I love school holidays

I might like them even more now that I am not in school.  If my kids were at school all day would I hear these little gems?

Big C: I have the top score! (Wii fest in the livingroom.)  I have the first and third highest on this game.  That leaves only the second spot open.

I am afraid I did remind him how ordinal numbers work.  A third without a second?  Not possible.  Also, rankings.  Big disappointment to the boy.  Now he is avoiding that game at all costs, talking up EVERY OTHER game so his siblings won't be tempted to play and he will hold the record for all eternity.  

Then there was Little C wandering in to the kitchen for food at 10:30 am.

Little C: I am totally not getting a candy cane.  I counted them all on the tree and I know there are enough for everyone, but I am not asking.  

Mama: Not asking, huh?

Little C: Nope.  But could I have one of those eggs that goes in this instead? (Here, he indicates the antique silver jigger on the counter.)

Mama: Do you mean a soft boiled egg or a gin soaked egg?

Little C: What?

Mama: I will make the eggs.

Little C: After the egg I might count the candy canes again.

play with me

Does any one else completely LOVE the funny word verification words on Blogspot?  I thought of a game for us to play.  You hit the comment button, tell me your random letters, and then define the word for us all to enjoy.

I just had "imoan" over at lftec.blogspot.com  TOO EASY!  

Gimme sumthin worth my time.  We can all ring in the New Year together with some "kingfean" fun!

 

Points Against Public Schools

I am toying around with the idea that my five year old is too educated for his own good.  Well...for my good, anyway.  I am considering pulling him out of public education and teaching him myself.  Does a kindergardener need logic?  Should he be able to pull an end-run around my sensible directions?  

Let me work on some simple "do what I say without asking me why" exercises.  I will pencil out some "respect me or else" assignments.  Find some independent reading to support my new leanings towards "no need to think for yourself" child rearing philosophy.  I'll let you know what I come up with.

Too drastic?  You let me know what you think after I tell you the one he just pulled at the dinner table.

Little C: "Did you know my stomach has four parts?"

Mama: "Are you a Ruminant?"

Little C: "What?"

Mama: "Like a cow or a goat.  Giraffes too."

Little C: "Uh.  No.  You see, the first section is for swallowed food that I did not chew.  This one is at level zero.  The second one is for chewed up food that I swallowed.  This one is 100%.  The third one is for drinks and it is also full.  The fourth one is for dessert and is at zero."

Then he just smiles at me with those Paul Newman eyes, rosy red cheeks, and mop of blonde hair.  He can be very persuasive even when he does not come up with these wild theories.

Mama: "Let me make sure I get this straight.  Are you telling me that you have chewed and swallowed as much steak and baked potato as your body can hold?"

Little C:  "Yes."

Mama: "And that you have followed my advice and actually chewed your food this evening."

Little C: "Yes."

At this point he starts to look encouraged.

Mama: "So even though you have eaten less than half of your dinner you are telling me that you are full.  But not so full that you couldn't follow up with a big bowl of ice cream."

Little C: "YES!"

Mama: "Since there is no dessert tonight...you can use that fourth chamber to fit the rest of your potato, kid."

Nearly Headless Mama

...but not because of the scarf.  Because I wore a dark sweater and hat in front of cherry cabinets.

I cut bias strips from an icy blue organza georgette and did a straight, raw edge on the scarf.  I love it with my brown hat and brown down jacket.

I tried doing a slight ruffle but it was too Miss Havisham for me.

CTs and panCakes

Big C did great today!  He had a tough day at the Doctor on Wednesday and since today's test at the hospital required an IV, I was prepared for more of the same.  All I can say is, I love nitrous oxide!  Big C was SO cute when he was all looped up on it.  The nurses were laughing because he said he felt funny but was completely lucent.  He just closed his eyes and talked through his smile.  Very Zen.  

Of course it helped that the very pretty nurse seemed to have a crush on C from the moment she saw him.  She said he looked like her brother when he was a kid.  He was perfectly pleased to accept the attention.

During the scan he laid perfectly still.  It was a Savasana any yogi or yogini would be proud of!

Then we went out for pancakes.  Let me rephrase that: we went out for PANCAKES.  We got to the little diner and C bellied up to the counter and ordered 4 cakes.  They were so big that they arrived on two plates.  The waiter did not believe that he would be able to eat them all.  But Big C worked his way through all 4 cakes the size of a plate!  As he was eating the staff kept walking by to check on his progress.  The gentleman eating oatmeal two stools down just stared at him doubtfully while Big C ate.  When I paid the bill our waiter said he would never forget watching such a small kid eat so many pancakes.

Magic Scarf

Did you all know cashmere comes loaded with mojo?

I did not know this.

But nothing else explains the flirty stranger who offered to share his table and pay for my espresso at the coffee shop earlier today.  I said no to both of his offers.  I am just not into the tall, handsome, expensive coat wearing, greying temples, full wavy hair, subtle wrinkles around his laughing eyes kind of guy.  (Sigh.)

I have not been single for a LONG time.  But I have to imagine that a pick-up line like that just might work for a certain kind of fellow.

And, as it turned out, my husband was flirting with me a bit today too...with his comment on my previous post.  THAT is a pick up line that always works from exactly the fellow I AM into.

Crafty Mama

I am feeling all kinds of crafty today!  Dr. Fancypants helped me figure out how to make a scarf I had been craving.  And now I have this lovely cashmere blend scarf that ripples for SO LITTLE money!  No joke.  This beautiful wool ran me around $13.

I tried bleaching the edge to soften it but the dye held on for dear life and I was afraid to go any stronger for fear of eating away the wool.  Might mess with adding dye to the edge of another version.

I am going to go look at some yummy trim for the edge of it.  I want something sheer with a slight ruffle without looking like Queen Elizabeth I or one of those heirloom chickens.  While I love fancy fowl and kick-ass feminist monarchs (tiaras every day...oh the fun of it!) there is some fashion danger in toeing too close to the Nearly-Headless-Nick line.  

Will update...and post directions.

A mama and her boy

I don't know if I have done a very good job of letting you all know what an incredible kid Big C is.  He tends to be a little quieter.  More low key.  There are days where he is on the verge of stodgy, almost.  But every time I really look at him I am blown away by what a good person he is.

When Big C was 5 we were all at a playground in another part of town.  We knew no one else there.  And it took him about 3 minutes to round up a group of older boys and organize them all in an imaginary game of pirates.  These big 10 year olds were calling him Captain, and happy to follow any orders he barked at them.  

This is my boy who collects neck ties as vacation souvenirs.  The one who asked for a Navy Blue Blazer for Christmas last year.  He tucks in his shirt, wears a belt, likes to dress nicely, and wears his hair above his ears.  He loves wool socks.  Did I mention he is turning 9 next month?  Not 49.  09.  I guess that is how you buck the system around here.

He has read The Complete Far Side and has one right on the tip of his tongue to fit every circumstance.  He is completely intrigued by Calvin and Hobbs and laughs until he can't breathe, but then will tell me that while he thinks it is funny that Calvin would hold up a sign in the car window saying "help I am being kidnapped" he also knows that the consequences of such behavior would be very bad.  He is the one who always "beeps" over the cussing in any music playing.  He is a vegetarian because he does not think animals should be food.  And he very gently picks up any bug in the house and lets it go outside.

