Bloggy Un-Bliss May 30, 2008

Dear all of my Readers,

 

I love to write.

 

But apparantly I can’t write on command….I’ve had a family blog for over a year now, updated a couple of times a week with stories and pics of my kiddos, and sometimes with my own unrelated thoughts. I decided to begin a new blog specifically for those unrelated thoughts, and as a platform to join the larger blogging community. Sounds like fun, right? And so easy! Because I love to write! I positively cannot keep up with all of my post ideas; they’re so plentiful.

 

Except, apparantly, now. Got a new blog. Joined my favorite blog carnival. Am now able to yap on about one of my favorite topics -books- without having relatives scroll through quickly (where are those kid pics anyway??).

 

And now- I’m drawing a blank.

 

Nothing.

 

It seems I am paralyzed by this must-keep-them-coming-back mentality. Which is a bit silly. I don’t have any ads on my blog. My Amazon links are just that- links. Maybe it’s that familiar bit of psychology- things you think you have to do, you just don’t want to. Am I still a 13-year old at heart?!

 

So- well, we’ll see.

 

If you’re one of those random readers who found me while clicking through random links and comments, thanks for reading. I’m not deserting. But perhaps my self-imposed Monday thru Friday schedule is a little too daunting for a beginner.

 

Any advice? Experience?

 

Hello?!

 

Love,

Me

 

 

Chastened Me May 27, 2008

We have these neighbors. You know, *those* neighbors. They live a few houses down. Their front porch perenially displays a jumbled assortment of odd and broken items; their backyard even more. They are, however, super nice – although if I’m being honest I’ll add that our on walks past and during our neighborly exchanges of hello-nice-evening-he’s-getting-so-big!-have-a-good-one we have often strongly suspected that their happiness does not come, er, unassisted. Wink, nudge, sniff.

 

My toddler likes to stand on our deck and stand on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of their backyard from a couple of houses down. There are, it must be said, lots of interesting things back there. And lots of interesting noises. Who wouldn’t be curious?

 

So the other evening, having nestled the children snugly in bed, I was blithely grating cheese (yes, blithely; the house was still and quiet) for a late supper when I heard a Weird Noise. Sort of a cross between a howl, a honk, and a moan. My eyebrows flew up as the cheese fell into the bowl and that’s when I -dumdadum- Leapt To Judgment.

 

It went something like this:

 

Man, what is that?? ….Is that, what, a dying cow? I bet it’s coming from those crazy neighbors. What do they keep in those sheds down there anyway? Some sort of ill, sad bird?

 

And so on.

 

Until the noise happened again.

 

And I realized it was coming from my very own baby monitor.

 

In my very own living room.

 

Brought to me courtesy of my very own toddler.

 

Apparantly testing his vocal ranges before consenting to the above-mentioned nestling.

 

Oops.

P.G. Wodehouse May 23, 2008

Downright, harhar laugh-out-loud wit, characters you’ll get a giant kick out of, short tales, long tales, you name it. P.G. Wodehouse is your man. A friend bought me Life with Jeeves a couple of years ago – 3 books in one. The first two are short stories and the last a short novel. My wise-on-all-things-funny hubby recommends reading them in this order: middle, beginning, end.

Honestly, this is the kind of book you’ll be annoying people with, if they have the luck to be in the room when you’re reading.

 

It will go down as follows:

 

You: snarf snarf hahahaha choke gasp

Your companion: Are you ok, or what?

You: Listen to this! [and you will start reading aloud, if you can, that is, between giggles]

 

It’s Friday. Have a little literary fun!

The Mysterious Disappearance of Neck Cheese May 22, 2008

Here’s what a nerd I am. I’m not just a 21st century nerd; I’m a nerd stuck back in the second grade. In the second grade something life-altering happened to me: I read my first Nancy Drew book. Then I read all the rest. Then I read the newer ones (not as good) the files (a little predictable; plus suddenly people were getting killed, which never happened to 1930’s Nancy). Anyhow, I still love mysteries.

 

And so, when wrestling my squirmy baby into his onesie recently and upon noticing something startling (how ungrammatically correct is this sentence already??) — I immediately thought to myself, ‘there has been a mysterious disappearance of neck cheese here’ . Instead of something normal like, ‘huh, his neck gunk finally cleared up.’

 

My youngest child is one of those crazy fat squishy babies. His older brother was always long and lean, but this one has creases in impossible places. And in some of those places, he likes to hide stuff. Snacks for a rainy day? I don’t know. I’ve been doing battle with neck cheese for months now. Wiping it out, washing him off, putting ointments on his skin to keep moisture out and the stinkies at bay.

 

Total failure.

 

My yummy fat happy baby had the stinkiest neck on the block.

