Kristen says ...

In a true demonstration of the pitfalls of the electronic age and its effect on families ...

As Todd, Julie, and Emilie sit with their laptops playing on FaceBook on a Friday night ...

Julie comments that Kristen is the only normal member of the family remaining. She has no laptop, no FaceBook, thus, no 21st century life. Todd chuckles. Emilie mumbles (after having wisdom tooth extraction earlier in the day). Kristen says ...

"Can't y'all just talk on FaceBook?"

Apparently, we were interrupting her movie.

Look ma, no hands!

It's pitiful that I haven't updated in more than three weeks, I know. If you're still reading, thanks for checking in faithfully anyway! I guess I'm going to have to start jabbing Kristen in the side to get her to say something new and hilarious, huh? ;-)

Seems like I always post on the first day of school, though, so I must keep up the tradition.

Fall is not in the air here. Not at all. I didn't even get that weird little rush that usually comes with the first day of school, where you can somehow imagine fall is coming, even when it's still blazing hot. Now, if school had started LAST week, in the midst of some cooler, rainy days, maybe.

Today was surprisingly easy for day 1. I'd estimate about 15%, or 10 of the requisite forms are filled out (with exactly the SAME FREAKING INFO as last year! Can we just get a computer generated form to check off "all info the same as last year" puleeeze?!?!).

One started 6th grade, and bopped off with her friends for her second year in a school she likes. One started high school, and I have to admit that Julie of the non-teary first days of school (Can anyone shout, "FREEDOM!" with me?) had just the tiniest little lump in her throat as she drove away from dropping her oldest girl off. (First day privilege. She'll be waiting for the bus at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow with all the other freshmen whose parents believe in building character, saving gas and the environment, and the statistics that say it's safer to rider the school bus anyway.)

I simply had a quick realization that this is child two of three to start high school, and that really makes the remaining years of my hands-on job as a parent seem short. Even more considering how easily she jumped out of the car (well, not really jumped, but she wasn't nervous at all and neither was I). I must be doing something either really right or really wrong for her to be so confident. :)

My consolation is I had my children fairly far apart (five years between 1 and 2, and four years between 2 and 3). Originally, I said it was so I'd never have two in diapers at once, but more to the point, I realized how much I'd enjoy getting to know each one of my kids individually for a pretty long period of time and that I'd be a much better mom that way. We are not all wired the same as moms. (It was also nice having older kids who could tote the stinky diapers to the garage.)

So, Kristen will be a while in coming to this day of starting high school, but I'm sure it'll be here in a flash. And she'll be the one sitting in the car, clinging to my hand, saying, "Noooo! I'm not ready!"

Or maybe she won't, and I'll shake my head again.

Now, if I could just figure out the second-year college student and exactly where my responsibilities lie in helping him become an adult, I might sleep at night. This is harder than I thought it would be.

(photo credit: macwagen, creative commons)

Oh, how they grow

It amazes me to realize this is the fourth year I've blogged on the birthday of my baby girl, who is not so much a baby any more. I just broke my middle child's heart, though, by commenting that I haven't been so faithful about blogging on her birthday. In typical middle child fashion, she hung her head and slunk into her room, then giggled. Then I reminded her she gets a national holiday and a three day weekend around her b-day every year. Blog schmog. Of course, then the younger daughter announced she gets a whole summer vacation.

For her birthday this year, we plan to remove the sign we put up over the window last year. Every now and then we notice it and comment, "We should probably take that sign down sometime. Naw, maybe next year after Kristen's birthday. Why waste a good sign?"

So, here she is, my blue-eyed beauty, another year older, another year bolder, eating our national family food, fresh pineapple, and sporting a hairdo of her own making. I told her when she's 16 or 17 and going to prom, her friends are going to hate her for that curly hair. Let's hear it for the girl.

Sorry for the photo quality. I'm loving taking pics with my cell phone and sending them right to my inbox and have gotten quite lazy.