He and I went away this past weekend.  Mama and the boy took a road trip to visit friends.  We were driving at night and saw a farm on fire.  The house, the barn, everything.  The fire trucks were still racing to the scene and the flames were shooting 70 feet in the air.  The low, winter clouds above were blood red.  It was dramatic and scary.  He started to cry and was asking if the animals could let themselves out of the barn and hoping no people or pets were hurt.  It was a 4 hour drive each way and we spent part of it analyzing the lyrics to some They Might Be Giants songs.  He liked "Someone Keeps Moving my Chair" and "Your Racist Friend."  He asks some very big questions.  

Big C was jumping on the mini trampoline last night because it was too cold to play outside.  He was not exactly jumping, it was more of a Flash Dance jogging in place sort of thing.  And this is what he says:  "I am (huff) trying to get my heart rate (puff) up.  (Inhale.)  Because I am one of the (heeefff) shorter kids in my class (whoooooof) I thought I would make up for it (haaaaaah) with speed."  And that is how he handles most of his challenges.  

Big C has an autoimmune disorder.  Thankfully, he has only had two major episodes, but the one a year ago was pretty serious.  He was taking huge doses of Prednisone, which helped almost instantly, but had some obvious side effects.  One was that he suddenly put on 20 pounds.  Now I will probably do that over Christmas, but since he only weighed 40 to begin with, it was quite dramatic.  He also had the classic Prednisone moon face.  And his eye brows grew up while his hair line came down to meet them.  

When a younger neighbor boy saw him he said, "What is wrong with your face?"  

Big C smiled and said, "Nothing.  I am taking some medicine that helps me feel better but made my face change."  

The boy said, "Well I want your face the way it was!"

And Big C patted him on the back and told him not to worry.  That when he was done with the medicine his face would be back to normal.  There he was struggling with real, physical pain and he was comforting someone else.

At the end of every school day he gives me a hug and a kiss in front of his classmates.  I have been told those days are short lived, but I am not so sure.  He hugs his sister AND his brother too.  The three of them stand in a little knot, like wolf cubs that had wandered apart, and sniff their happy little greetings in the school lobby.  In fact, they all sleep in the same queen sized bed while three twin beds stand empty.  The other day in the back of the van he said, "Even if we weren't siblings we would all be best friends!"  All together now: Awww!

Big C is so strong in many ways that when he is vulnerable it brings out the mama bear in me like nothing else.  He has an appointment with the specialist tomorrow.  We both know they will need to draw some blood.  And it doesn't matter that he can be very logical about it before we get there.  He will tell me when it is over that it really did not hurt.  But that does not stop him from having a full-blown panic attack while we are there.  This tiny, gentle boy has pulled an acrylic pocket right out of their wall, screws, anchors, and chunks of drywall.  He has flexed so tightly when the needle was in that he has blown out the vein in one arm, and then the other.  No bribe, no treat, no amount of holding and soothing will calm him down.  

When it is over, we will both be sitting in the chair hugging and wiping away our tears.  And then we will go enjoy some vegetarian pad thai and waste half the day together because I am happy for any excuse to keep him close to me.  

"And while you're at it, keep the nightlight on 

inside the birdhouse in your soul."

 

-Birdhouse In Your Soul, They Might Be Giants

Guest Post: little c

i love  snickerdoodles

i love mama

i love daddy 

go off no on love tree try aeiou a kiss 

look book cook took hook rook

i love my 3 dogs

Birdy Haiku

This bee skep is one of my favorite things I have ever bought.  I do not keep bees.  If I did I would have looked for the kind of skep with a spigot at the bottom.  The kind where you just turn the handle and gooey golden goodness gobs forth.  (I am in an alliterative kind of mood.)  It turns out, sorry to disappoint anyone here, that the spigot-variety only exist in cartoons.  

This one was in a tidy little garden shop way back when I did not have children and I could spend idle days thinking about how to use this in my garden.  Then I brought it home and put it on a storage shelf and left it there--for more years than it deserved to be sitting all alone and unloved.  

When we remodeled the kitchen, I picked out fire engine red counter tops over espresso cherry cabinets for half of the kitchen.  The rest is a glazed knotty alder with espresso counter tops.  The walls are a shade of green.  Red glass shades on the pendant lights.  You may not have picked up on my little dilemma yet so I will help you out: I was stuck trying to accessorize a red and green kitchen.  My solution was to work the browns, add some black, and find some texture to mellow the shiny red counters.

Don't go thinking I don't love the red.  I still smile when I think about how they match half of my shoes.  But they were still shiny and red.  During the install the counter-man laughed and said, "no one has ever ordered this color before."  

And while digging around in my house for things to go on my new bookshelves, I found the bee skep.  Brown, textured, same benefits of a basket without having to dust any plastic fruit.  It now sits on the counter below an oil painting of poppy fields.  I keep a copy of The Secret Life of Bees nearby just for fun.

And now just look!  This wee tiny little birdlet has moved in.  

Yes she sings, no stings, 

Found among dear Joanie's things.  

Itty painted wings.

I am going to be in trouble

SO my baby lost his two front teeth yesterday.  The toppers.  He has lost three on the bottom already.  When those fell out the new, giant, serrated mothers popped up very quickly.  It was strange.  Plus I felt robbed of the gap.  I LOVE THE GAP!  My camera was dead yesterday but I promise to add a picture of it after school today.  (This pic was snapped by the brilliant wendyb on the sidewalk outside of school one day.  She is smart, funny, and incredibly talented.  Her blog is on my list.  You should peek.)

Miss M had months worth of gap.  But she was an aggressive wiggler.  She has manipulated out teeth that really should not have come out yet.  And even though her teeth have grown in she still has a habit of only biting and chewing with her molars.  Well, what else could she do when she spent all of first grade with all 8 front teeth missing?

Big C never wiggles a tooth.  He just chews to one side and ignores it until he spits it out one day brushing the teeth around it.  Teeth so loose they fall out when he drools.  With the first couple he lost, he would press them into the gums instead of wiggling them.

These two teeth of Little C's were just hanging crookedly, flapping like wind chimes when he spoke.  They were more fun that way so he was in no hurry to get them out.  The first one fell out yesterday morning at home so I sent him to school looking like he lost a fight: his blonde mop was hanging in his face, his cheeks were red with wind burn, his chapped lips were crusty and split, he was missing one tooth, and the remainder was dangling by a thread.  Not his best look, but it would seem 5 year old girls have different standards than the mama.  It must be those blue eyes.  When people ask me where he got them I say, "Paul Newman, but don't tell my husband."  

The second tooth fell out at recess.  He was just wiggling it, you know, to impress the ladies.  But it is cold here and he was wearing mittens.  And the tooth fell into the snow.  As luck would have it, it landed bloody hole up so he spotted it.  He put it in his mitten for safe keeping.  When the whistle blew he was walking in and happened to pass Miss M and company on their way out to recess.  All of the fifth grade girls gave him a congratulatory hug (which also seems to impress the kindergarten girls) and he gave Miss M charge of the tooth.  

Now the tooth was in her mitten while she ran around and dug in the snow.  When she got back inside she ignored the safety of her locker, backpack, and pockets.  There were too many possibilities for loss or theft in those locations.  So she wrapped it in kleenex and put it in her sock.  Not tall socks, mind you, but low anklets.  She stuffed it in the arch.  And the tooth stayed there through the rest of the day, including gym class.    