 

And now-  the neck cheese is gone, filed away under ‘funny things about Baby You’, or ‘things we will tell your fiancee someday’. Just another reminder that this Baby is scrambling, racing toward Toddler. So, though you might think a normal person would be relieved at the sudden decrease in the daily quota of used washclothes, I’m just a little wistful.

 

So here I am. A nerd who labels the everyday (and frankly, gross) with mystery titles, because, underneath the motherly angst, joy, responsibilities, and laughter, deep down– I want to be racing around in my roadster, golden hair flying in the wind, with a suspicious character in black sedan close on my tail.

 

There was probably no neck cheese in Nancy’s life.

 

She really missed out!

 

 

Works For Me Wednesday: The Junk Drawer That Could May 21, 2008

 

I haven’t yet met a kitchen without a junk drawer.

 

In every home we’ve lived in, the kitchen junk drawer fills up quickly. I took a curious glance in there a few minutes ago and saw the following:

 

loose batteries (do they work? how long have we owned them exactly- 5 years? more?)

lock de-icer (which we’ve used exactly once)

super glue (also used once, glued two fingers together, and gave up completely)

old keys (that we’re afraid to throw away….what if they unlock the buried treasure in our basement??)

small screwdrivers (for reattaching those cabinet knobs that my toddler loves to unscrew)

red tape to repair a tail light (when did we need this, exactly?)

a tape measure (listen, you can always use a tape measure)

an oddly shaped metal thing (no idea what this is; could be a crucial part of something)

 

Listen, you might say, just organize your junk drawer already. Well, you could be right. Someday I might do just that. All of those homeless and forgotten items might be appropriately allocated to locations that actually make sense. But not anytime soon. Standing in line are all of those things that we organize and re-organize in cycles: closets, basement, files, toy chests, the plasticware cabinet, the garage. My car! My husband’s car.  Oh, man.

 

I’m already a little tired. But I love me some organizing, so I’m up for it all! Meanwhile, my junk drawer will remain delightfully, happily stuffed to the brim with odd items which defy memory or explanation. The lone spot defying the stampede of organization that is taking over television, magazines, and the internet. For a quick fix, I shoved everything into small plastic trays. Somehow, this seems to help while still maintaining the junky integrity of such a drawer.

 

Get a junk drawer. Or if you have one already, love on it a little. After all, it’s the last thing that needs or wants your attention (is there a prize for that?)! My junk drawer works for me. For more great tips (or if you’re sorely disappointed in this one) check out Rocks In My Dryer!

Impossible May 20, 2008

Here is one of my favorite quotes:

‘There is no use trying,’ said Alice; ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’ ‘I dare say you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’  –Lewis Carroll

A pair of blue jeans lies on my living room floor…..attached to a rumpled t-shirt….filled out with the lean soft body of my 2-year old. His arms are spread to his sides and he is holding very still. He is on his tummy, face pressed to the grates of a floor vent. I watch the back of his homemade haircut, waiting.

And then….

“There IS a fish swimming down there!” he yells exuberantly. He hops to his feet, satisfied, and runs off to his next impossible thing.

Eloise Wilkin, Stories May 16, 2008

In this family, we are die-hard bookworms.

 

But with limited shelf space and resources otherwise allocated, we haven’t bought many in the last few years.

 

Children’s books are the GIANT exception to this rule! We’ve got loads of them. They’re piling up in the basement. Spilling out of baskets. Taking over a trunk. Upstairs books, downstairs books, car books….As a former elementary school teacher, I acquired a great selection of children’s literature, both fiction and nonfiction, through great resources like Scholastic. Add that to the books my mom has saved from decades past, a fantastic library sale several years ago, the book club my mother-in-law has recently enrolled our toddler in — listen, I should really hang a sign out the window, start lending, and plan for the awesome things I’m going to buy with those late fees (more shelves).

 

With all of that selection, there are a few books that seem to push their way through the literary flavor of the week and can nearly always be found out somewhere.

 

One of these is Eloise Wilkin, Stories. It’s a Little Golden Book Treasury containing several stories and poems written and/or illustrated by Eloise Wilkin (mid 1900’s).  The stories are sweetly told and beautifully illustrated. The detail is gorgeous. This is a lady who had her eye on the mind of a child and  *got it*. My toddler has loved these since he was just over a year old. He’s nearly two and a half now and is a busy, busy boy….but he’ll sit in my lap and listen to all 206 pages of stories and poems…and then say “Mommy read it again?”.

 

This one is worth owning. We’ll be reading from it for years to come!

 

Tune in every Friday for more of our favorite library picks….our in-home library, and the big brick one that really should feature our name on the front, owing to our excessive generous fines donations….er…..

Sticky Baby May 15, 2008

I’ve got a clinger.

 

He’s 9 months old, and he loves me, his Mama, more. than. anything.