Bow to the Queen in Charge of the Cat's Delicate Stomach

At 7:30 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed to take the middle kid to colorguard camp, which she has every day all summer. nearly every week all summer. (It feels like every day.) As we walked through the front hallway, she asked, "You know there's cat barf there?" and pointed to the very edge of the carpet--the half inch that comes right before the tile, because that's how our cat rolls.

She has kidney disease and frequent hairballs and pukes a lot. We're not sure from which affliction, but at least a few times a week.

A few minutes ago, my younger daughter passed through and pointed to the same spot. "You know there's cat barf there?"

I predict that before the day is out, my mother or husband will point to the same spot and say, "You know there's cat barf there?" Well, maybe my husband won't. He might actually clean it up because he's cool like that.

If my son hadn't already absconded after only one year of college, he'd probably stroll through and say, "You know there's cat barf there, right?" (He'd add the "right," just for kicks.)

And I even know what you're saying. "Julie, you know there's cat barf there, right? And you haven't cleaned it up a full seven hours later?"

To all of you (minus my reading audience, unless you are one of the other mentioned parties), I say, "YES! I KNOW THERE IS CAT BARF THERE. BUT IF I AM APPARENTLY IN CHARGE OF CLEANING UP THE *FAMILY* CAT'S BARF, I WILL CHOOSE WHEN AND HOW TO CLEAN IT UP. IF I FEEL LIKE PASSING IT BY AND CLEANING IT UP LATER, DAG NABBIT, I WILL. AND ... BESIDES ... HOW AM I ANY DIFFERENT FROM YOU?"

Hmm?

Really, I'm not bitter. I'm not rebelling. It honestly just cleans up better after it dries and gets hard and crusty. Then you can just scoop it up, spray a little Oxy miracle spray on it, and voila! No cat barf or nasty stain from scooping it while it's ... okay, never mind that detail.

But, still. I'm just saying.

Just saying

I'm still alive, I'm just in ...

Where my brother just escaped ...

Just kidding. He's really a pretty normal guy.

Spending time with him and a few more of my favorite guys ...

And one of my favorite girls ...

Not to mention the scenery.

See you when I get back.

A travelogue in several parts

We took a little family trip down to the Hill Country over Memorial Day weekend, mainly to see Ryan play in the Kerrville Folk Festival, but also just to hang out together and make each other crazy for three days, because that's how we roll.

There was much eating, fighting amongst ourselves, sweat, and also many laughs. I had my trusty camera, so I thought I'd share a trip report over the next several days, or however long it takes me to get the pictures posted, depending on Blogger's mood. (She was not pms'ing tonight, and I uploaded 10 shots!!! Wowsers. That's a record.)

So, day one was a fun look at the "real" Texas. We live in fake Texas. In DFW, we are a pretty accurate microcosm of the rest of the world. Other parts, well, they're more Texas, if you know what I mean. If not, well, you've come to the right place.

The blue highways are long and winding, but there are lots of pretty wildflowers to entertain. And fence posts, and poles. (Click on pics to see full-size)

You might have heard we don't have hills in Texas. That is unequivocally untrue. See? Here's one:

And here's the backside:

I guess the Christians weren't too crazy about Cheap Charlies. He must have been a little too bizarre. (You have to click.)

In Texas, we even have outlet malls for RVs.

Nothing like downtown, Main Street Texas. Every business serves two purposes, at a minimum. The restaurant has its own ATM--they probably don't take credit cards.

All are welcome at the Koffee Kup. Bring your Harley, definitely.

Ribeye cookoff? I'm there. Oh, darn, it was LAST weekend. That's an awfully big sign to forget to take down, guys.

Little house on the prairie

We do deer meat? I'm not even going to ask.

Tomorrow, the great festival.

Kids these days

It's been a while since I did a Kristen says, and I can't resist.

We have a policy in our house that if you want someone to sleep over, you have to clean your room before you receive permission. Otherwise, you can be a pig for as long as we can stand it. (I obviously never need to clean my room, because Todd lives here.)

Well, Kristen wanted to have a friend spend the night this weekend, so she called me on one of my numerous chauffeur runs this afternoon to ask. I reminded her she had to clean her room first. (Because, of course, they never remember the rules.) So, she called back about five minutes later to see if she could go play at a friend's house.