The tooth fairy tucked a crispy $2 bill under his pillow as a rare treat for losing two teeth in one day and saving her a trip.  And, as I have signed up for the tooth-buy-back-program, I have purchased the pair of choppers for my collection.  (I will fill you in on our tooth fairy lore sometime.)

But the funny effect of his classroom celebrity yesterday (loosing a tooth is a BIG deal) was some lingering appeal with the ladies.  Moose took the kids to school this morning, and the report is this: there was a little bundle of girls waiting for Little C inside the front door.  They giggled and cooed their hellos at him.  He gave them a casual side-nod and half a smile--a maneuver any high school boy would have to practice in the mirror for hours comes naturally to Little C.  Moose walks him to his locker and continues on to talk to Miss M's teacher.  When he comes back, little C is almost done putting his shoes on and there is one little girl, leaning on the desk in the hallway and making doe eyes at him (picture that scene from Bambi).  This is how it plays out:

Girl:  (in a sing-song way)  C, I know how to spell your name.  [She spells it slowly, lingering on the vowels]

Little C: [stands, picks up his folder with an air of nonchalance]

Moose:  C, do you know how to spell her name?  [Asking only so he could tell the mama which little girl was doing the flirting.]

Little C:  [Gives his dad a look to indicate that he is now quite certain that his dad is, in fact, an utter moron and would do well to stay out of it.  He knows how to handle this.  He went to preschool.]

Then the boy, with an air of Cool Hand Luke about him, breezes past them both and into the classroom.  The pig-tailed doll spins and follows.

It is getting harder to hide the evidence of my whole Paul Newman episode.  But don't tell Moose. 

Come on!

I do not like professional sports.  I do not follow any of them.  I am simply not an affiliate.  You will never see a jersey on me or the people I buy clothes for.  I do not need to find masses of people to agree with me on any topic in order to feel like I belong or my opinion is valid.  Not a team choice, not a direct marketing scam, not anything.  The larger the number of people of that are into something the less I tend to like it.  I am neither a fan nor a fanatic.

I am not claiming to be some anti-TV-activist.  I can consume with the best of them.  I just prefer to chose things that have a relevance in my own life.  (Like House.  That medical information could save my life some day!  And maybe yours too if you are with me and you suddenly experience a spontaneous tension pneumothorax.  I would feel confident stabbing a needle between your ribs to siphon off the air pocket in your pleural space.)  

I will occasionally enjoy part of a game of whatever is on.  I actually like sports.  I just really dislike the whole biz surrounding professional sports.

Which is why I don't know why I clicked on the news this morning about the NHL declaring its outrage and coming to the defense over some actress' reputation.  Maybe it was the irony in the NHL displaying indignation over anything, especially over how one of their players talked badly about an ex-girlfriend.

From what I can surmise, Sean Avery is a jerk and has been for years.  But there were a dozen reasons to suspend the icehole before this.  So what changed?  Don't try to sell me the PR spin about damaging the reputation of a young lady.  She is currently dating her third pro-hockey player and regularly poses like a seasoned porn star.  She is clearly not interested in "nice guys".      

What he looks like is a petulant brat.  The kind of guy who will talk smack because his own shallow self-worth is tied up in beating other people.  And even if she is an ex, he can't handle the mere thought that the public might think she chose someone else over him.  He looks like the kind of person who has no tools to feel good about himself without putting someone else down.  

Pro athletes are, just as the rest of us, products of their environment.  The icehole makes money for someone.  His behavior has been tolerated because he sells tickets and jerseys.  The only reason they are coming down on him now is that they fear his new comments will damage their own bottom line.  

When will we ever learn that it is a rare exception that is actually worth half the attention they receive?  Pro sports is not a deep pool of role models, folks.  But even I can see that there is something appealing in the stories of the few good guys out there.  The players who stay grounded, treat their wives with respect, build up those around them, and use their platform to improve things.  But they should have to earn the adoration.  Smacking people instead of the puck takes you off the list.  And occasionally, it would appear, off the ice.

Schemers and Savages

My sweet, darling children have this to say to Land's End:

You accept any return or exchange for any reason.  You also sell tins of cookies this time of year.  (Do you see where this is going?)

I think the words "exploit the giant loop hole" were said.  Also "we could take advantage of them for free cookies."  

(Miss M has clearly abandoned all Socialist leanings.  She is a microcosm of economic theory in fast forward.)

The plan is this: buy the cookies, eat the cookies, return the empty tin for a full one.  Repeat.  Land's End, consider yourself warned.

So I lied.

Wouldn't be the first time.  Certainly not the last.  You see, I tried these on.  I am woman enough to admit the mistake of not having bought them and kept them for myself for ever and ever amen.  I lied to myself.  I lied to the shoe.  They were a perfect fit.  Made me walk a little taller even.  Should have bought them right then and there.  

What did I take home that day instead you might wonder.  Cute yellow wedge sandals from JCrew.  Also nice.  But now that winter is here I can't slip them on over pointelle knit tights.  But of course these J-41 wedges would not have gone with the white summer dress and yellow cardigan.  

I am going to throw a pretty poorly sourced quote at you.  It comes from the author, Janet Fitch, talking about something her former therapist had said to her:  

"I know it feels like you have all these options and when you make a decision you are losing a world of possibilities.  But the reality is, until you make a decision, you have nothing at all."

So at least I am not barefoot, right?  Or is she telling me to get the J-41 shoes as well and keep my options open?  

Just one more shoe

Look at the inverted bottle taper on this heel.  Brilliant and beautiful.  The color is Mermaid.   And with the whole Nike+Cole Haan=Comfy thing they have going on...good thing they come in patent.  The drool wipes right off.

shoeshoeshoeshoeshoes...yes!

Sorry.  No photo.  But after this description you won't even want one.  You couldn't handle the picture anyway.  Thank you to my friend Miss Regina for calling this what it is--Hot Shoe Porn! 

Cole Haan red patent leather peep toe mary jane sling back kitten heels

Was it good for you?

Hello, Mall...

...remember me?  You have changed a bit since I have seen you last.  It has been two long months.  I know.  My bad.  You have always been there...waiting...anticipating.  Hope it was worth the wait.  My credit card thinks it was.

I know it was just a quickie.  I promise to stay longer next time.  Especially since you showed me a couple of new tricks.  It was quick but it worked for me.  Thanks for keeping it fresh.

I love the new soap at LUSH called The Godmother.  Thanks to the ladies working (they hire the nicest people) for the funny chat and the sample.  We spent quite some time trying to pinpoint the smell.  Yes, it is soap.  Yes, I want to lick it.  And after trying to identify it (not Jello, not Kool Aid) I figured it out.  Twizzler.  But not Twizzler in the bag.  Twizzler whiff in the car on a road trip.  Twizzler breath.  Warm Twizzlers in the sun on the dashboard.  

J. Jill, thank you for offering your Cyber Monday 25% off on EVERYTHING in the store just as you have online today.  Very thoughtful of you.  I know I tried on lots of things, left a huge but tidy pile in the dressing room, and eventually bought nothing.  But you had 5 women working with nothing else to do.  I am worried about you.  Have you lost your shoppers?