 

He’s always been attached, as babies are, and affectionate, as they learn to be, but more recently has moved into a new level of awareness concerning who’s around and who is not. He goes to others with no problem, for the most part. But if I re-enter the scene, it dawns on him….my Mama is not holding me. In fact, maybe she hasn’t even been here, this whole time!  Oh nooooooo!!!!

 

Anxiety. Tears. Fat little arms reaching my way.

 

And as I sigh a little and wonder if I should just cut an extra neckhole into my t-shirts for him, part of me knows what will happen in just a few months. And so I squeeze him and kiss him and close my eyes to try to capture what this holding-of-him feels like.

 

He will get bigger. He won’t have the patience to be held for quite as long. He won’t fit neatly against my upper body anymore. He will follow his Daddy around with the same curiousity, intensity, and enthusiasm that his big brother does. Mama’s place in the center of his universe will shift just a little. And over the next few months, a little more.

 

I’ll tell myself, like I did with his big brother (and I’ll be right, you know) that these shifts are positive and healthy and good.

 

And for today, I am patient with my sticky baby.

Works For Me Wednesday: In Which I Experience A Cleaning Frenzy May 14, 2008

I’m cheating on my Bissell.

 

Shhh!

 

I don’t want to hurt its feelings, but I’ve found something so much….well….better. Something that makes me want to vacuum.

 

See, there’s a dyson in the extended family. It arrived last year. On one of its first visits to my home, it reached deep into the guts of my couch to suck out a really gross and giant spider. Well. Talk about gestures. It had me at hello.

 

So….now it comes over more often. We spend a little more time together each visit. A couple of months ago, I discovered that the dyson can be used to clean just about everything. With it’s excessive attachments and extensions it can not only vacuum into my furniture, but way up into the corners of my stairwell ceiling where growing cobwebs lure spiders to rowdy parties.

 

It cleans my blinds.

 

It grabs the dust from the tops of doorframes and windowsills.

 

It gets the fuzz off of lampshades!

 

It banishes forgotten dirt from behind the TV.

 

And once I’ve gotten immense satisfaction (or, am completely appalled) from seeing all the crud that used to be on my walls and on my stuff swirl around inside it….with the push of a button part of it detaches and I walk it over to my trash can, push another button and ….tada! it’s all cleaned out.

 

Back for round two.

 

Oh Bissell, I do appreciate you. But I’ve got a savings plan, and someday your place in the pantry will be taken by another. Don’t worry. You’ll be placed gently into another loving dirty home. Take heart. Meanwhile, grateful applause to friends and family who generously lend out their dysons.

 

It works for me!

Being Mom May 11, 2008

This morning as I was served a feta, bacon and veggie omelet with a gooey lemon poppyseed muffin, I thought about the probable fact that all around America, moms everywhere were having a similar sort of experience. Whether it’s breakfast out, breakfast in bed, breakfast with china and crystal, or breakfast delivered in the midst of the normal morning chaos like my own, there’s a universal appreciation happening. Call me a sap. That makes me happy.

 

While my husband chopped and stirred and fried, I attempted to honor his wish to serve me by keeping out of his way. You can’t just turn off the mom button, though. Fruit had to be tossed in the blender for the baby’s breakfast. The two-year-old refused to eat his scrambled eggs. Sippy cups needed refilling and a fork retrieved from the floor.

 

Even now, as I sit at the computer away from our normal, happy morning brouhaha, I hear a small voice asking, “Where’s Mommy? Where’s Mommy?”

 

You can’t escape being Mom. But that’s ok. I don’t want to. I appreciate that I am appreciated and love being the one who gets to take care of them, to meet needs daily. Needs sweet, fun, tedious, gross, exhausting, simple, and unnoticed.

 

And cheers to my own mama, who continues to mother and meet the needs of her children, even as we are all grown up.

 

When I was very small, she taught me to tie my shoes, to love books, to roller skate, to hold a paintbrush. She took me to the park and to the library, kept me away from Santa’s lap after my first tear-filled experience there, and let me build fortresses out of couch cushions.

 

When I was a little older, she taught me to shave my legs, to let the boys call me instead of vice versa, and the ability of good chocolate to make any bad day better. She took me to visit colleges, sent me cards and care packages while I was away, and drove hundreds of miles each spring to help me cram a ridiculous amount of stuff into one brave lone Jeep for the journey home.

 

More recently, she’s taught me how to make a tender and juicy roast, how to paint neatly and spackle perfectly, to find joy in an identity that no longer involves a profession. She watches my kiddos so I can tackle the grocery store in peace. She reassures me over the phone at 7 am that the bumps on my toddler are probably not the plague. She stops by my house to bring me chocolate.

 

When I grow up….I want to be just like my mama.