Oh, Baby, Athletic I Ain't

That's me on the left

with the girl standing on my back.



I've never had any interest in sports. Let's just get that out of the way. When I was in jr. high school, I was a cheerleader for 2 years, but not because I loved football. No, I did it because I looked cute in the uniform. I didn't know anything about football. I was happy to cheer what the coaches told us to cheer.

(Yes, these old pics are blurry but my scanner isn't hooked up at the moment.)

 I wanted to like volleyball, but I didn't. I quit after a minor injury. Balls hurtling toward my face make me duck instinctively. It was counterintuitive really. 

That's me (I swear) next to the
coach in the back row, #20

I wanted to like basketball. We always had a hoop in our driveway. But it turns out, I really didn't like all the aggressive girls in my face, dripping their sweat on me. I'd like to think I'm more refined than that. And running, there's that. I don't like it. 

As a high school freshman I had to attempt skiing. I didn't want to, but my grade was dependent upon it. We took a field trip to the local ski resort with my German class. Instructions, for those of us who had never skied before, were provided...in German. I spent way more time trying to get up off my ass -when I wasn't hiding in the lodge- than I did actually skiing. And I was in pretty good shape when I was 14.

Just learning to stay afloat.



Fast forward to motherhood. I gave birth to 2 beautiful girls...& they both love sports. They have been swimming since they were out of diapers. They are amazing swimmers. They have even taken some diving.



Can you see the bruises on her legs?



They both took gymnastics for several years, until it was clear that they were too tall to be really successful, & they were so bruised it looked like they were in a rumble.

They have both run in several races such as the 4th of July Firecracker race, & have run every year in the Akron Fun Run. They even raced to the top of the Terminal Tower in Cleveland.

Their 1st recital

They both took tap dance. It turned out not to be a favorite thing. They also took a trial course of Tae Kwon Do. They enjoyed it, but didn't pursue it once the trial was over. They attempted ice skating too. They are far better than I could hope to be (& it is my favorite sport to watch) so I was mildly disappointed when it wasn't a favorite for them.

concentration

They both began skiing. They were naturals. Both girls took to the slopes effortlessly. They now had something to enjoy with their daddy who has, in the past, taken ski vacations to Colorado, before marrying me...



ooh, so close!

We put a basketball hoop in our driveway & they occasionally shoot a few. My oldest signed up to play once & even though she was pretty decent, decided not to pursue it. We did, however, shoot a few together & I gave them the shock of their lives... No one expected me to make a basket, much less beat one of them, or specifically Daddy. I did. I beat them all! (Insert maniacal laughter here.) Funny too since it must have been 20 years since I attempted. "Gee, Mom, you're actually pretty good at this," my little one said to me. Gee, sweetheart, don't sound so surprised. Just because I don't doesn't mean I can't.

So this summer they hit us with a new one. They wanted to play softball. We signed them up. We got them bats, mitts, batting helmets, balls & they began to practice with their dad. Turns out, like everything else they try, they're pretty good. They only got a few practices with their teams because the early season was rained out, but we're full on into it now & their improvement is amazing to see. I'm even starting to figure out some of the positions & terminology &, um, rules.

I actually find myself wanting to learn & comprehend so I can cheer them on, give them guidance, & understand what they are doing & why. I mean, I knew the infield from the outfield. I knew the bases. I'm not a complete idiot. I can tell the pitcher from the catcher...but a shortstop? What is that? 

Their #'s are their ages
& I have to laugh at the Emergency 9-1-1

I have to believe I'll catch on eventually. As much as they appear to love it (as well as possessing the skill to do well) I'm going to have to make sense of it sooner or later.







Maybe What They Say is True...

"When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years." ~Mark Twain

Father's Day is right around the corner.

My father is a man to look up to, literally, as he's probably about 6'3" maybe even 6'3 1/2". That's like Magnum-tall. He's an imposing figure. I think that's a good thing for a little girl, to look up to her daddy & feel secure. I just knew that if need be, my dad could beat up your dad. He probably wouldn't. Why should there be a need for that? But I was sure he could & that was what was important, because one look at him, & everybody else was sure too.

My dad seemed very serious when I was a kid- it seemed he had a 1/2 scowl on his face all the time. I think now some of that was probably due to the chaos of having 4 children running around in 4 different directions, but some of it also may have been due to the concentration he had to put into hearing us. It went like this:

me: Dad? Can I go over to Lisa's to play?
pause
me: Dad? Did you hear me? Dad?! Dad! DAD! DAD!!!
Dad: (Startled, he booms) What?!!
me: (run off crying because he yelled at me) Nevermind. I'll find Mom.

My dad wasn't the pull-my-finger jokester dad. (Lisa's was.) He was a prankster though. He used to take us to the movies, especially on hot summer days. He still laughs about taking my little brother to see Raiders of the Lost Ark. At the end- I don't want to spoil it for you if you haven't seen this 30 year old movie--- at the end, when Indy is tied to the stake & the Nazis open the Ark of the Covenant, he cautions, "Don't look at it!" So as all the Nazis look, they start melting. My father turns to my little brother, who is 4 or 5 years old, & says, "Your ears are melting! You looked!" And of course my brother believed him for 60 seconds.

My dad was the dad who took us to Zip's after church on Sundays where we could make our own sundaes. He was the one who put a pool in our back yard & made sure we could swim & threw us high into the air as we screamed with joy so we could make a big splash. He was the one who carried us to bed when we fell asleep (or pretended to have done so) in front of the TV. He was the one who bought the junk food. And despite working 16 hours a day, he did manage to make it to most of the various sporting events & school productions we had going on. And he shared with us the thrill of rollercoasters!

I think my dad could fix anything. He tiled showers & built walls & hung kitchen cabinets, installed carpet, vinyl & laminate floors, put up a pool, built a swingset, wired a lamp, changed major appliances, patched many a hole that had been kicked through a wall or door...the mysteries of home repair seemed no mystery to him.

My dad was a little old-fashioned. And by a little, I mean a lot. I always saw it as pretty darned sexist. But I'll tell you, he has learned. Nobody can fault a man for wanting to provide for his family, but he (still) doesn't like my mother out alone after dark, even if only at the grocery store. I suppose it's sweet in a way...

We went on family vacations every year, & we travelled across the state a few times a year too to visit family. These trips were long & full of discussion. Religion, Politics, Money, Morality, Crime & Punishment were all topics of conversation.

These are good memories. Not only did they instill in us the values he wanted us to have, but they taught us analytical thinking & the strength & courage to question, even if we were questioning authority. Of course, he didn't like it when it was him, but I do think he was proud when we stuck to our beliefs & made a decent case for it, for certainly we were more liberal-minded than he was when we were still in school.