Mr. Bauer, can I call you Ed?  Why no corduroy skirts?  They are in the catalog...the website...but not the store.  Is this an oversight or was the supply depleted by the busy shopping weekend?  Since you still have 3,176 puffy jackets still in the store I am thinking oversight.

And Crocs!  You are so crazy innovative with the footwear.  Now you have furry lined mary jane ballet flats.  Miss M will be wanting them.  Maybe the Mama too.

  

H&M: can a 36 year old mother of three get away with the ballet pink tiered ruffle mini skirt?  Did I mention she is short and round?  Maybe the black one then.  

Ta Da!!

Countdown

I have less than 5,000 words to go and about 38 hours to get there.  I can hear those boots tapping their toes up in the closet.  They are getting impatient to be on my feet!  The only question now is argyle or stripes for the socks?

I do not think it matters that I have resorted to age old National Novel Writing Month tricks to pad my word count.  Only one wacky dream sequence.  Only two scenes with characters sitting over a beer or a coffee offering up a few pages of their life histories each.  Yes, there are a few instances of people answering a question by repeating the question before they answer it.  But it is all part of the character development and vital to the plot.  Sort of.  Vital to my plot anyway!  And I did not start avoiding contractions and acronyms like the plague until late last night.  

Next post when I blow past 50,000!

The Sprint to the Finish

Moose and his father have the cygnets out of the house for the day which was meant to give me time to write and reach 50,000 words.  So far, I have managed to re-clean an already clean house.  I love to go back over my house after it is clean and hit stuff I never have time for on a daily basis.  I had to put on sunglasses to wash a few things at my sink because the sun coming in the south facing window was so bright!  The plants are all dusted and the upper oven is self-cleaning.  Floors are done (does anyone else mop after their guests leave instead of before they arrive?).  The rock collection is rearranged and dusted.  And as tempted as I am to wash the kitchen windows and lemon oil my cabinets...I think I will save those fun tasks as rewards.  Then I can do them in my new boots that are waiting up high in Moose's closet!

So now I finally have myself hunkered down in the library to write.  I am next to a north-facing window, camped out on the backgammon/chess table.  I have an antique china plate of Dare Maple Leaf cookie and a bottle of San Pellegrino.  I have a big floppy dog keeping my feet warm and two more snoring to keep me company.  There is a lovely mix playing on Pandora.  I am looking at the shelves full of all of our family's favorite things.  As tempted as I am to give you a tour of it right now (you will love Miss M's needle felted model of the human brain) I am aware that that would be considered stalling as well.  What is this fear of finishing something?  I am not going to answer that...I am going to finish so I don't even have to consider it!

Happy Pie Day!

We have a little tradition around here the day before Thanksgiving.  It is called Pie Day.  I get together with two of my friends/neighbors and we bake all the pies for all of our dinners the next day.  We stick with the traditionals: pumpkin, pecan, and apple.  B (which might as well stand for Baker Supreme) makes all the crusts ahead of time.  J is a potter, so she does the fancy crust work.  And me?  I mix up some mighty fine fillings.  

And tomorrow, when we are all sitting around the table enjoying three beautiful and tasty pies, I will once again be thankful for neighbors who feel more like family than friends.  I love you both!

Next up: Cookie Day!  See you in December!

Refugees

Dear displaced arachnids,

Please don't be alarmed.  We are only temporarily relocating you.  While the frenzy around the house today may feel like a genocide to you, it is only some event-based cleaning.  We are celebrating Thanksgiving here.  Are you familiar with that holiday?  

While your webs (and the goodies trapped in them) have been removed for the time being, you are welcome to rebuild them at a later date in a yet-to-be-determined corner of your former domain.  And because I want you to know how much I appreciate your help in the past with the other pesky bugs, you can have...one corner in the basement and any space in the garage you would like...until I need to move you again so I don't get the sticky webbing stuck in my mittens.  

Happy Thanksgiving, 

Alpha Mama

"Those Questions In a Mother's Mind"

My father-in-law just gave me a booklet from 1957 "Published for mothers by Personal Products Corporation...makers of Modess and Teen-Age by Modess."  On the back it says "lithographed in the U.S.A."  I LOVE IT!!  And I love him for thinking of me and Miss M and recognizing that "No doubt about it, these are pretty good days to be a mother or a daughter."  He handed it to me and said that he thought it was probably information I already knew but that this might help me talk to Miss M about growing up.  The man is 83.  Is that not the cutest thing ever?

The book is a fun read.  I liked the part about what to do if your daughter seems to be ready for information but she is not asking questions (that has NEVER been a problem at our house).  The makers of Modess and Teen-Age by Modess recommend dropping little hints (keep it casual) such as:

Leaving out my box of Modess where they can be seen.

Asking her to remind me to buy toothpaste and Modess sanitary napkins at the store.

Mention that the reason I am not swimming in the lake is that it is the first day of my monthly period.  (I grew up watching Cathy Rigby on TV doing gymnastics in a white leotard during her period so the whole not swimming during my time thing cracks me up!)

An excellent way to begin the conversation is by giving her a box of Teen-Age by Modess. 

Which only makes me think of other clever ways to work in some product placement:

Put some in a little basket at the dinner table so I can ask her to please pass the Modess.

When I fold the laundry I can discreetly line all of her undergarments for her with Teen-Age by Modess.

We could have a craft day and decoupage Modess dispensers for the bathrooms.

I could tuck Modess sanitary napkins in all of her pockets so she is always prepared.

It reminded me of when my big Sis and my friend Amy's big Sis were going through some changes.  Amy and I took one of every kind of sanitary item we could find in our houses and put them to the test.  We cut them all in half, made blue water with food coloring, and dipped everything in them to see how much liquid they could hold.  We even dipped in a piece of sidewalk chalk and snapped it in half like the Colgate commercial.  My, how we are colored by advertisements.  

 The best part of the whole book is the illustrations.  Everyone looks seriously depressed.

Alexander Booth is a fine painter, but it looks like the man was surrounded by some serious PMS.   

And since we are our daughter's best teacher, keep in mind that "it is no coincidence that mothers who complain about menstrual pain often have daughters who develop pain too.  Mothers too tired to move during their periods have daughters following the same patterns.  And mothers who remain cheerful and calm usually find that their daughters do, too."  

I knew it!  Everything wrong with me IS my mother's fault.  But wait...that means...Miss M...

I'll start dropping dollars in the therapy jar tomorrow.

Dear Daughter,

Three weeks ago you invented Socialism.  Really.  You had it all planned out.  I didn't have the heart to tell you that the origins of your idea date back close to 200 years in Western Europe.  But I imagine the intelligencia of that age sitting around coffeehouses discussing the ills of the Western world and trying to find a peaceful alternative.  Not unlike, I imagine, what you and the brothers do when you are discussing how to set up peace and order in Kid Town.  (Kid Town is the squatters settlement spreading across my basement.  I had to apply for a travel visa to cross their territory in order to get to the laundry.  Was kind of hoping that would get caught up in bureucratic red tape for a couple of months.  But no, since what they wanted out of the deal was access to the Wii up on the grown-up level of the house it got pushed through with the speed of a presidential pardon.)  

Similar to those first French, English, and German Philosophers, you have come up with some practical ways to implement your ideals.   All of which are very commendable.  My advice to you those weeks ago was to think of where your plan might run into problems and how other people might find ways to manipulate the system for their own benefit.