Me: Did you clean your room yet?
K: No, it won't take that long later.
Me: Hmm. I think you better decide now. Play now, no sleepover. Clean now, maybe play later, have sleepover.
K: Uh. Okay. I'm cleaning.

10 minutes later.

K: Can I go play now?
Me: Did you clean?
K: Yes.
Me: That wasn't very long ... are you sure? It's really clean? And the floor between your room and the stairs?
K: Yes! To my preference it is!
(You: HAHA!)
Me: You mean to your standards? How about mine?
K: I think so ...
Me: Okay, go play, we'll see when I get home.

3 hours later. Inspector Todd has ascended and removed wadded clothes and towels and papers and toys from strategic hiding places and deposited in the middle of floor. We go up to tuck Kristen in after having reminded her a couple of times to clean it up.

Me: I thought you said you cleaned!?!?!
K: I did, to my extent anyway.
(You: HAHAHA!)
Me: It's still a mess though.
K: Todd pulled all this stuff out!
Todd: But you said you cleaned it up again.
Kristen: (Pulls blanket over head.) I have no response.

That girl.

(I'm gonna cry when she turns 11. This age is freakin' hilarious. Of course, with her, I've been saying that every year.)

Middle child

Poor Emilie, I think I don't blog about her enough. She is an easy kid, so dependable, and such a joiner. We have given up trying to keep up with her activities. She has to tell us where and when she needs to be all the millions of places she goes.

She doesn't have a shy bone in her body--at least not that we can find. Saturday night, she and three of her (girl) friends attended the church youth group's annual Thrift Store Prom. The four of them went to Goodwill ahead of time and purchased two suits and two evening gowns. They were each other's dates. Resourceful little chickadees.

She earns a ton of money babysitting, and is in great demand because she actually plays with the kids and does the dishes (like we were expected to do when we were babysitters years ago). She frequently offers to pay for extra items she needs for band or winterguard or school out of her earnings. Sometimes we let her--I think it makes her proud, and she's learning the value of budgeting her money.

Today, however, I got a little worried she might be experiencing middle child syndrome. The mail came, and we had a packet hand addressed to her from the Thomas Jefferson School in St. Louis. A private boarding school.

Should I be concerned? Hmm?

Scotch tape and glue sticks

Here's a shameless plug. My son posted new recordings of some of his songs on MySpace this weekend, and you can listen to them here. His friend Jarod, who's attending sound recording school and is also a fine musician, did the recording and he did a fantastic job.

Ryan and I definitely have our moments--you know the ones, I don't have to go into detail, do I? But, overall, he is such an amazing (almost 20-year-old) kid, and makes me so proud I could spit.

His writing skilz are impressive, in my oh-so-humble-even-if-I'm-the-mom opinion. Here are lyrics to one song--an older one, maybe two or three years, which would have made him about 16 or 17 at the time, but it remains one of my favorites. As a writer and a mom, the pictures he paints in this song make me get all teary-eyed. It's poetry.

Scotch tape and glue sticks
(This is one of the recordings, and you may listen to it here)

You see me
but it's not me, collapsing beneath my feet
I'm falling
faster and faster, picking up the speed
This takedown
spill my ashes, share me with someone new
This old town
resembles a time that I spent with someone who ...

You loved this
spot beneath the willows, buried by the sound of sea
I will miss
every chance I got to make you so angry with me
And we know that
every part of the sky is a secret
We'll show that
we'll open her up, and reveal the missing thing

The cold wind
inhibits the joints, and makes it so hard to move
We'll speak then
when voices are heard and seen, when traveling between two
It's so quiet
but the wind's indecision will fly, and we'll all change moons
So tell me
So tell me

And I don't want you to fake this
But I'm sure that I will break this
And I really want to shake this
But I'm so alone

And I'm trying to fly away
But these wings won't carry me
They were made in the first grade
When love was easy

And I'm trying to fly away
But these wings won't carry me
They were made in the first grade
When Scotch tape and glue sticks would fix everything

You see me
but it's not me, collapsing beneath my feet
I'm falling
faster and faster, picking up the speed
This takedown
spill my ashes, share me with someone new
This old town
resembles a time that I spent with someone I

Love

© Ryan Pickop

rAWfl catz

Heather insisted it was time to do a new post, but I'm not going to write about what she wanted me to. Oh, no, I'm not.