We'd sing along to the radio & he only knew the refrain & would make up the rest. He'd tell a joke & just as often as not, forget the punchline when he got there. I have inherited both of these traits.

They say for good or bad, girls grow up to marry men like their fathers...

When I met my husband, we dated every other day for the first week, then were seeing each other daily from thereafter. My father asked me who was this man I was seeing so much of, he must be something because I don't like anyone enough to spend that much time with them! Observant too.



watching Cinderellabration at Disney



Which brings me to the fabulous father my husband turned out to be... In my 7th month of pregnancy, we travelled to NY state to visit my brother's family. They'd just had a new baby. I knew once ours came, we wouldn't be making many visits. My husband had next to zero experience with children, but my older nephews took to him right away- Uncle John, see my fort? Uncle John, wanna play?



But the most awkward award goes to the moment when my sister in law put the new baby in his arms & said we'd be right back. She was going to show me something. I don't remember what it was, but I do remember that my husband was absolutely frozen stiff, still holding the baby in exactly the same way as he'd been deposited.

swinging both girls





He was much more at ease with ours. When I asked him about this, he said something to the effect of being less worried about what would happen if he dropped ours. ?! What? Yes, something like that. I assured him it would be far more detrimental to his person if he harmed MY baby, even accidentally. He never did of course.

He gave her the first tub bath. And after awhile, he became the parent in charge of bathing. That lasted until our kids were bathing themselves. Tub time stressed me out.



At a local amusement park



He rides bikes with them, takes them to sporting practices & music lessons. He helps with homework. He has taught them some basic cooking procedures, plays games, plays catch, takes them to those horrible places known as arcades (in the 80s.) At times it seems as if his patience is infinite. As I type, he is teaching the older one how to mow the lawn on the tractor. The younger one is begging to wash the car. After the lawn, dearie. 

 And though they have paid attention to us debate politics, religion, money & so forth, they aren't quite old enough to want to join in.  He plays pranks along with the bathroom humor.


mapping the corn maze



 So did I marry a version of my dad? He has dark hair like my dad did when he was younger. They both have pretty blue eyes & broad shoulders. They both have fair, freckled skin that burns in the sun. Dimples. Both very handsome with high IQs. They both have a strong work ethic & a huge commitment to their families.
 
With big shoes to fill, he's doing pretty well. While he's not quite as tall as my dad, at just about 6', our daughters have enough to look up to both literally & figuratively.

Maybe I Should Be In Charge

Maybe I should be in charge...of the weather. I'm sure more people would agree with me than with Mother Nature. I'm not convinced she's doing a good job at all. Maybe it's that time of the millenium?

"I find it funny, the people who bitch about the cold and snow are the same people bitching about the heat and humidity." Saw this on my facebook newsfeed this morning & immediately had about 20,000 replies run through my mind.

I'm one of those people.

I'm one of those people & I am not ashamed. Here's the deal- The cold & snow are fine for Christmas, maybe a whole month, maybe even 2 months. I'm not opposed to cold & snow. I'm just sick of it after 5 to 6 months.

I actually do want a winter. I very much enjoy the changing of the seasons.

Fall is my favorite & it seems to be the shortest. I enjoy the changing colors of the leaves. I like the cooler temperatures but not yet really needing a coat...a light jacket maybe, but not the bulky down coat. I like the sunshine with the crisp air & the occasional waft of smoke from a chimney or bonfire. I love, love, love Halloween. And I certainly have no complaints about Thanksgiving, not even if it snows.



My back yard, winter 2010-11



Then winter comes...& at first is really quite lovely. That first snowfall is still special. The first storm is still impressive. I still take a picture every year when the snow is so deep that it ranks as 'incredible.' I love a white Christmas. But then there's January & February & March & even April....And honestly, it's not the snow I mind, or even the cold. It's the gray. It's the gray skies. The clouds & lack of sunshine. It's the dark. It weighs me down after a while.

In the spring, everyone gets excited to get outside in the warmer weather. I'm not the outdoorsy type, so I don't care so much. I do like seeing flowers bloom & leaves on the trees. But it's still gray. It rains & rains & rains until everything floods. There are puddles everywhere & mud. The dogs come in with muddy feet & smelling like wet dogs. Because they are wet dogs. And the mud smells too. Spring smells like fish  worms to me & I absolutely hate fish & worms. And it's the season for sneezing.

Ahhh, summer... I do enjoy the sunshine & the first days of shorts. It's lovely up to about 77 degrees. Then it gets iffy. It can feel pretty hot here in Ohio above that & if it's humid & there's no breeze. And summer comes with mosquitos & if ever there was a mosquito magnet, I'm it. And it comes with bees too. And bees sting & I'm allergic & it freaks me out because I have had some bad reactions & one never knows when it will be medically serious.

I hate 'the dog days.' I live inside where I have air conditioning. I really feel like I can't breathe when it's 95 degrees with 90% humidity. My hair feels glued to my head & looks greasy after 20 minutes in that kind of weather. I absolutely hate feeling sticky & stinky & sweaty & I don't much enjoy being around other people who are sticky, stinky & sweaty. It's just plain nasty.

At least when it's 10 degrees with a foot of snow, no one expects you to sit outside in it all day drinking cocktails. No, then we can sit inside & enjoy a contolled temperature with no bugs, no sunburn, & relatively little sweating.

a tropical paradise

<--  Now if Ohio transformed to THIS for the summer, I'd be okay with it. But it doesn't.

And I don't have a pool. And I don't much enjoy wearing a bathing suit in public. The people who'd see me probably appreciate that too.

This is me, my 2 girls & our stray for the day...

And somehow, at public swimming facilities, we always end up with some stray kid who thinks we are more fun than his own family & won't go away.

I'd love it if we only dipped below 60 & snowed for the month of December & if it only went above 77 for (maybe) the 2 weeks around the 4th of July. And I never like humidity.

Anyone know where I can move to get that?








Maybe I Have Different Skillz

"Never learn to do anything. If you don't learn, you will always find someone else to do it for you." ~Mark Twain

I have long loved this quote. It is true & makes me laugh.

Example, this past weekend, I found myself travelling with my parents & my sister. We started talking about our cell phones. I mentioned that I can never hear mine when it rings & that I don't care for the ring tone.

"Why don't you change it?" my sister asked, reasonably enough.
"I don't know how yet," was my answer. You see, I got a new phone for Christmas & it's a low-tech phone. I haven't played with it because I really don't use it often. "Usually if something doesn't work, I just tell my husband, 'It's doing this,' & then he fixes it & hands it back."

