among other things. The little cheese stick things that come with it are way too spicy (and I love spicy stuff) and I substitute a 100 calorie pack of Cheese Nips. One salad is probably enough to feed two or three people, but I manage. It's my weekly somewhat healthy/somewhat bad lunch treat.

I have noticed something kind of funny about this tradition, though. You know how when you're eating a salad you sometimes get to the bottom of the bowl and it's all lettuce and no goodies? Dressing, corn, cheese, etc.--the stuff that makes it really not so good for you? Well, I am obsessed with making sure my salad is even. I have found myself arranging it in different ways every week, trying to make it come out right.

It comes with all the toppings arranged around the top of the salad in their own little piles. I wish they would just go ahead and mix them up and then dump them, but I can see the value in it--I always take the purple onions off and maybe other people don't like grilled corn, or black beans, or whaever. (Hungry yet?)

One week, I dumped the whole thing in a bigger bowl and mixed it all up. (And yes, it did almost entirely fill a large mixing bowl. That was a mistake.) Most weeks, I literally pick up little piles of the toppings and drop them around evenly, but it's really difficult when they're in piles to begin with. It never comes out exactly right. Some weeks I'll use most of the dressing packet right away and mix it up with a fork really well. Others I'll put a little dressing at a time, rationing it as I go.

I kind of did that today, only I tried something else new. Instead of eating bites randomly here and there from the salad, I started in one spot and worked my way around until I was finished. That worked pretty well. I was able to control the amount of topping that ended up in each portion better, and my last bites had a little bit of all the goodies.

As I was eating, I thought, you know, THIS IS REALLY WEIRD!!!! There is definitely something obsessive/compulsive going on here. As one of our friends used to tell my mom, my O/C was showing. I am NOT usually a really organized person. This is strange considering I have a library science degree, I realize, but...

I have problems with piles appearing here and there in the house, and they tend to drive Todd pretty nuts. What is it about this salad? Is there a control issue going on here?

Or ... am I just eating my salad?

Poor neglected julielayne

I've been away on vacation for several days, and now I am up against a large, looming deadline for work. I most likely won't be posting much for the next week or two. That makes me sad. I have lots to say, but not much time to say it!

:(

Diva hair

You must check out this picture of my baby girl that Heather posted on her blog. It is hilarious! Kristen has tons of hair, and it is out of control, but rarely this out of control!! It was a windy day for an Easter egg hunt.

When I showed it to Kristen, she insisted that I call Heather IMMEDIATELY and ask her to remove it. Righhhhht.

Diva hair for a diva girl...

Carpe Diem

My morning started like this—

I went out the front door to take Kristen to school. My neighbor from a few doors down was out in the street with her little ones, about ages 2 and 3, feeding the ducks that wander around our neighborhood.

She was in her pajama pants, t-shirt, messy hair, and barefoot. The kids were in their princess and batman underwear, no shirts, barefoot. Time was of the essence…

Seize the day.

Warning...

Lonnnnng post below. If you want the abbreviated version, here it is:

Free Bebo Norman concert rocks.
David Wilcox is da bomb. His much more expensive concert will rock.
Me and my music obsessions are a package.
Love me/deal with it.

;)

Sometimes the best things in life ARE free...

...and sometimes they're not.

Tonight we got to see Bebo Norman for free at a concert celebrating the end of a canned food drive for Mission Arlington. It was just the kind of Bebo concert I've been craving. The last two we've been to were ones where he shared the music stage with a few other solo musicians and so only got to play 5-6 songs. They were great, but just not the same as Bebo and Gabe Scott on the stage, just the two of them and about a million musical instruments, all of which can be played by Gabe. Tonight, he played the hammered dulcimer, dobro, slide guitar...and the accordion. Oh, yeah, and the keyboard. Bebo was his usual humble self playing the acoustic guitar.

Lake Arlington Baptist Church is kind of "in the round," and we were only about five rows back, so it was a great up-close view, too. They played about ten songs or so and as this type of concert usually is with Bebo, it was a time of not only incredible and inspiring music, but worship.

Strangely enough, the "opening act" was two ex-NFL players--Shawn Harper and Keith somebody. They did a kind of "power team" deal before each speaking for a while. The little boys (=males 1-99 years old) enjoyed watching the phone books being ripped in half and the skillets being rolled like enchiladas, the hot water bottles blown up til they burst, and the baseball bats snapped in two. :) They were funny, but also inspiring when they spoke.

So, that was the "some of the best things are free" event of the week.

On the other end, I get to see my other favorite musician on Saturday night in Malibu, CA. Todd and I are going to take a long weekend to celebrate our anniversary late and spend some time with my brother, his wife, and their cute little almost-four-year-old son, Aaron. We were planning to see David Wilcox at McCabe's Friday night, which is a guitar shop that hosts concerts. My brother warned me I needed to buy tickets early because they sell out fast, but...stupid me!!!...I forgot to call right away. They didn't go on sale until about a week after we bought our plane tickets, and must have sold out in just a day or so, because when I called, they were already gone. I was bummed.