Instead, I thought I'd do a little tribute to my kitty, Yentl. (No, you may not buy a vowel.) She was diagnosed with kidney failure almost four years ago, and at the time, we really thought we'd be saying goodbye soon, but with the help of a special food, she has maintained a steady weight, a good appetite, and a dang high level of orneriness since.

Unfortunately, she is showing signs now of declining, and that makes me sad. She is being especially affectionate these days, and if you have ever heard stories of Yentl, you know this was not always true.

Anyway, we have taken lots and lots of photos of her in the last few years, and lately, we've been in the lolcats phase. Only, we like to call our shots rAWfl catz. :-) I'll leave you with a few.

Cat'n Jack Spidey

Can cat-ch fur, can do anything

Air cat-tar

Enough with the camera already ...

I know I'm purdy, but geez

You take my breath away

There there's my other hero. The one who literally wiggled and squirmed his way into my life a little more than 19 years ago, and challenges me each and every day.

Ryan's latest blog

I can only hope to write as well as this one day.

My 2007 Super Hero

It only took a 30-minute phone call with my brother on New Year’s Eve to remember that he’s ... well, he’s my brother, and he’s not perfect. Our friendly banter led to the usual rolling of eyes and concessions with casually shrugged shoulders. Important details like, say, the setting for the movie Juno. (Not Texas, as he thought for sure. Minnesota, doofus. I told him so.)

And yet, in spite of all that, I am here to name my hero for the year 2007. It’s my big brother. You can call him Tom, or like me, you can call him Raymy, but never, never, never call him a wimp.

Five months ago this past weekend, his life as he knew it fell apart. I won’t go into the specifics of how things happened, but suffice it to say that when I flew out to stay with him on July 30, he was broken. And, we honestly weren’t sure he could be “fixed.” As a family surrounding this devastated man, we were really scared, to be frank.

But, you could say, in the words of David Wilcox (of course), that my brother is “stronger than ever now, in the broken places.”

Here is a man who was already a great dad. He was, in fact, a most unusual dad for our generation. He was that almost unheard of entity, even in California—a stay-at-home dad. He had been the full-time caregiver for his little son for more than five years. And yet, he also endeavored to keep his own passions burning. He wrote full fiction manuscripts and screenplays and submitted them frequently. He led a stay-at-home dads group when he wasn’t changing diapers or cleaning up puke.

In the last several years, he even took stand-up comedy classes and began performing frequently in comedy clubs around LA as the “Stay-At-Home Dad Comic.” One of the cutest things I ever saw was when my brother asked his little boy to do his own “routine” for me. My four-year-old nephew climbed up on top of the concrete picnic table where we were hanging out in La Jolla and said, “Hi, I’m Aaron, and I’m a stay-at-home kid!”

But as my brother and I trudged around LA last August, trying to take care of all the details of his new life, I took many deep breaths, and said as many prayers under my breath in the space of a week as I had probably said in a year. Please God, let him survive this.

God answered those prayers and more. My big brother is not only surviving, but he is, shall we say, kicking butt.

In an ironic stereotypical role reversal, it was unclear whether he would be able to manage the details of a budget. He’d never had to be the one to do it. And yet, he’s not only been able to manage, but comes up with inventive ways to economize. (You should see the voodoo doll-slash-toothpick holder we got for Christmas. What, you think I’m kidding?)

He knew he’d need an advanced degree to eventually obtain the kind of employment it’ll take to continue to live and raise his son in the place they have called home for years. Yet, I breathed a little sigh of relief when the Master's in Urban Planning program details he’d already been checking out for months showed it was too late to sign up for the fall semester. It’s okay, I said. Take a few months, get on your feet...

Instead, he showed up the first day of the semester unregistered, petitioned the professors to take the classes, was accepted not only to the classes, but eventually to the program, and proceeded to take a full load with final grades higher than most of his classmates. In fact, two-thirds of the others dropped out before the semester ended.