My parents stayed quiet but my sister was positively aghast. "I like doing things for myself," she stated.
"I like other people to do things for me," I replied.

I'm not sure if she actually heard me. Next thing you know, she tells me to hand it over. I did. She started pushing buttons & scrolling through options & we settle on a less-annoying ring tone, turn up the volume, set a tone for incoming texts & she hands it back to me. "There," she says. "Done."

"Thanks," I said. "See? Done, & I didn't do a thing." I smiled with satisfaction. My dad let out a little chuckle from the front. Then I shared this Mark Twain quote. My sister loves Mark Twain.

On the return trip, I rode back with one of my brothers so he didn't have to make the drive by himself again. We were discussing music & he said he doesn't use iTunes because he likes his music in a different format. He said he has a file on his computer where it's all stored in such a way as to give CD quality sound. I said that I didn't think my hearing was keen enough to discern the difference. Then, as he tried to explain, I got lost.

Highs & lows I understand. Notes? Nope. You see, he played instruments. He can read music. He is trained to hear things I just don't notice. As he tried to explain to me, I told him honestly, "You're talking gibberish again." He smiled, shook his head & let it drop.

It's not that I wasn't interested. It's that I just don't understand. I don't know the difference between a whole & half note. I don't have the most basic understanding of rhythm or tempo or anything....

I was watching The Voice the other night & one of the celebrity singers/judges/coaches said that the girls were kind of 'pitchy' & I haven't the foggiest idea of what that meant. They sounded pretty good to me. The one thing I can say for sure is that I like the country guy's coaching the best. He keeps telling the singers not to over-sing. "Just because you can hit all those notes doesn't mean you have to," he told them. "Sometimes you need to tone it down, so that when you do it, it's special." Way to go, Cute Country Guy. It's funny to me that he's the one I like the best when country music is near to my least favorite of the popular genres. Mostly because of the twang. I hear that.

It's not that I can't do anything. I'm not a complete tech-idiot. I know some things. I could do everything on my last phone. I could set the clock & set programs to record on the VCR back in the day. I can use the DVR. I can update my iPod & all apps. I figured out how to record video on my camera AND download it... Although, I got that cool soda-maker for Mother's Day & I can't use it. Both times I tried, I sprayed water all over the kitchen during the carbonation process. It didn't fizz the water. It just sprayed it everywhere! Since then, my kids do it for me & think it's great fun.

Speaking of phone addiction....hahaha


As far as my new phone, I got numbers into it. I just hadn't gotten around to playing with the rest because I don't use it often. It's not an iPhone, Droid or Crackberry so it isn't an extension of my hand. I'm not addicted to it. It's just a phone (& camera.)

Though, thinking of the one time I used the camera, I had to call my husband & ask how to put it into the camera-mode. I figured out how to text the picture, but I didn't know how to get it onto my computer files. I texted him & he then emailed it to me & then I saved it. I think that's a pretty good way around it. I think it's clever in its own way.

It's Just My Luck, Baby

I may be giving my friend Robin, who writes Almost...But Not Quite, a run for her money in the ABNQ world.

An odd thing happened to me. First, let me set you up...

My children have been on a clutzy streak lately. We've had more broken glasses in the last 2 months than we've had in their whole existance. My husband contributed his fair share as well. So much so, that I had to buy a new set of glasses even though it hasn't been a full year since the last set was purchased.

I've pulled broken glass shards out of the cupboard, out of the dishwasher & out of the sink. I've swept them from the counter, the stovetop & the floor.

I like to be barefoot. You see where this is going.

Yes, I stepped on tiny pieces of glass. I knew instantly that I'd stepped on it so I immediately shifted onto my other foot & examined the bottom of the other. Yep. Glass. On my foot. Yes, that's right. That's no typo. It stuck to my foot but did not slice into my foot. I was able to just pick it off & throw it away. My older daughter was standing there with me, laughing that nervous laughter. "Sorry, Mom, I thought I got it all." I tell her it's no problem, no harm done. She laughs some more.

Later that evening, I felt a stab into the ball of my foot. Ouch. I picked my foot up but I couldn't see anything. I hobbled into the next room where I could sit in my chair & aim the lamp light directly onto the affected area. I still didn't see anything but when I brushed my hand lightly over the spot that hurt, I definitely felt something. I peered closer. I lightly swept away the dog hair that is ever-present in my house.

My Doodle love

There it was! The source of my discomfort! Not a sliver of glass as I expected but something incredibly weird: a dog-hair splinter. Yes, that's right folks, I got a dog hair splinter. The single piece of hair had stabbed the underside of my foot. And this is not the first time. Oh no. It's happened to me exactly 4 times...& once to my friend.

I find it to be the strangest thing. How does a soft shaft of hair penetrate the skin? I don't have nasty callouses on my feet but they aren't quite baby soft either. I mean, the skin was enough to protect me from the broken glass, right? And my Doodledogg doesn't really have coarse hair either.

My daughters were laughing uncontrollably. How does one step on a piece of glass with no damage but get a dog-hair splinter in the same foot in the same day? Only me....

Baby, I Got This

It's a dreary Saturday afternoon & I'm bored. I've been cruising the internet, doing random searches, just looking to occupy my time while supervising the girls so they don't get into any fights as they attempt to clean their rooms. Then my hip started to ache.

Yes, my body is breaking down again. I've been dealing with a bit of a hip issue for a couple of months. My left hip. I don't even know how to describe the pain. First it feels like I was stabbed & rolled into gravel simultaneously & then it paralyzes me with fear that any movement at all will cause more pain. Then my left thigh quakes & quivers as my muscle stays flexed against whatever happened. Straightening back out is a lesser Hell, but each time it happens, it doesn't occur to me until I realize that I cannot remain suspended in time.

I can move my legs back & forth without incident, but a little rotation can be excruciating. God forbid I drop something & have to retrieve it off the floor myself. Squatting is completely out of the question.

So I asked my doctor about this at my last appointment. After I nearly burst into tears 3 separate times during his manipulations, he thinks I have tendonitus. I didn't know that could cause crunchy noises. Hopefully the anti-inflammatory & targeted exercises do the trick.

It's gotten out of hand because I even had trouble dressing myself 1 day last week. I apparently had too much rotation in my hip as I attempted to step into my shorts, then I dropped my grasp on the waistband as I clutched at the crunching. Yes, I crunch. All kinds of things cause my body parts to snap, crackle, pop, crunch & grind. This causes waves of nausea to overcome my loving husband who claims bodies aren't supposed to make those noises, & who in this instant became my savior & picked up my fallen drawers & helped me pull them up.