So, the backup plan. Dave was originally playing only in Malibu at Pepperdine's Smothers Theatre, but the McCabe's show came up and was closer, and half as expensive. So, I was relieved that at least we could see him at Pepperdine, even though I was not crazy about the doubled ticket price. Unfortunately...when I called to get tickets, they were also sold out!

Talk about kicking myself...again. They told me to call back a few days later to see if they had decided to open up the orchestra seats, so I set all kinds of alarms on my computer calendar and cell phone--even had my boss make a meeting 30 minutes later than he had planned. I told him I had to make an important call and obviously I have some kind of influence over him that he agreed. :) So, that day, I called and they told me they didn't think they were going to open it up after all. I was not a nice person the rest of that day.

Thursday, I decided to give them one more chance to make my day. We needed four tickets--me, Todd, my brother, and his wife. I said a quick prayer. "Please, God! Please, God! Please, God!"

I called and asked if by any chance they had decided to open up the pit. The girl checked and said no. I asked her if it was something they just decided randomly to do or what. She said they didn't usually open it until they were completely sold out, and I told her that the other girl I talked to said they would probably open it because they were down to only single tickets here and there. At this point, she said, yeah, that's right, how many tickets do you need? I told her four, and she said (at which point my jaw began slowly making a descent down my face) "Well, we have four tickets in row D, center, that just came available. Would you like those?"

Whoa. I said "Um, yeah, we'll take them." I was pinching myself because that was really bizarre. At that point, the very expensive ticket price seemed irrelevant and I handed over my credit card number with no hesitation. :)

Now, to some people this may seem silly. I have had family members ask me if the only reason I was wanting to go to LA was to see David Wilcox and if the visit with my brother wasn't an important enough part of it that the concert issue shouldn't matter. The answer is no...and yes...and no.

We did plan the trip date around the fact that Dave was doing a couple of shows that weekend. I was really mad at myself for not calling when I should have. My brother and his family are lots of fun and I can't wait to see them--it's been a long time and I don't get to see my family very often. If we go and for some reason we don't get to see David, I will be happy anyway for that fact alone.

BUT...(big butt. hehe)...here is what I explained to my patient but curious husband the other day.

Sometimes there is something that happens in your life that has a profound influence on you. Maybe if you discovered it at another time in your life, it wouldn't have been the same. David Wilcox's music is one of those things for me.

I found his music (through Heather and Fabian's influence) at the time when I was a single mom, really struggling with making it on all levels--financially, spiritually, emotionally. He has a way of putting into words...and sometimes into just a little run of guitar notes...what my mind and heart was trying to say or feel. When I would go to a concert or listen to one of his CDs during those really rough years, the music and lyrics just touched that part of my soul that needed touching and healing, and I believe it was a big part of me being able to "just get on" in my life. I think God really placed that in my life at the right time. Todd recognized this, and even had a phrase from one of those songs inscribed in my engagement ring. We played a couple of David Wilcox songs at our wedding.

People make fun of me sometimes for my little obsession. I know it's in love and not really mean-ness. Believe me, it's not one of those musician crush things. I can proudly say I save all my celebrity love for Matthew McConaughey, Hugh Grant, and Colin Firth.

So, I said all that to say this. When I invite the important people in my life to listen to David Wilcox, or go to a concert with me, I'm just wanting to share something with them about me. I'm not insisting that they are as moved as I am by the music, or necessarily even like it. I just want to say, hey, look--there is this thing that really helped me through and I want to share it with you so you can see a little bit of me through this. My brother and his wife are important people in my life, and so I will share this with them.

So, you see, sometimes the best things in life are free...and sometimes they aren't.

When your love grows cold
and your heart grows dark
and the blame seems to fall on you.
Well, look how seasons must change
and don't think it so strange
that your love goes in circles too.

And just know
that your sun will shine
just as sure as this world can spin,
and I know you'll find,
that it's almost time,
for that love to come 'round again.

We can hold on fine,
cause it almost time,
for that love to come 'round again.

(David Wilcox, "Almost Time", from Nightshift Watchman)

Thank God I'm Usually a Outta Control Music Mom

We are playing sports parents for a couple of months again. Emilie is playing volleyball with the 5th and 6th grade league. Her friend's dad is coaching their team, and he is great--very positive, doesn't argue inappropriately with other coaches, refs, or parents, etc. Em's going to try out for the jr. high team in the fall, so we figure it's good practice. She has fun.

Then there are the parents.