I hoped he might eventually return to his stand-up comic engagements, but thought it might not be a bad idea for him to take a break. After all, his identity as a stay-at-home dad had been shredded to pieces overnight. He’d have to write all new routines, right?

Nope. He didn’t miss a show. He kept delivering the same jokes and callbacks with the same shrugs and pauses, waiting for the laughter of his audience to assure him he was still alive. As we talked Monday, he was preparing to leave for a show at a place he’d performed before—a physical rehab facility where people understand pain. He anticipated a good show—his last one there a few months ago had been one of the best he ever did. His routines have gradually morphed into a representation of who he is today, and he says they’re even better now. He’s got an edge he didn’t have before, after all.

Oh, yeah. Somewhere in between, he has rediscovered his talent and passion for drawing. Over the holidays, we’ve received a nearly daily dose of the black paper and chalk “LA Noir” drawings he’s done to prevent boredom and loneliness while the rest of us have gained 10 pounds watching movies and eating junk.

There is one area he hasn’t changed at all, unless you consider going from amazing stay-at-home dad to amazing single dad and not losing his mind a change. Then again, getting a five-year-old to kindergarten several days a week and then getting yourself to class for the rest of the afternoon and evening and doing a full load of graduate-level homework somewhere in between might be a change from six months ago. Yeah.

So, one other thing. For the last several years, my brother has made an annual Christmas CD and sent it out to parents and siblings, and who knows who else. (Maybe even the president.) In spite of all the great excuses he had, this year was no exception.

He shamelessly ripped the voices of the big guys—Nat King Cole, Burt Bacharach, and the Captain and Tenille (Huh?)—from the originals and crooned, doubled up, and maybe even harmonized himself in recordings that made us smile, laugh, and sing along. He recorded his little guy singing 20 repeats of the dreidel song before he whispered “ENOUGH!”, and then Aaron’s self-written and titled “Banana Boy.” Something about a scary Christmas tree and a robot in perpetual battle?

But, what ultimately made me cry and solidified my brother’s status as my hero of 2007 was his acapella version of a song—sung before by one of his own heroes, Elvis Presley, and often by our dad when we were children. Sung this time by my big brother in a brave, unwavering voice.

There’s a sweet, sweet spirit in this place,
And I know that it’s the spirit of the Lord.
There are sweet expressions on each face,
And I know that it’s the presence of the Lord.

Sweet, holy spirit,
Sweet, heavenly Dove,
Stay right here with us,
Filling us with your love.

And for these blessings,
We lift our heart in praise,
Without a doubt we’ll know,
That we have been revived,
When we shall leave this place.

(Sweet Sweet Spirit/Original, Doris Akers, 1962)

I love you, Raymy. You are my hero, my brother, and my friend.

Let us pause...

...to commemorate two momentous happenings.

1) It's Thanksgiving weekend, and I did not had a single bite of turkey for the first time ever in my whole entire life. We had a sumptuous garlic encrusted pork loin at my FIL's on the actual Turkey day. We actually bought a turkey to make today, but got lazy and stuck it back in the freezer last night (it wasn't at all thawed anyway) and heated up a ham instead. At the last minute, though, I started acting like a mom whose son was home from college for his first Thanksgiving, and we pulled out the ingredients we thought we might stash away for a traditional turkey dinner at Christmas. We made green bean casserole (Todd's dad's favorite. Or not.), creamed corn, smashed potatoes, fruit salad, rolls, and last, but certainly not least, Todd's creation--pumpkin cheesecake. My mom commented that it tasted just like Cheesecake Factory's, and Todd and I exclaimed, a little sarcastically, "How crazy!" It was, in fact, their recipe.

2) We have a Christmas tree up and decorated the Saturday following Thansgiving for the first time in about six or seven years. It's not the "real" tree--the one with crazy colored lights and ornaments handmade since age two by everyone in the household--that one will follow in a couple of weeks so it's not too dry by the 25th. No, this is the fancy schmancy one that gets to shine in the front window with white twinkly lights for passersby to admire and say "ooh! aah!" as they wistfully stare and wish they had theirs up already. Okay, so we finally finished at 12:30 a.m., but it is done. (And besides, when did we ever do anything early in the day?) I told Todd that this is what happens when I'm not stressed out and I'm doing the work I love. :-)

Ha. You thought I was going to say, ""Let us pause to give thanks," or something cheezy like that, huh?