Then I realized, it's mid-May even if it doesn't feel like it & shorts will become common attire again for more than pajamas. I'm going to need to prepare....

My bathroom contains a sorry excuse for a shower stall, not a full tub. I haven't actually measured it, but I'm pretty sure it's about 2 ft x 2 ft square. This is not a lot of room. There is nowhere to step out of the spray. We attached a handheld shower head so we can at least aim the spray at the wall while we try to lather up. I regularly bump my elbows while washing my hair & have hit my head when bending over...to do things like shave my legs. There's not even a place to prop my foot up to make the leg more accessible. It's just 1 of the reasons I put it off as long as I can.

So I attempt to maneuver in this claustrophobic closet without bumping my head on the wall & without creating the horrible crunch in my hip....& I remembered. The last time shaving my legs was so awful was when I was pregnant.

I didn't have much morning sickness (don't hate me- I had plenty of other issues) but I did tend to get queasy when I bent over, as when shaving my legs. At least we had a full bathtub in that home. I asked my husband if he would do it for me. I'd heard of this. It's a real thing. Friends & magazines talked about husbands helping them with these things. Even painting their toenails for them. Not mine. When I asked, he made a face like I'd sprouted 2 heads.

"C'mon," I pleaded. "It's got to be close to 6 weeks since I've done it. I can't bend."

If you're thinking that his objection might be because I was like Sasquatch by then, you'd be wrong. "Pleeeeeze," I begged.

"Nobody but you can see those 6 hairs you have!"

He didn't do it for me. If not when I was pregnant with his children, I'm pretty sure he won't do it just because I have a bum hip. So I managed. With extreme concentration & a flexibility people would be surprised to know I possess, I was able to get all 6 of those hairs off my legs. It's the little things.

I'm a Firecracker, Baby

“A good listener tries to understand what the other person is saying. In the end he may disagree sharply, but because he disagrees, he wants to know exactly what it is he is disagreeing with.” ~Kenneth A. Wells

People say you're not supposed to talk about politics, religion or finances with people. Yeah, that's easy. We all have pretty set views on that stuff & they are emotional. I don't really know how to completely avoid this stuff & still have meaningful conversations, but I understand from where the phrase comes.

But what about the other stuff? The stuff you never dreamed could be a touchy subject?

Some time ago, a friend of mine posted something on facebook about Willy Wonka. I commented that Willy Wonka gave me the creeps. He does. He's a creepy dude. I'm sticking to my guns there. I got all kinds of remarks back insinuating that I don't understand what he's about & have lost my childhood innocence & was superficial because I wasn't a fan of Willy Wonka. After a lively tit-for-tat, I was all like, whatevs... How long must one debate the merits of a fictional character? Why is it so offensive that I voiced an opinion different from one's own, especially when it has nothing to do with anything? I deleted all my comments & that was that. We never spoke of it.

I've also been engaged in a chocolate debate...as in the howcanyounotlikechocolateareyoueffingcrazy? sort. I do like chocolate. I swear. But I like good chocolate, not the nasty, waxy Easter basket & Halloween grab bag stuff. And I have to be in the mood...like seafood, it's not for all the time.

"Make sure you have a different opinion & people will talk about you." ~Arab Proverb

I'm so super-glad that I'm interesting enough to talk about. Here & there anyway.

I have been criticized because through much of the Christmas season, my status updates were lyrics from Christmas carols instead of personal commentary. I have been criticized because of the content of my personal commentary- either the posts are too long, too angry, too mundane, too upbeat, too generic, too political...just never quite right enough to satisfy my legions of facebook friends. I wish facebook called them contacts, because seriously, people 'friend' you just because they've heard your name. I've deleted many. In most cases, I mean no offense. But if we never exchange comments, what's the point?

I've also been deleted by a few. In more than 1 case, I felt like, what now? How have I offended thee? You know, as great a tool as facebook is, I've found it's a really useful tool in creating new ways to be rude. People will post things they'd never say to your face. Not me, I'll tell you straight up. They'll 'unfriend' you without an explanation. Know what I think? Whatevs....& good riddance. Gonna be like that, don't need you. When I reduced my friend list, I put a general statement out 1st that I was going to be doing it & why. I meant not to offend, but only to control who gets my feed.

"Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but not their own facts." ~Daniel Patrick Moynihan

As a good friend said to me when I discussed some of this with her, "It's your wall. You can post whatever you want on your wall." That's right. I get to control it. So when I comment on yours, & you don't like it, you get to control that too. Tell me, whatevs...I can take it. I know I've pushed a few buttons out there, more than a few in the last 2 days. Let me say this: I didn't set out to argue, wasn't trying to tick anyone off. It just seemed to me that opinions were being broadcast disguised as facts (& I actually support your right to do that on your wall) that included what I thought were emotional triggers & irrelevant information & a lack of certain facts. The message was skewed. I'll say it right now- I didn't like it.

“We must always think about things, & we must think about things as they are, not as they are said to be.” ~George Bernard Shaw

It's your right to feel that way & to broadcast it. And if you don't want my opinion, you get to choose whether to engage me or ignore, leave my comment there or delete it. That's the way it goes. I'm a big girl & I can take it. I don't dish it so much for fun as a way to gage how committed you are & to learn how committed I am myself to certain beliefs. And how smartly they can be backed up by facts. Honestly, I didn't find a lot of fact in the presidential negativity following the killing of Osama bin Laden. There were a few biased & unrelated facts tossed in just to stir up a bad vibe, in my opinion. As I stated ad nauseum in the past few days, whether you agree with his politics, like him or respect him, is irrelevant to the situation. He is the Commander in Chief, an American citizen, & by God, he is entitled to share in this victory. Whoever the seated president might be would get the same. And yay, this bumped his approval rating by 11 points! Had this mission failed, he'd get all the blame. No one is going to rip on the Navy SEALS for crying out loud. That's the truth.

"There is a world of difference between truth & facts. Facts can obscure the truth." ~Maya Angelou

I don't know which is creepier...

By the way, there is no fact as to whether Willy Wonka is creepy or not. That's all opinion. And many people, even when they like Willy, agree with me that he's creepy. Both portrayals of the character give me the willies.... 

So whatevs...

That's right, I admit it. I get a little heated up from time to time...& I don't mean from hot flashes. I've got opinions on lots of stuff & I don't mind sharing them. I don't even mind arguing them, most of the time, because a smart quid-pro-quo can strengthen my belief or enlighten me to new perspectives...even if I do give you my eventual brush-off, yeah, whatevs...
 

“I never make the mistake of arguing with people for whose opinions I have no respect.” ~Edward Gibbon

Maybe I'm Not a Baby, But I Still Need My Mother...