Today, the officiating was most definitely poor. Our girls lost a couple of points that were clearly in their favor and ended up losing the games. The refs were a couple of teenage girls that were rarely even looking at the BALL when the points were made. They were too busy checking to see if they looked cute. They deferred to the other coach. Arrgh. It was more upsetting because once the points were called wrong, the girls lost their momentum after doing fairly well up to that point. Mark (the coach) was good at the end of the game about pointing out that even if they had gotten those two points, they still lost by 10, so it wasn't anything to lose sleep over--they needed to concentrate on the big picture and not one part of the game. They went ahead and played the third game for practice and almost won--until more bad calling near the end of the game. The other coach seemed quite serious, and it was bizarre...her girls cheered much more after winning that game (the one that didn't really matter) than the first two that did.

BUT...
Here's the thing that annoyed me more. There was a particular mom from our team. I was sitting in front of her. Most of the parents were upset and muttering a bit, but she was loud and obnoxious. About the game. About the other kids wandering around. About everything. She was going on and on. And on. At one point, she said (something like), "I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE KIDS AND PARENTS THESE DAYS. IF I HAD GONE OUT IN MY PAJAMA PANTS AND MY UNDERWEAR SHOWING ON A SATURDAY MORNING, MY DAD WOULDA BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA ME. WE COULDN'T EVEN GO AROUND THE HOUSE IN BRA AND PANTIES IF HE WAS HOME. HE WOULDA BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA US. IF MY KIDS ACTED LIKE SOME OF THESE KIDS ARE ACTING, I'D BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA THEM. AND THEY KNOW IT. THAT'S WHY MY KIDS ARE IN CONTROL. THEY KNOW HOW TO BEHAVE AND KNOW IF THEY AREN'T IN CONTROL, I'D BEAT THE CRAP OUTTA THEM."

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

There's something quite lovely and refreshing about those calm, formal music competitions. First, they are few and far between. Second, most of the time we parents are simply listening proudly while the kids are playing concerts and sometimes competitions that they've worked toward really hard and for a really long time.

I'm a much better music mom. I haven't got the sports mom thing down yet. ;)

In the news

Yahoo News reported today:

Emotional Wiring Different in Men and Women.

Oh. my. goodness. Who knew? Gamazing.

And this one's for my friend Gail. ;)

TGIF!!!!

Ryan Day

Just wanted to honor Ryan today with my latest favorite pics of him. He told me today he was giving up songwriting because he's so bad. I said, Okay. He said, "What?" and I said, "Let me know when you get back to it." :0)

We had a little talk today about songwriting in comparison to regular ol' writing--about writing everything down, and then prising out the good stuff. I thought it had helped, but apparently it made him quit instead.

I don't think it'll last. He's good, and that's what makes him question himself so much. If he were bad, he'd have no clue.

FYI...the top two pictures were when he and his buddy Nate dressed and performed as the Blues Brothers for a jazz band dinner dance at school. The last one is him in his natural environment--lots of trash, lots of dirty and clean clothes mixed together, and lots of musical instruments. It's scary how much this looks like my room as a teenager, only my room was throwing up books instead of instruments.

Happy 100 to me

Hey, I noticed on my editing page that my last post was my 100th here on julielayne. I've been at it almost a year and so that means I've averaged posting on here once every three days. See, I can stick with something, and wuddya know, it's writing. Snap! (Haha...don't you hate it when people like me [moms] use words like they [teenagers] do? I'm not even sure I used it correctly, but SNAP! I don't really care! Ppphhh.)

I've been neglecting this blog just a little in favor of An Audience of Me lately, but it's always like that with a new friend, isn't it? Okay, I'm scaring myself...talking as though a blog were a friend--especially when it's based on the fact that my multiple personalities are talking to my other one there. Hmm.

Just wanted to say that. I've got stuff to do. I'm going to...take a nap now.

FYI. April showers bring mold here in Texas. Me+mold=bad, bad combo. Itch. Scratch.

This is lesson #1 ......Run

Check out this 4/4/06 USA Today news story:

Waiter rule story

Then this 2000 song:

Rule Number One

One day, you're the waiter.

Heather the Mighty

Oh, Heather, Heather, you are so smart! I was going to reply to your comment and tell the people how you saved my links, but I decided you were worthy of your own little post! For that, perhaps I'll refrain from teaching Ian the names for any more oscure body parts for a week or two. (We're still working on nostrils anyway.)

Duh...I usually make links out of words, but for some reason that day decided to include the whole link. I have now edited it and my links are miraculously back at home. For some reason, Blogger won't split a link into two lines, and it pushed everything on the right to the bottom of the page.

I don't have too many complaints about Blogger besides that, except that the other day I tried to use OpenID, which is a neat new deal where you can comment on other people's blogs that use other services with the identity you use at just about any other blog site. Blogger doesn't support that yet. Waah. OpenID is probably the Anti-Christ anyway. ;-)