(But yeah, let us. We have a lot to be thankful for.)

Tourists R Us

How can you live in a place for years and not visit what tourists come for miles to see? We're pretty good at it. Nonetheless, we made several traditional Texas stops on our weekend trip.

First, it was Stubb's BBQ for an amazing concert Thursday night. We saw Glenn Hansard (of The Frames) and Marketa Irglova, who perform together as Swell Season, together with several other Frames band members. Glenn and Marketa are the pair who star in Once, the movie I raved over several times a few months ago. It's coming on DVD December 18. Get it! We're buying three copies so there will no bloodshed in the house.

They played several songs from the movie,


as well as songs from their Swell Season CD, and then some standard Frames' stuff, including my favorite, Star Star. (Blogged about it a few months ago.) Also, a cover of Justin Timberlake's Cry me a River. (No, really.)

We went to Katz's Deli after the concert, a favorite UT hangout, which is open 24 hours a day. We cleaned the kitchen out of egg salad on challah with four at the table ordering it. Jay, Gail, and Andy were along for most of the weekend, and Jay was adventurous with the cheese stuffed potato, but there was ewwwwy cole slaw left at every spot at the table, I believe.


Kristen was a little dismayed when we had to traipse through the attached bar to the shared ladies' room and kept her eyes averted from the waitresses dressed as cats. While I was holding Kristen's stall door shut to protect her from any accidental cat invasions, a dazed male customer ventured in. He just kind of looked at me puzzled for a moment.

"Wrong room," I said.
He responded, "Wowwwwwww," turned, and left to go across the hall, I presume.

Friday, we did a tour of Toy Joy, where I spent much too much on things simply for the nostalgia they conjured, but truly, they are CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. ;-) ;-) (To Julie, Love, Santa). Then, it was Buffalo Exchange, an UPscale thrift store with prices higher than I pay at Kohl's and a few other thrift and record stores. For lunch, we stopped for some amazing burgers and other fried delicacies at Dirty Martin's Place. The girls were fascinated by the turbo hand dryer in the restroom.

Then, it was on to Sixth Street and the tourist shops, including an oh-so-fun, yet incredibly expensive hatshop, Vertigo, a Hat for all Seasons:


(Is that a small animal on Kristen's head?)


Yeah, baby


(This girl really does belong in the country.)

... and Waterloo Records, before we finally collapsed at Shady Grove for tasty (without an "E") meat and potatoes and AMAZING peanut butter ice cream pie. I sulked and stared at Ryan and Kristen and Gail and Andy eating theirs while Emilie and I suffered through a plate with three pancake-sized chocolate chip cookies covered with five scoops of ice cream.

We kissed our friends goodbye in the parking lot, and sent them on their way with Emilie so she could make it to regional band competition playing her very large bassoon Saturday. (And she made the band this year. Woo hoo!)

Saturday, we wandered all the way down to Gruene (about 30 miles), and while I leisurely sampled my way through the Texas salsas and dips in all the gift and antique shops, Todd and the kids did whirlwind tours then sat in front on chairs like this:


And this:


And this:



Gruene is a tiny hamlet that has been "gently resisting change since 1872," and it shows. This little oasis makes you feel you've been magically transported to another world. It's peaceful and relaxing, and the weather was a little misty and 75 degrees. What more could you ask for?

Dinner at the Gristmill was beef tenderloin sandwiches and strawberry shortcake a mile or so tall. I drove everyone crazy with my usual photo stops every three inches. Have you ever seen a cluster of china berries oops, I mean firethorn (or pyracantha) berries this big?



And the effect of Christmas lights on a misty day is enough to drag even the most reluctant person into the holiday spirit.