My daughter said something to me the other day that hasn't quite sat right yet. She's a bit of a bear in the morning & has been since about the age of 3. The other morning as we are going about our routine, she was surlier than usual. More than rude, she was downright obnoxious.

She opened the refrigerator to look for her breakfast. I brewed my first cup of coffee. As I was putting in my sweetener, she bumps me out of her way to get into the silverware drawer, spilling my coffee. As I reached into the fridge myself for the half & half, she all but shuts me in the door as she rifles through the pantry. I said nothing either time. I know how she is & how far it will get me. Then she snapped at me. I looked at her directly & asked, "What's the problem?"

"I'm mad at you!" she spat. I looked at her blankly. "You woke me up!"
"You have school. You have to get up," I maintained my cool. You see, while I don't love morning, I find that I'm fine with it regardless how tired I may be, unless I'm pushed too far. She was rapidly approaching 'too far.'
"School is stupid," she pouted.
Still I remained calm. "I know you think so."
"I hate you!" Red Alert!!! My limit had been reached.
"I kinda hate you back right now." She stopped dead in her tracks but I let it hang there for a minute. "It doesn't feel very good, does it?"
She shook her head indicating a 'no.'
"All I expect from you is to be treated like a human being," I stated simply.
Her reply? "But you're NOT a human being! You're my MOM!"

Well, I guess that sums it up. Moms are not people. I long suspected this truth.

Since my mother doesn't like to have her photo taken,
here is one she took-  her favorite flower from her garden.

You see, when I was a kid, my very own mom was a miracle-worker. She cooked! She could whip up a fabulous, nutritious meal from practically nothing. I know this, because I went to the pantry thousands of times in my youth lamenting that there was nothing to eat. Yet every night, dinner was on the table. When we stayed home sick from school, we got to lay in her bed & watch TV & she would bring us the BRATTY foods to eat- bananas, rice, applesauce, tea, toast & yogurt....& gingerale!

Mom also played chauffer to me, my friends, my 3 siblings & their friends. She went to basketball, softball, baseball, football & every other game in which one of us was involved. She was a den mother for my brother's cub scout troop. She coached my sister & me in cheerleading. I remember one day specifically when we went to the park & she did cartwheels & the splits! Nobody else's mother could do that. She was room mother for my classroom numerous times. She got involved with the school & church fundraisers & events. She made fabulous, opulent birthday cakes though she didn't even eat cake. She would brush my hair & set it in pink sponge rollers. She let me watch her tweeze her brows & apply make-up in her very Hollywood style (or so it seemed in 1975) make-up mirror with the different light settings. And when she & my dad went out, I'm sure she was the most beautiful, glamorous woman in the place.

"If the whole world were put into one scale, & my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam." ~Lord Langdale (Henry Bickersteth)

She tried to teach us to sew, tried to teach us the art of flower-arranging, but I don't think any of us had the patience for it. She did teach us to cook. She did teach us to put color & pattern together for our wardrobes & our rooms & our eventual homes. She taught me how to notice detail, to plan events or vacations. She instilled in me a desire to travel. She taught us many things, most of which didn't come to us in a traditional lesson format.

We used to camp, which I'm not big on, but when we went on hikes she could point out the trees & name them & the flowers & name them & the mushrooms that were safe to eat (even though they still gross me out.) She knew all kinds of things I never dreamed I'd know.

My mother spent her spare time engaged in activities that she enjoyed- she was in a garden club & on bowling leagues. She read, did puzzles (mostly crosswords & word searches as I recall) luncheons with her friends, long soaks in the tub for some much-needed 'me time'...all the things we modern moms are encouraged to do these days.

She told us stories from 'the olden days' when she was a child in the 50s & 60s about how she grew up, what advantages we had so that we learned to appreciate our relative affluence though she rarely spoiled us. My mother knew how to crack the whip!

"Some mothers are kissing mothers & some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, & most mothers kiss & scold together." ~Pearl S. Buck
She was not one to allow disrespect. She did not threaten us with, "Wait 'til your father gets home." No, that lady handled it. Handled us, 4 rowdy kids. She might yell, but as I once saw on a Tshirt, she could say, "I yell because I care." And sometimes, when I say those things that I said I'd never say, like, "Because I said so," I laugh to myself because I find it a stupid yet completely acceptable response.

My mom was cool. I knew she was cooler than most moms. When we got home from school, she was at the kitchen table & willing to listen to us expound on our day until we'd let it all out. She often says we told her much more than she wanted to hear.
Even my friends loved my mom. When I was in high school, they all talked to my mom about their issues. I know she helped more than a few of them get things going better. When she came home from the grocery store, my male friends would rush to help her carry in the bags. They all wanted her to approve of them.

She's a great listener, but very good at keeping her opinions to herself. I often seek her advice or ear when I need to vent. My mother is my friend. I'm proud to say that. Not everyone can say the same. As often as I've been compared to her through the years, I've learned to accept it as high praise. I still look up to her even though I'm taller than her. The biggest wish I have in this world is to do as well with my own children. So far, so good...even if one is easier to love after 10 AM. haha

She taught us so much about family, loyalty, obligation, nurturing, the social graces, independence, organization, determination, humility & other essential life skills. She encourages me daily with this blog, with raising my own children, with the primary relationships in my life. I'm not selling my father short, but Father's Day is in June & Mother's Day is approaching. I said in a previous post that I owed my mother a fitting tribute. I hope I have delivered.

I love you!!

"All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." ~Abraham Lincoln

Not Babies Anymore

My daughters confessed yesterday. They no longer believe in the Easter Bunny. Or Santa Claus. The Tooth Fairy didn't come up yesterday, but she has in the past....usually when she forgets to show up.

I did what any good mother would do. I lied. I did my best to convince my babies that they were wrong, that these wondrous entities are real. But they set traps for me & I fell in. Head first.

My 9-year-old left a carrot on a plate for the Easter Bunny Saturday night before bed. Sunday morning, before she found her basket, she inspected it. "These teeth marks look suspiciously like Daddy's," she offered it to me for a look.
"Well, I guess the bunny just gnawed it a little. He probably gets a treat at everyone's house."
"Mm-hmm," she says with a tone that tells me I'm not off the hook.

"These bright jelly beans are better than these pastel ones," said my 11-year-old.
"Oh, those are Mike & Ike's. They're awesome," I agreed.
"Busted!! How do you know what brand they are if the Easter Bunny brought them?" she mocked.
"Because I'm a jelly bean connoisseur," I offered. She let that go.