So now you have come to me with a possible problem: distribution of wealth.  You would like your brothers to have equal purchasing power to you, but their income is far more limited because they do not babysit and their savings are depleted because they feed their demons when they start jonesing for new legos.  Your solution: loan sharking.  Yup.  This is what you came up with.  You will loan them money for what they want to buy which they would be expected to repay by a certain date plus extra.  (So what you seem to be working on now is a hybrid of Socialism and Capitalism.  You should check out Canada and Sweden.)  And when they can't repay you?  You will repossess the legos.  When I asked you about how will you ensure that they have the means to repay you, you sat quietly for a bit.  "I suppose that would be important."  Yes, dear, it is important.  And when you figure out the answer I will send you to Washington to help them all figure it out too.

In the meantime, here is my old copy of B.F. Skinner's Walden Two.  What is incredible to think about is that this was written just a few years after World War 2.  The world was just beginning recovery from the most horrendous crises and so the thought of a peaceful future must have felt like a promise of love.  What I think you will especially like about the book is the application of scientific principles to human behavior in an effort to solve our problems.  I can't wait to see what you think of it...and what it makes you think of next!

M is for...

...mmmm Moose Muffins!

 Moose has a cute new habit.  If you can't stomach a tale of domestic male prowess then skip over this one.  When the last few bananas are overripe he quietly makes muffins.  He waits until the kids are in bed and he sneaks down to the kitchen and makes muffins while his doppleganger is cobbling shoes in the workshop for the little old shoemaker next door.

In the morning the cygnets roll downstairs, rubbing their eyes and pushing matted nests of hair out of their faces.  And what do they find?  Magic Moose Muffins!  They love it.

Know what I like?  I like sneaking a warm muffin before going to bed.  Oh, and not having to make breakfast for my cerealphobic babies.  

Thanks, Moose!

Little C is learning to read.  And because he likes to be a little tricksey as well, he has taken to spelling some things backwards.  On purpose.  And he is reading his books upside down.  How very Seuss of him!  

The other night when Moose got home from the office Little C ran up to him and said, "I figured out how to read, dick."  It made more sense when he showed his dad the Dick and Jane book he had been working on.  It was still funny.

Also, Little C has a bit of an accent.  We don't know why.  His J's sound French.  He rolls his R's.  There is a hint of Hogwarts about him.  It is a sad commentary to admit I think he learned part of it from the drive up ATM.  But it makes listening to him read a complete joy!

And now he is sounding out our names phonetically when he wants our attention instead of just saying Mom or Dad.

I answer to Mmm--aah--mmm.

Moose responds to Duh--ah--duh, which makes me giggle!

Ah, yes, the name

Because Anne Taintor is very funny.  

www.annetaintor.com 

we have a diagnosis!

So, my back pain is not Spinal Meningitis, Glomerulonephritis, or Spondylolisthesis.

It is simply, poor writing posture. This rare, un-retouched photo offers some of the first evidence in the case. It also points toward a direct correlation between these new wrinkles between my eyes and the increase in my writing.

Prescription: Find a new favorite writing place with improved ergonomic arrangement, and add an extra yoga class.

Prognosis: The back should be better by the end of the week.  But I am afraid the outlook for the wrinkles is not so favorable.

WPM

So the phone rang and the UPS truck came and....a few other excuses.

It doesn't mean I bailed on my quest to quantify.  I just adjusted the time frame.  So I write, off the top of my head with no real plan (or plot), about 28 words a minute.

FYI, if I was writing this for word count I would have spelled out 28.  And FYI.  Every little bit helps!

NaNo challenge

Moose has a friend that is totally into spreadsheets.  Freakishly into them, I mean.  Now, I am all for some fun with statistics, but it feels cold to me to approach the world by quantifying and ranking it all.  But whatever, it works for him.  And since I also bet that he is never late with ANYTHING, I am going to try something.  I am going to write furiously for an hour and see what my WPM rate is.  

I am starting at 29,104 at 1:44.

I am setting the timer.

GO!

This will not end well

Have you all heard of these cake-in-a-mug recipes?  Basically, they are short, little recipes that you mix and microwave right in a coffee mug.  There are many varieties.  The one in my microwave right now uses hot cocoa mix as the base.  Hello?  Does anyone else sense the danger?  Does anyone else see the potential for abuse here?  In 4 minutes from start to stomach I can have a serving (ok, 2 servings) of hot chocolate cake.  No evidence--as long as I crack a window to vent the aroma before the kids get home.  

The concept appeals to my inner "Easy Bake Oven" genes.  It is not quite as simple as the stir-and-eat ease of "Baby Alive" baby food, but OMG, this cake is super yummy.  

if only...

Does this ever happen to you?  A situation presents itself, you have an opportunity to respond, and you do so appropriately.  Of course it does.  

But do you ever step away from the situation and think of things you wish you had the nerve to say?  Of course you do.  

This afternoon my doorbell rang twice in a row.  Standing outside was a nice looking but chilly young man handing out flyers for tree trimming services.

He says: We are in your neighborhood today and I see you have a stump.

I say: Yes. My kids play on it.

He says: Do you have any trees you would like us to look at.

I say: No thank you.  Have a nice day.

He says: Thanks.

So now I am thinking about things I could have said instead.

Comment A

He says: ...I see you have a stump.

I say:

...(feigned surprise) I have a what?  Where?  What the heck happened to my tree?!

...(I pull one arm inside my sleeve) EXCUSE ME?!

...Yes, but he is at the office right now.

Comment B

He says: Do you have any trees you would like us to look at?

I say:

...The trees are fine, but I think something is wrong with my doorbell, it just rang twice.

...No, but the bean grinder is stuck in my coffee maker.  Can you fix it?

...Sure.  You can look at my Magnolia and my American Butternut.  Just don't touch them.

Overheard at a Mexican Restaurant...

...if you were at a table next to us tonight.

"This isn't good food, mom.  It is cheesy and fantastic!"  And after learning the Spanish word for "fantastic", Little C said "fantastico" in a variety of voices for about 27 minutes straight.

"Wanna hear a joke?" says Big C.  We all reply in the affirmative.  "So this guy walks up to a counter full of candy jars.  All of the lids say 25 cents.  The guy pays the person a quarter and picks a jar and then he dumps all the candy on the floor.  The person says, 'Hey! What are you doing?'  And the guy replies, 'What? The price on the jar was 25 cents!'  Ha!  Get it!  He thought he was buying the jar!"  (He made that one up on the fly.  It helps that he is half-way through reading The Complete Far Side.  Sort of gives him a point of reference.)

Miss M: Hey mama?

Mama: Yes M?

Miss M: When we get home can we cuddle up and brainstorm?

Mama: Yes, baby.

Not to be missed on the walls of this restaurant are some very colorful murals.  Colorful palettes and colorful subject matter.  My favorite one is the two singing caballeros.  However, tonight we sat near the Aztec temple.  The scene is from a mountain top, looking down on this very geometrically laid out town with walls and pyramids.  On this mountaintop are two people.  An almost-clad young woman kneeling, and a sort-of covered young warrior standing over her, with a shield and what I think is a club of some sort.  I have always wondered if she was a captive or an offering.  The context is a bit limited so it is hard to say for certain.  So...Little C and Big C are staring at the mural and crunching chips with their mouths open (they have stuffy noses so I cut them some slack).  The people around us start giggling at the sight of these two young boys assumed to be ogling the young captive/offering.  Then the following comments come from the boys:

First Little C says, "Mama?  Look at her.  By the bottom part.  Do you think that rock she is sitting on is the top of the mountain?"  Big C follows up with a running commentary on the symmetry of the settlement.  Wondering what this civilization was and what materials they used to build their dwellings.  Were they sand or stone?  Did they build them the same way as the Egyptians and were the pyramids as big as the ones in Giza?  I LOVE MY NERDLINGS!!!!!