We didn't stay for a concert in Gruene this time. Last time we were there, we saw Nickel Creek at Gruene Hall, Texas' oldest dance hall. Nope, this time, we were back in Austin--back at Stubb's--for Nickel Creek's "farewell (for now) tour." Nobody covers Toxic or the Jackson Five (Oh, Baby, give me one more chance) like Nickel Creek. Ryan was oh, so pumped because he got an over-21 wristband on his looks alone. It was a waste of a wristband, but still, good for his ego.

After the concert, we drove all the way home. We did a 2 a.m. potty break at Czech Stop in West, Texas (the town, not the region), which is open 24 hours a day (hey, just like Katz's!) and gave ourselves middle-of-the-night heartburn attacks with kolaches, sausage and cheese rolls, and the most amazing chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting and a Hershey's kiss on top. Enough sugar to fuel the last 80 miles without sleeping and cause us to laugh hysterically at nothing in particular as we wound up on an FM road we'd never taken before.

Ryan came up with an idea for confusing his future children. He says whenever they ask, "Daddy, how much farther?" he'll answer, "I don't know. We're lost." For some reason, we found that funnier than anything we've ever heard.

That was a fun weekend.

New CDs: $60, and that's like SIX CDs!!! (including the live recording of the Old 97s concert we saw there in 2005)
Togetherness: Priceless. Except when we were deciding what to do and where to go every five minutes. ;-) I love my family.

While I was waiting

I'm waiting for files to upload to a distant server for the project I've been doing for the last six weeks . . . trying to stay awake. (I am trying to stay awake. That is not the project, silly.)

When the files are there, I will be mostly finished, barring all natural or manmade catastrophes. For this, I am extremely grateful. I've clocked about 110 hours in the last 10 days, and I am exhausted, mentally and physically.

But, I'm proud of the effort I've made, and the resulting product for my customer.

If I only had a brain left.

Thanks to my readers for continuing to leave little comments here and there - sweet, snide, or otherwise - even though I've sadly neglected this thing for most of the last month. I promise more exciting things are in the works. I've gotten on and off the soapbox several times in the last few days! I only hope I can remember what irritated me, because I know you look forward to my rants.

I'll leave you with this funny story about my cute little nephew, the son of a stand-up comic. When my brother went for his show the other night, he took my five-year-old nephew with him. It was an early, family-friendly show. The emcee asked if the kid wanted to perform first, and of course, he obliged. You can tell he's been around my brother practicing his comedy for a while now. He's got the shtick down. His routine:

"You know what my favorite joke is, guys?!"

(pause for audience to yell back)