We each got a nail polish in our basket. My older daughter got blue, because I thought the younger one already had blue. My younger daughter got purple, because I wanted the orange. "But purple is my favorite color," my 11 year old moped.
"I thought it was pink? You always say you like pink & orange?" (I didn't buy any pink because we have several already.)
"Then why do you have the orange?" Because orange is one of my favorite colors. Duh.
"I'll share. We can all share." I know we will.
"That doesn't answer my question." She said this with an over-enunciation of each word.

The Easter baskets are too small.

Flip-flops were in the baskets this year. "Dad got jerky instead of flip-flops," moaned my 9-year-old. "We didn't get any jerky."
"You got flip-flops," I reminded. I'm sure the Easter Bunny knows Dad isn't going to wear flip-flops."
"But we all like jerky."
"Not me. I don't like jerky," not since I barfed it out the moving car window when I was preggers.
"My flip-flops are different from yours & Annie's," Alex said to me.
"I'm sure the Easter Bunny didn't notice, just tried to pick a style he thought you'd like that would fit your big feet, " I teased back.
"I can wear yours," she offered.
"Yours are bigger than mine. Yours are 9-10, but mine are 7-8 because your feet are bigger than mine," I tried to dismiss her by scruffing her hair.
"Ha! You're busted!!" They screamed.

The Accused

They tag-teamed me. "You just said you bought her a bigger size."
"No, I said, she got a bigger size." I hope that's what I said.
"Mom, we know you're Santa. We saw the Santa paper in your closet." In our house, only Santa uses Santa paper. Family gifts have other Christmas prints.
(I'm still trying to figure out how we went from the Easter Bunny to Santa without a breath.)
"I have no idea what you're talking about." I feigned ignorance. I saw the roll knocked away from it's hiding spot, 1/2 out of the bag. I picked it up & put it back & hoped it was accidental & they hadn't paid attention. Until now, I hadn't heard a word about it. I loved that my children were so innocent they still believed at 9 & 11 years old despite their friends & cousins telling them there was no such thing.
"You are sooo busted," my Ally taunted me, pointing & laughing.

At this point, my husband tried to intervene. "What were you doing in your mother's closet? When I was a kid, I would never have gone into my parents' closet."
"I was getting shoes...."
"You're supposed to ask me to borrow my shoes, & wait for me to answer yes or no, & get them only if I say you can..."
She gave me the hand. She gave me the hand. She gave me the hand. SHE GAVE ME THE HAND! As in talk to the hand. "Don't change the subject."
Who is this kid?
I walked away. I felt the squeeze. They're growing up too fast.

(The funny thing is, while I do some Christmas shopping, my husband should really get credit for being Santa. He gets the toys. I don't like buying toys. I like buying the clothes, accessories, & unexpected novelties. And I do all the wrapping.)

Baby, Grab Your Tools

I'm baaaaaack! I've missed you!! Mwah.

So, a few things have been going on around here. The computer was on one evening when we lost power for no apparent reason. The next day when we tried to start our computer, it was stuck in a crazy loop of error messages. Apparently, we'd been hit by more than a few bugs. Couldn't do all the normal things, couldn't even get it to go into safe mode. Ok, that's it. That's about what I know about how to take care of computers. Put that on my list of things I don't want to know. I'm just not interested enough to learn it. You might as well be speaking any number of foreign languages to me. It just doesn't stick. And I'm already gone.....

Know what else I don't want to learn? Drywall. I think there's minor math involved with that, blech! I've been trying to redecorate our hall bathroom for months. I started peeling ugly wallpaper before Christmas, maybe Thanksgiving. Hi, it's almost Easter. I discovered when I pulled the loose paper from the wall by the tub that there is a little issue. Water splashed outside the tub had damaged the wall. I know this is easily taken care of (easily, that is, by someone who knows what he is doing) but it isn't done. I live with a man that has done this type of repair work before, however, he is less interested in home decor than I am by computer maintenance. So the bathroom sits with it's mostly-scraped walls mocking me that I cannot prime & paint & hang the shower curtain back where it belongs.

Mark Twain once said, "Never learn to do anything. If you don't learn, you will always find someone else to do it for you." It really does seem to work for most things.

You know what else I never want to learn? Plumbing. In that same bathroom, I need the obstacle of the toilet taken out of the way so that I may get behind it to remove the rest of the dreaded floral covering. Even though I feel I can figure that out (pretty rudimentary workings they are- ask my college roommate who fixed our slipping chain with duct tape!) I don't believe I am strong enough to lift it myself & put it safely out of the way. It looks heavy. I'm just not interested. I don't feel any urge to prove I can be as tough as a man. I cave! I'm not!! I'm as smart as many, smarter than a few, but physically? You win. I surrender. There goes my claim of being a feminist.

Isn't that why we get married? To make a life & divide the chores? Sure, & love of course.

I'm not going to clean the gutters, snake a drain, do any plumbing whatsoever (if a plunger or Draino won't fix it, neither will I.) I'd mow if he asked & I take out the trash as often as he does, but the really nasty & dirty & gross stuff...that's his job as The Man. Besides, he'd have to clean up my vomit if I tried. Do I need to remind anyone of the gray 'gravy' I found while cleaning our fridge? I have an iron stomach when it comes to being sick & rarely catching stomach-intestinal bugs that make one do horrible things into toilets or buckets, but I gag very easily at putrid, rotting, spoiled smells.

I do the dishes. But the super heavy or physical stuff...that's his job too. I do the laundry. I'll cook & I'll clean sometimes. Damned if I'll climb an extension ladder to the second story roof for anything. I'm afraid of ladders. Not of heights, but of ladders.

I point them out, but he kills the spiders. I can spackle & sand & paint, but he hangs curtain rods. I do the holiday decorating & un-decorating but he hauls the boxes to & from the basement. He bathes the dogs, but I clip their nails, clean their ears, & brush their coats. (If you have a dog with a downy undercoat, you must get a Furminator!!) He cleans his boxer's dirty mouth, but I forcefeed my mutt her glucosamine pills.

I don't want to change the oil or rotate the tires or do anything really as far as car maintenance goes. I'll get gas if I have to, but usually he does that for me too. And that's only because he's nice. I don't ask that of him. I just remind him when something is coming time & he does it. I don't want to weed the so-called gardens, & I won't because his boxer insists on doing his business there instead of in the yard. I do however, keep track of the family's appointments, lessons, invites, & keep important papers, do the taxes & pay the bills.

For the most part, we've got a system."I would do anything for love but I won't do that, no, I won't do that..." Maybe I finally understand those Meatloaf lyrics.

I do what I feel is within my area of things & then I point out other things that need to be done. I then I remind him 678 times until a.) he eventually does it or b.) I threaten to call one of our fathers to do it or c.) I throw a hissy fit. Repeat as necessary.