Care to elaborate?

Saw this on Family Guy this week.  Moose and I laughed to the point of tears!

I looked outside this morning and saw Geneva in the yard.  She was lounging quite regally in the leaves, holding an apple in her paws with a bite out of it.  I bolted for the camera and then tried to sneak up on her.  Alas, she is a tricky beast to stalk.  Neva starting tearing around the yard.  She was racing back and forth and would only stop to catch her breath hiding behind a tree.  But I was determined this time.  I hid the camera behind my back and then called her.  Just as she reached the top of the hill I pulled it out and snapped a picture!  But of what?  She is sticking her tongue out at me!  But I have her soul trapped in my camera now, so I guess we're even.

Boo!

Before anyone else points out how I have neglected my middle dog, I would like to present evidence that I have, in fact, tried to get a good picture of her.  Moose is convinced that Geneva fears I am trying to steal her soul when I pull out the camera.  She cowers and hides.  The only way I managed to get this picture is by shutting her out of my room so she couldn't scoot under the bed.  So she ran past me and slid in among other black, four-legged creatures instead.  My kitchen table and chairs are like a herd of zebra for her!  She is nothing like Tanner in that regard.  Tanner was a starlet in a former life.  When any camera comes out she senses it and gets in the frame.  We have hours of baby video footage with her walking back and forth through the shot.

The thing is, it would be easy to get a shot of her and toss it on here.  But I want one that does her justice.  Geneva is so very beautiful.  She is silky soft and shiny so most pictures have a lot of reflection and high contrast.  In her panic she ends up looking like a deer in the head lights: ears pinned back, eyes wide, the terror easy to read in the photo blurred by her trembling.  

I will keep working on a better picture of her if you all (and by "you all" I mean the three people who read my blog) will remain patient.  

Mission Accomplished!

I mean the boot selection mission, not that I hit 50,000 words yet.

I am now accepting gifts of funky knee socks to wear with my boots.  And tiaras!

Thank you!

Help!

Frye...Via Spiga...Frye...Via Spiga?  Maybe Born?  I am also open to suggestions.  I am thinking mid-calf, black harness boots.  No pointy toes.  I love my feet too much to make them suffer!

ahead of schedule at the half-way point!

I just broke the 25,000 word mark!  My plot and subplots are moving nicely even though I am not sure how it is all going to wrap up.  The characters are all still alive which means I didn't have to pull out a catastrophic event to move things along either.  But the best part is I get to go ahead with my reward!  As a secondary motivation (the first being to avoid your ridicule) I am ordering myself a pair of kickin' boots!  But Moose has to promise to hold the box until midnight on the 30th and he has permission to return the package should I not finish.  Now comes the hard part...picking out the exact pair I want!  

reason #13...

...it is nice to have all three kids in one school: they all catch the same germs at about the same time.  Yep, all of them are some sick today.  By my estimate we have 6 infected sinus cavities, 1 ear infection, 3 persistent coughs, and 4 pink and gooey eyes.  (And I am not even thinking about my yucky symptoms yet.)

I'll be taking all of my calls at the doctor's office today.  Just ask for the lady camping out in the waiting room...crying.

...breaking news...

(Well, it is to me.)  I am doing some investigating this afternoon (also called procrastinating if you are being a pessimist but I am allowed a bit after passing 20,000 words) and I checked on Pat Benatar.  Now that I am spelling her name correctly, I should let you know that she is up to something.  A few things, in fact.  There was a greatest hits type compilation release his past summer.  There is a current tour.  And she was just inducted into the Long Island Music Hall of Fame.  While this is not the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, it is still deserving of some Kudos.  I guess.  

This does not explain the Kim Carnes resurgence.  So I did a little more research.  The alien explanation can only cover so many mysteries.  And since we have already used it to cover the kindergarten teacher's third eye (really) I thought I should search for a more plausible answer.  According to her website, she is also an artist who will custom make greeting cards with abstracted children's faces on them for you.  Some people like that kind of thing.  There is also a new album, but it is only on her website as far as I can tell.  Nothing to explain the strange occurrences. 

So then I checked on Ms. Bette Davis herself.  And now that I am spelling her name correctly as well, she would be 100 years old this year.  AND there is a new postage stamp with her picture on it.  I think that trumps the Long Island Music Hall of Fame.  Sorry, Pat.  It was unveiled on October 16.  Just about a week before I started hearing the song.  So either they are trying to sell stamps and have some PR geek calling radio stations in his jammies to request the song, or my alien theory has just reached a whole new level of suspicious.  They have control of the US Postal Service now too.

"My passions were all gathered together like fingers that made a fist.  Drive is considered aggression today; I knew it then as purpose."  Bette Davis

Update:

In reference to October 24th post:

It is still happening.  Last night driving home from class-->Betty Davis Eyes.  For some strange reason I could understand lyrics very clearly.  Must be the sound system in Moose's truck (unless it is some crazy coded message trying to enslave the human race and they just adjusted the fine tuning).  I still don't care for the song.  And then, this morning-->Pat Benetar.  STILL?  I have been having to flip channels because of her for weeks now.  She must be having a 50th birthday or something because I haven't seen her pulling a Britney on Perez's website.  The only other thing I can figure is she has a new album coming out.  I hate to say it, but I am sort of hoping it is on a production schedule that would make Gun's N Roses look like Speedy Gonzales.

Is any one else noticing these disturbing musical trends?  

The GT Reunion Tour

I met an old friend for lunch today.  She's not old, the friendship is.  28 years old, actually.  She is one of my favorite people ever.  Catching up with her is effortless.  Probably because we know each other's backstory.  There is no time wasted on explaining things to death.  We would be considered "very high context characters" among the literati.  And yet we can talk non-stop for hours and hours and still feel like there is so much more to say that we had better have lunch again soon.  

She was my partner in crime back in the day.  All of my Junior High Plotting was done with her.  We pissed off our Gym Teachers when we campaigned to be allowed to choose wrestling during an elective unit.  We even wrote a letter to the editor at Verne Gagne's (that's Verne up there posing!) Pro Wrestling Report and got PUBLISHED!!  That really made them mad.  Having a mild crush on the teacher/wrestling coach had nothing to do with it!

We also learned valuable life lessons about Freedom of Speech, Freedom of the Press, and the Right to Plea the Fifth Amendment to avoid incriminating oneself during our stint on the school paper.  We wrote a scathing report on the quality of the school lunches and published it anonymously.  The lunch ladies pressured the English Teacher to tell them who wrote it and she protected her reporters like any editor would.  When the lunch ladies spent a full week staring down and questioning the newspaper staff in the lunchroom, no one ratted us out.  What, exactly, we were afraid they would do to us I am not sure.  It was the principle of the matter.