"Disneyland FREAKS ME OUT!"

~~~

He's got the right stuff. I only wish I could say I was as successful. The files are stuck in upload land. I think I'll take a nap here on the couch.

Is that a pancake your wearing?

We had breakfast for dinner tonight, always a favorite around our house. What's something you like to eat for dinner that's not quite the normal thing?

Barbara Samuel got me started thinking about family food traditions because of reading her fun post tonight about biscuits and wonderful home-cooked breakfasts.

Weird family food story--

Last Friday night I found a mix I bought on clearance at Target a month or so ago. Krusteez scones. Sounded like a good dessert with a handful of chocolate chips squished in on the kneading part. They were quite delicious, if I do say so myself. Light and fluffy and melt in your mouth good.

Well, my mom talked to my brother a few days later, and it turns out he took his little boy to a family potluck dinner at school one night last week. They were supposed to take an ethnic dish representing their family roots. Guess what he baked and took? Chocolate chip scones. From a mix, no less. How weird is that? I'm not sure either of us has ever eaten chocolate chip scones at the same time or in the same place, so it was a little eerie.

I guess those Scottish roots run deeper than I thought. (And being cooking-from-scratch challenged is hereditary as well, obviously.)

Time between the lightning and the thunder

Isn't it amazing how one event can change your world in a dramatic way? That's how the last week or so has been for my family. We are survivors, though, and it's all going to be fine.

Speaking of family, here are a couple my favorite little creatures.

My world crumbles when you are not there

Just when I think I've seen and heard everything, I look up and Macy Gray is singing on Sound Stage on PBS, and my daughters are standing behind the kitchen counter ... they're finger painting, but now they're also following Macy's directions—waving their hands in the air, throwing their heads back, screaming, and looking especially beautiful. Just as Macy Gray promised they would if they would just do what she said.

And I'm sitting on the couch, rolling and laughing, and it's so funny it is especially beautiful. And I'm just a prisoner of their love. J

I may appear to be free
But I'm just a prisoner of your love
And I may seem all right and smile when you leave
But my smiles are just a front
Just a front, hey
I play it off, but I'm dreaming of you
And I'll keep my cool but I'm feignin'

(From Macy Gray, I Try)

Winding down the school year

It's been a pretty busy week between the funeral services for Martha and getting ready for Ryan's graduation and company coming in, and school ending for another year. Not much time to blog or write or even work. It's been interesting, though, as I've caught myself thinking so many times in the last several days, "This is the last time I'll..." and fill in the blank. Kind of bittersweet, yet happy.

• Last goodbyes to Martha
• Last time to go to an award ceremony for Ryan as a child. We went to the Betty Lynn Buckley High School Musical Awards last night, and although Urinetown didn't win in the actor or best musical categories, it was so much fun to see Summit and the other nominated schools perform their best scenes. They did win best set and costumes, and it was cool to see some celebrities. Lou Diamond Phillips presented the best actor awards and the kids had no idea who he was. Heh.
• Last times to take Kristen to elementary school in the mornings. I will no longer be an elementary mom, and that is so weird. I think I'll move back to the Arlington district so she can be an elementary kid for two more years. Or not.

I'm sure I'll be a blubbering idiot Saturday when Ryan walks the stage. Can't believe my baby is all growed up and about to go off to college. He marches to the beat of a different drummer...well he marches to his own drumbeat if you think about it, but I sure am proud of him.

Proud of all three kids, more than I could ever express. Kristen got up and sang with Ryan at Martha's funeral--we never imagined she'd actually do it when her aunt asked her to, but she was a little trooper. Like Todd says, she knows she's got a good thing and so when she gets up to sing, all that fear and timidity somehow melts away.

And Emilie--we'd never get anything done around here without her. She is the glue. She is the only one in the family other than Todd with the gift of organization, and the ONLY one with the gift of being on time and the gift of liking to get up in the morning! Ryan has Emilie to thank for making it to class several times this year, and I'm the mom. How weird is that? :-) She and her friend Elena, seventh graders, played in the high school solo and ensemble competition a few weeks ago, a song Elena's grandpa wrote for them, and received the highest score and the judge said they were the "highlight of his evening."

They are just all so amazing. I am humbled. As seems to happen frequently when you become a parent, I started on one subject, and finished with my kids. Thanks for listening. :-)

Martha Browne went to town, 3/31/38-5/15/07

Martha, the kids' Nana, went to be with her Lord, and with her sweetheart, Howard, at 11:20 p.m. Tuesday.

Sunday afternoon, we had the opportunity to have a special visit with her at the hospital while she was still quite alert and in fine form with the wacky sense of humor she's always had. Ryan played his guitar and sang her a few songs, including the one he wrote soon after Howard died. He asked her after the first if she liked it and if she wanted him to play another, and she said yes, but a quieter song, please. :-)

I asked her to tell the kids what her favorite things to do were when she was 9, 13, and 18, the ages the kids are now, and she told them, in order, "Ride my bicycle, chase boys, and kiss boys," and shared how she paid for her first date with Howard out of her own paycheck. She was something else. A few weeks ago, she mentioned to us that on Howard's gravestone, it says, "Until we meet again, my beloved." She said on hers, she wants, "Honey, here I come!" (And I spoke with my sister-in-law this morning and that is indeed what it will say. Hee!)

I took my camera along because I figured it would be the kids' last visit with her, and Martha even mustered up the energy for a smile.



Martha had a life full of many challenges and trials, but she never lost her faith, and I know she is dancing some kind of jig up there in heaven today (forget resting in peace!). Our relationship was not always easy, but when it came right down to it, we loved each other. I am glad I knew her, and without her lineage, I would not have my three beautiful children.