There is no 'Honey-Do' list here. I've got it all committed to memory. I'm quite sure he thanks me for this skill even if he never says so.

Baby, We're Cooking Now

My husband & I met in July & went on our first date in January of the following year. By April, he was set to move away to attend cooking school. He'd already taken classes here & there & found he enjoyed it. He often says he had to learn to cook. His survival depended on it. And he became very skilled.

At our first few dinners at his parents' house, I found a common theme. The food usually had one hot component, one warm & one cold...whether it was meant to be or not. His mother can't seem to time a meal to be ready all at the same time. I also noticed that unless the vegetable of the night was a salad, they were smothered in a cheese sauce. I once asked him what she had against butter & salt. (Apparently, she stopped using both with any noticeable flavor when his father was put on a restricted diet. I'm not sure how a Velveeta cheese sauce makes a healthier option, but that's where it started.)

Years ago, my mother in law asked me if I'd like her to bring over some chili they'd had the night before & I said sure. It took me almost an hour to season it properly & simmer the flavor into it. I asked my husband about it & he said that waving the salt & pepper over the pot constitutes seasoning & that anything else is just too spicy. I must have nearly killed her with my potato soup. I said it looked like tomato sauce with beef & beans. I had to add onion, garlic, chili powder, cumin, salt, cayenne. You know, the flavors that turn tomato soup into chili. I won't say everything she makes is bad. That wouldn't be true. I have many of her recipes that I do enjoy. But she made up a 'family favorites' recipe book for everyone one Christmas, & there was an entry there that made me shudder.

My husband spoke of it with disgust. I thought he was exaggerating, until I read what it was. This is worse than the liver I was forced to eat. It had to be worse than the sweet & sour pork I hated (really, I had something similar not so long ago & it isn't as bad as I remember, but I still hate peas.) It must somehow be a comfort food for my children's grandmother because it was attributed to her mother. Sorry, Selma, it will not be passed down in this family. My children have tried it (at her house) & complained the way my husband does about it. He says school paste is infinitely better. Creamed Tuna. To this day, he will not eat a tuna casserole & I make a good one. He won't eat warm tuna in any recipe. He loves tuna salad, but he has been ruined for it any other way. The extent of the recipe is milk, flour, tuna...served over white bread or toast. EEEW. Salt & pepper are listed as optional. People make jokes about creamed chipped beef, but I'm sure that is like the nectar of the gods in comparison. I'm sure that the fact that she uses skim milk & no cream whatsoever makes it even more distasteful.

His sister has had us over for dinner many times, & she, like my husband, is a great cook. I've never had a bad meal at her house. In fact, I have her recipe for turkey burgers & they are delicious. I've made them for company & been given raves. I don't take the credit though. I say where I learned to make them. 

I personally learned to cook the old-fashioned way....by hanging out in the kitchen, watching my mother, getting in her way, sneaking tastes, & asking if it was done yet. I discovered when I needed to cook my own meals that I knew how to make things for which I'd never read a recipe. I made my first stuffed chicken with mashed potatoes & gravy in college & it came out great. I may have called Mom a few times to ask what else or how long, but even now, if I call to ask how to make something, the answer is usually just "some of this & a little of that...Taste it." It took me years to remember how to boil an egg -I called her every time- but honestly, it only because I only did them once a year or so for egg salad. (My husband does the Easter eggs.) She makes a yummy noodle side dish that it took me years to figure out even though I knew what was in them...my downfall, too little salt. I knew she used garlic salt & I used garlic powder, but I had no idea how much salt was necessary to match her flavor. Egads. I don't make them very often. They're sinful!! Where my mother in law often lacks flavor, my mother takes up the slack. There's butter, maybe even bacon fat, & salt enough for everyone! Of course, my kids never come home complaining of a dinner they've eaten there.

Apparently, a lot of my friends' moms shooed them out of the kitchen when they were kids. I taught one of my friend's how to fry an egg. Seriously. She was basting it or something (I didn't really get the whole process of splashing the oil on top of it & using a lid...just gently turn it over. And please, for the love of God, cook it. Runny whites gross me out.) Many years later, I also taught her how to make spaghetti sauce. Not from scratch, I don't care to blanch & skin all those tomatoes, but they didn't have jars of sauce back then gasp! We had to season tomato sauce &/or paste ourselves.

At Disney World in the Nestle's Kitchen at Epcot

My kids are learning the way I learned. They hang out in the kitchen with my husband &/or me & watch, & we'll give them tasks to help, & eventually they can try it. We like cooking together. If our kitchen had the space, we'd all be in there together every night. As it is, my husband & I take turns, & the kids join us as they please.

My older child has made simple meals from start to finish all on her own. She scrambles eggs. She can make simple pasta dishes. She likes to make hor d'œuvres & dips. My younger child most enjoys baking. We make easy breads & muffins together. She likes to crack the eggs & do the measuring. They love helping their daddy make fresh pizza dough & then having make-your-own-pizza-night.

We read recipes together & try to find new things to make. They have their favorite chefs on Food Network. My older child thinks she does an impeccable Paula Deen. My younger one likes to watch Aarti Party. (We've never had Indian food, but I think she likes the cheerful set & Aarti's accent.) We keep trying to perfect the stirfry. It sounds so much simpler than it is. We experiment with different seasonings & spices. I think they have fairly adventurous palettes. I like that. I was such a finicky eater when I was a kid, but I'll give myself credit for one thing. I liked my vegetables far more than my kids do. I was picky about which ones were cooked in what manner (one of my sisters in law teased that she would cross-stitch my Vegetable Rules) but there are only a few I don't like. Sorry peas & okra, you have no place at my table.

One thing I know, it's that it's hard to tell the difference between my potato salad, pasta salad, macaroni salad, chicken noodle soup, vegetable beef soup, ham & bean soup & my mom's (hey, maybe that's why I love soup so much.)...which is pretty much just like Grandma's from what I remember. The potato salad for sure. And except for the vegetable soup, my kids are loving them too. They are summer & winter comfort foods. That's the way to pass it on.

Oh, Baby, Such Pressure!

Am I allowed to use the image of the award? IDK

Uh-oh. Did someone run out of other blogger friends? Did she notice that my posts have been rather sporadic & feel the need to urge me on? To what do I owe this stressor, er, honor?!

Robin, I'm baffled!!

You see, Robin Suttell, who writes Almost...But Not Quite & makes me laugh uncontrollably, giggle quietly, or cock my head to the side like a dog trying to understand the absurd, has given me the dubious title of the Versatile Blogger...In order to accept the award bestowed upon me, I must:

- Thank the person who gave you the award. Thank you, Robin!! I jest, but it's pretty cool that you would think of me.