Oh, and we got kicked out of the church children's choir together.  Our director told us, I am not joking, that she was as close to God as you could get so we had better be respectful.  Well, what could we do with that?  Of course we pointed out the flaws in her argument.  That ex-nun needed knocking down a few pegs and we were just the gals for the job.  At least we had made it through the Rogers and Hammerstein Review.  I sing those songs all the time!  Yah, we thought that ex-nun music director (who lived with Miss. R, our sixth grade teacher...hmmm?) was re-living her failed dreams through us too.  She would have been a happier person had she run away to Broadway with a lady-friend instead of running to the convent.

Once, when my friend was home alone, she called me because she had heard a noise like someone in the basement.  I was also home alone.  But I grabbed a steak knife and rode my bike over there (in the days when nobody wore helmets and a girl on a bike with a knife in her hand didn't shock anyone) and we searched the house together.  I would even get up early and walk to her house to french braid her hair in the morning before school.  I still have my souvenirs from the US Hockey Hall of Fame and Iron World Museum from the trip where we spent days on an inner tube in the lake and even proved that Ivory soap can, in fact, sink.  

All of our major milestones have happened together, even when those milestones pointed us in different directions.  We went from Cabbage Patch Kids and bicycles to first boyfriends and cars.   From college to marriage to motherhood.  We talk about our parents and our sisters and our friends and our husbands and our kids.  About our own bad decisions and the good ones too.  There is something very wonderful about connecting with an old friend.  I feel all sassy and 13 again.  I highly recommend it!

NaNo update

I blew past 18,000 words today without realizing it.  18,453 to be exact.  I would like to think that the "not noticing" part was because I was in a zone.  A little zen-like bubble of writing bliss.  Or perhaps, that my characters were telling me the story as I merely typed.  Not so.  The fog is from sleep deprivation masked by lots of espresso.  

One Short Day

So it is STILL great the second time around.  This time we took the kids along.  Big C, being both sensitive and intense, was crying after the First Act.  Will Elfaba get away safely?  What happens to Fiyero?  Is Glenda good or bad?  That big head is LOUD.  Oh!  the suspense of intermission!  But in the car ride home he was not only quoting dialog, but explainifying it for us all.   And oh, for the love of Broadway, Little C here's the deal: your bladder can defy gravity for an entire day at school without using the potty, why do you have to go twice during a 3 hour show?  And, Miss M, it is fiction.  Not only that, it is a stage production of a fiction based on a whole body of fiction.  How much more fantasticality can fit in there? This might conflict with the way your giant brain wants to piece it all together, but not all of it is logicalicified.  I did especially like you quoting the original Baum book for the nice family in front of us.  Hey, Moose, maybe I can sit by you at dinner since our plans were thwarted by the nice (and very tall) family in front of the children.

Thank you, my pretties, for a fun experience.  I was thrilled to share it with you.  It was Wicked Good!

NaNo NaNo

I went well over the 10,000 word mark yesterday.  Might explain the slacking today!  But it felt great.  Like a really long run.  Today's work out will have to be a sprint.  A short one.  The kind with ice cream at the end.

Garmin Garmin Bo Barmin

Most of you might not know this about me but I have a hideous sense of direction.  Left and Right I have down pretty well, but the N-S-E-W thing is a little sketchy.  Maps only serve to confuse me.  You see, I do not have an internal compass.  Not true.  I have the internal moral guidance kind of compass.  I do not have the kind that will get me to a birthday party on time.  

In my brain, the places I go are like spots around a circle.  To make matters worse, they seem to be in a random order.  Now my house is in the middle.  To connect my house to any place I like to go there is a spoke.  If I stay on the spokes I am all good.  If I need to get from one end point to another end point I am not so good.  Sometimes, I am embarrassed to admit, I have to drive home before I can go to my next destination.  If I am lucky, then I only have to go back part of the way.

I know the names of the roads and highways but the picture of them in my head never matches any of the maps the Moose puts in my car.  I am usually reduced to calling him in a panic trying to tell him where I am so he can talk me through it.  So dear, thoughtful Moose that he is, he bought me a GPS for the minivan.  (Yes I drive a minivan.  My ego is strong enough to handle it.  Is yours?)  

I call her Miss Helena Handbasket.  It would appear that someone had pre-programmed that in as my final destination.  She tries to be helpful.  We usually get along for about two weeks at a time.  And then she starts with the "recalculating" and the "turn left ahead...turn left now...what is wrong with you?  I said left.  LEFT!"  I am certain she finds me frustrating.  I can hear her eyes rolling and the exasperated sighs.  Then there is the little matter of the road construction that she is always running me into.  Minor detours that end up lasting an hour.  It's ok.  I can always call Moose as a back-up plan.  But the sheer drop into the river?  I am not kidding.  Miss Helena tries to run me off a cliff every chance she gets.  I think my Garmin is programmed for revenge.

But she also finds me coffee.  

And sushi.  

So you see, I am naturally feeling a little torn about the whole thing.  But I am willing to compromise.  I am going to practice with her in Map Mode when I know where I am going.  Perhaps this will help to redraw the Wagon Wheel thing I have going on.  But I need her to try too.  Miss Helena, please use your powers for good.  No more cliffs, ok?  This is a mini van.  Not Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

November 4, 2008

These are my children.  These are my children looking.  These are my children looking and imagining.  These are my children looking and imagining a better world.  These are my children seeing it and feeling the excitement as they watch History being made!  

P.S.  Like most grade schools around the country, ours had a mock election today.  Little C voted for a national senatorial candidate because he had the same name as the dog next door.  Thankfully, there was not a Keno/Pebbles team running for president!  Although they would have carried one very small cul-du-sac in our district.

P.P.S.  My word count is WAY head on NaNoWriMo!  The plan is to break the 10,000 word mark tomorrow.  

Thank you Thank you Thank you

Do you ever have guests over and when they leave you feel like you should send them a Thank You note?  My dearest Dr. Fancypants and her Boy just left after a great 4 day visit.  Dr. Fancypants is like super-woman to me.  She is a vet and an artist and a mama.  And she doesn't just do these things.  She excels at them all.  Our whole pack loves it when they come to visit.  Except Olly.  He can't quite figure out why the Vet is here and why she is not leaving.

Dr. Fancypants sometimes feels like she does not have enough girl in her life.  Miss M is more than happy to fill the void.  Their new routine is DFP teaches Miss M how to cook incredible food and then we have a party.  Last night P&K came for dinner.  And, again, I feel like I should send them a Thank You note for we SO thoroughly love the time we get to spend with them.  Plus, they brought sweets! 

There is one more note-worthy item from this weekend.  It is November and that means NaNoWriMo.  This is the beginning of my second attempt at writing a 50,000 word novel in a month.  Technically, it is more of a 50,000 word first draft in a month.  If you haven't heard of it, look up www.NaNoWriMo.org and check it out.  Last time I tried it, I was pregnant and had two young bambinos.  Squeaking out a couple hours a day seemed perfectly simple on November 1st.  It did on the 2nd and 3rd too.  But then I lost it.  Someone was home sick from school and I got sick and Moose got sick (which means the mama gets no sleep).  By the time Thanksgiving rolled in I was so far behind on the word count that there was no point in trying to make it up.  But this year it is different.  Finding the time is really feasible.  I have been practicing for a couple weeks by wearing a watch.  I even look at it periodically.  Actually, I have calculated out that I can still get to yoga and find 2.75 hours in the middle of the day to hit my mark.  Anything I am short on can be rounded off before bed.  Day one went well.  Day two will start after I post this and cut my nails.  But I bring it up here because I am giving you all permission to harass me if I am slacking.  Oh, and the right to needle me incessantly should I not finish.  But it also means, that when I do finish, you may have to tolerate/suffer my gloating for a bit.  This also serves to explain in advance the tiara I will be wearing around on December first!

research project

I have been collecting evidence to disprove a hypothesis.  This is the scientific method, right?  The hypothesis is that Big C is not an 8 year old.  He is a 58 year old.  Yesterday added some empirical evidence to both columns.