- Share 7 things about yourself.

1.) I did not get my driver's license until I was 28 years old. My first car is dead in my garage. I don't really mind driving, but I don't really like it either. I don't seem to see well at night & well, I'll probably not go over 25 mph if I have to drive at night in the rain. Blind as a bat!! This, despite annual eye exams to the contrary. No corrective lenses of any type required. And I'm over 40. I also have an intense anxiety about driving on city streets & freeways with which I am unfamiliar. Having to actually think about rights & lefts has been my handicap since Kindergarten, when it was supposed to have become a 2nd natured thing. It didn't. I even have to think that I write with my right hand or L makes left...Being lost is a big major phobia. I don't have GPS on its own, in my car or on my cell phone. Woe is me.

2.) I love quotations, memorable lines other people speak. I have a 3-inch thick book of them. I have bookmarked websites for them. I cut them out of newspapers & magazines & use them in my scrapbooks & as facebook status updates. Sometimes someone else just beats me to what I'd want to say, or said what I was feeling but said it better than I was able.

3.) I wish I could sing. I love to do it & I will belt it out if the mood so strikes me, but I know I'm not very good. One thing I really just don't enjoy is listening to is a nasally singer & I know I have a nasally speaking voice so I conclude that I must be a nasally singer. My husband says that somehow, I sing with less nasal tones than I speak. And I score pretty well singing on Rock Band if the song is low. (My highest scores are Need You Tonight by INXS, Peace Frog by the Doors, Only the Good Die Young & Piano Man by Billy Joel...actually got 100% on the last one.) It would seem I sing like a man. It's true what you think, you do sing better a little louder & after a few drinks. ;)

4.) I like word games: Pathwords, Scramble, Upwords, Boggle, Scrabble, Word Rummy, Smart Mouth, Password, Taboo, word searches (less keen on crossword puzzles)... I was once playing with friends on vacation & I made the word 'puce' for the win, only I didn't really get my win because I was challenged & they had a measley little Webster's dictionary that didn't contain the word. When I got home, I got out my 2-volume World Book dictionary, found the word puce, took it to the copy shop & mailed the page with the word highlighted. This was pre- everyone has a smart phone/laptop/even a pc... I wasn't being a sore loser. I just knew I was right. (By the way, google puce. You'll be surprised.)

5.) I have found that who I am & what people remember of me or how they see me now when they meet me are often unrecognizable as the same person. I find it very funny that some people think I was a 'bad girl' who must have been in a lot of trouble or can't believe my luck that I wasn't caught more often, & others think I would never have been in trouble & can't imagine some of the crazy stories that have been told about me. (Only some are true...I swear.) But this was true even in the 'back then' days as I have never forgotten the Sociology class where we wrote our name on a sheet of paper & passed it around the classroom & then our classmates could comment or ask a question & someone asked me, "How can you be so quiet in class & so loud outside of it?" The answer is simple. I have a sense of duty & responsibility & I did what I was required to do, for the most part. I put more effort into it if I enjoyed it. I have a pretty decent work ethic, I think. And when my time was my own, I cut loose!

6.) I think my kids are pretty terrific. Being a parent isn't easy & I sure have my list of things they do that drive me crazy, but I'm pretty confident that they know how much I love them, how incredibly proud I am of them, how smart & funny & beautiful they are in my eyes, but also to their peers. They are kind & generous & full-on slobs, but they are the center of my world & I wouldn't want it any other way. I love that they talk to me about the things that bother them, things they care about & just little things they found interesting or funny through the day. Somehow, bus stories are always a hoot.

7.) I love my Dog. She's the doggiest dog of all. She revels in her dogdom, although she does speak Wookie to me. She does a mean Chewbacca impersonation. She's the mutt of all mutts, a real Heinz-57. She's 86 pounds of flying fur & I wouldn't trade her for anything. She's loving, oyal & a devoted companion. And she likes it when I sing to her.

- Pass the award to up to 10 versatile bloggers. This one can't be done. To my knowledge, I only know 3 others & they have all already been so honored. I travel in a small circle. Apologies!!

- Let those bloggers know that you gave them the award. Yeah, um, see the above.

So, thanks for a topic! I've been trying to figure out something to write when time permitted.

Maybe You Can Relate

Remember George Carlin? I used to love him. I loved the way he looked at ordinary things & brought to light the absurdity in them. One of my favorites was his sketch about our 'stuff." http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8896213084482448693#

I can't seem to get my family members to contain their stuff. I complain about their stuff all over the place. I trip over their stuff. My basement is filled to the brim with stuff. The garage is literally overflowing with stuff.

                                                  My dog sleeps on top of their stuff.

 

The other prefers to relax on top of one of them.



My baby is 9 & is suffering some kind of anxiety over the idea of purging the sippy-cups. Do we really need chewed-up baby books? (Chewed on by the babies, mind you.)

Amvets is coming next week & it's a perfect time to get rid of stuff we don't need, don't use & that is still nice enough for someone else to want. All the clothes that she doesn't wear because they are too small or too itchy or just not her style (so she can find those that she does like & would want to wear) are perfect things to pack up & donate.

I clear away my old stuff all the time. There is ample space in my closet for more stuff. I have come to terms with my baby being 9 & thusly, am no longer holding onto my favorite pre-pregnancy jeans (that would be 12 years) or shoes... they're gone. Even if I could wear them, they must be hopelessly outdated. But I don't know for sure because, you see, I got rid of them a long time ago!

I got rid of a Liz Claiborne purse I wish I'd kept. Accidents happen & rash judements can be made in the desperate attempt to dig out from beneath all the stuff that is weighing me down.... However, I don't miss the purse enough to want back everything else that left with it.

There is supposed to be a rule about parting with one old item for every new item brought in...but my husband seems to think that tossing out a 6 month old issue of Entertainment Weekly is an even trade for Rock Band, which with options, comes with guitar, drums, microphone, keyboards, maybe a second guitar or bass & the disc itself which must be played on a gaming system that also has multiple controllers....

I like playing the game as much as the rest of them, but I don't like a plastic drumset in my living room. However, I'm not a big fan of the basket of controllers for the Wii, xbox, PS2 or 3 or whatever number we're on now.

My older daughter is in a panic because she wants to have some friends over for a game night & sleepover. She drew up a written proposal when presenting me with this idea. I agreed to her terms. She is now freaking out because it is all supposed to happen Friday & she can't seem to keep up with the piles of stuff.

Oh, I love how the tables are turning. I hope it makes a lasting impression.

I'll probably help, but...it's not my stuff.