He was being goofy with friends when I got to his classroom for the Halloween party and blew off his mama.  8.

He decided he had enough candy after 10 houses and asked to go home to re-read a library book before it gets returned.  58.

When the rest of the kids got home he dove into his candy and traded and gorged with the rest of them.  8.

Recognizing that he had less than the other kids, he sorted and ranked his loot to ration it.  He was not bothered in the least that he had far less.  He was happy for them that their piles were large.  58.

So I am no closer to an answer today.  This is sort of the pattern his life takes and it has since he was a baby.  It is his nature.  And I guess my job is to nurture him with respect to that nature to be the best person he can be at 8 so he will be the best person he can be at 58.  

Big C was my treat yesterday.

And that's showbiz.....kid!

If it isn't clear to you at this point I will clarify something for y'all...I adore my cygnets.  How many kids love it when their mama sings in the car?  I don't mean humming along to the radio.  I mean belting out Broadway Showtunes with the windows down.  In the school parking lot no less.  Mine just sing along.  Our current fave is selections from Chicago.  We also like Annie and Wicked.  

SO to all the drivers at the four way stop waiting for me to take my turn this morning...it would have been a faux pas to take a right just when Amos was wrapping up the emotional ending to Mr. Cellophane.  And to all the concerned parents in the parking lot...we are fine.  There are just certain songs you have to move with.  This morning it was two Jedi and Horton's clover and their mama doing Razzle Dazzle.  We were just channeling our inner Billy Flynns.  No medical intervention necessary.  Thanks for looking out for us, though.

Dear Amy,

You do amazing things with my hair.  I don't know if I have told you that.  I had a decent relationship with Bonnie for 10 years, but it ended badly.  (I was happy that she got married and was having a baby, but I couldn't sacrifice my haircut for her happiness.)  I had a couple of stylists in-between, but nothing that felt like it could last.  But you, Amy, I think this could be the real thing.  I don't know how you do it...but I like it.  I am even willing to share you with my friends if you're into that.  That's how much I like you.

You make me a better client.  I am not used to being told what to do, but I know you do it out of genuine affection for my hair.  This is why I have to explain my little misstep to you.  I know I promised not to cut my own hair anymore.  You said that only one of us would be cutting my hair and I had to choose.  I picked you.  And I haven't touched it with scissors for over a year now.  Honestly.  

Let me explain the hat.  I had a bit of a problem this morning.  It really was an accident.  The t-shirt had a little button on it and when I pulled it off it got tangled in my wet hair.  Right in the front.  And I was all alone.  The only other person in the whole neighborhood was Mr. S and I was not going to run next door topless to ask him for help.  I tried to be as gentle as possible with my hair.  But all I could think about was Miss M and her twisting-up-in-a-swing-accident which left a mighty bald spot on the side of her head.  So I sacrificed a bit of length to save the scalp.  At the time it felt like the only option.  I hope you understand and are willing to see past it.  Please cut my hair again.

--Alpha Mama

Dear JR,

Yes, this is another picture of me on the blog.  You asked about my photo-phobic nature and how I am managing.  Here is my secret: digital botox.  Also called "retouch" in iPhoto.  LOVE IT.  You'll have to try it sometime!

--Alpha Mama

Olly Dog

Olly is our newest family member.  He arrived in May by some funky mix of good-intent and good-luck.  My muse-worthy neighbor is currently in the market for a dog.  Not just any dog: the soul mate kind of dog.  The kind of dog you fall for when you first lay eyes on it.  The kind of dog who looks you in the eye when you talk to it and who clearly understands.  The kind of dog you learn to love a little more each day.  No short order.  Now I have sort of earned a dog-lady reputation in the neighborhood.  I am the person you call at night when your puppy has hurt himself humping a stuffed animal.  I am that kind of neighbor.  I also have connections.  I know people...the kind of people who can do a favor for you if the favor you need is to find a rescue animal to adopt.

I had put out the word that I was looking for a young yellow lab for my neighbor and within a couple of weeks I got an interesting call.  A friend had a dog available.  He was not a yellow lab, but he was well trained.  He was actually a Goldendoodle and was trained for service work but he failed his final.  Isn't that so sweet and pathetic?  Duffy, as he was known back then, had run around during the test and left the space he was supposed to stay in.  You can't have a service dog that wanders off, so he flunked out of the program.  Isn't that kind of tragically endearing?  This friend was going to foster him as they worked to "re-career" the boy.  My neighbor, who I adore, spends a lot of time at their vacation property and the fact that he likes to run off automatically crossed him off the list.  But I went to meet the dog anyway.  

He is an unusual Goldendoodle.  He is a red head!  And SO extraordinarily handsome.  He jumped up on the fence and smiled at me.  His long tongue hung out the side of his mouth.  He looked like he should be wearing a pair of Plus Four golf knickers with suspenders and a Tam O'Shanter.  He came home that day.

We named him Olly and the children (ok, the mama too) are fond of singing, "Olly, Olly, Olly get your adverbs here."  [Yes, we know it is Lolly on Schoolhouse Rock.  We change song lyrics all the time.  Sometimes intentionally.]  And Olly may not have had the right stuff for service work, but he is a prince by our standards.  The boy can pick up dirty laundry and put it in the hamper.  He will hand you back anything you drop (TV remote) or throw (TV remote).  He actually puts them in your hand!  Isn't that fantastic?  And aside from the drinking problem (he sticks his whole muzzle in the water dish) and the stuffed animal habit (we are trying to get him in rehab for that one but he is still in such denial that it is a problem) he has been a perfect fit. 

He loves Tanner and Geneva devotedly.  They, in turn, treat him like a little brother.  The girls share their toys but never their treats.  When they all line up at the water dish Tanner goes first and Olly and Geneva jocky for last.  Neither one of them has the least bit of Alpha in them.  

My darling neighbor, who I now feel a bit sorry for, missed out on a great dog.  But at least she can visit him any time she would like.  And some day soon, when she does find the right dog for her, there will be one more fantastic dog in the cul-du-sac-pack.

whatever you do don't open the box!

When I was a wee little one, my big sis and I had a couple of record albums that had fairy tales on them.  Most of them had songs that we used to listen to over and over on our little orange, leather record player.  One of the stories was Pandora's Box.  The song made us laugh, and I cannot do it justice here.  But the words, sung in a husky-low-fast-rhythmic manner (think Greek chorus), were: 

"Don't open the box, 

don't open the box, 

whatever you do, 

don't open the box!"

This song is in my head today because I finally went to www.pandora.com after a loverly friend's recommendation about a month ago.  It is a free online radio thing.  But wait, it is super cool.  Stick with me sister.  You pick a song or an artist and it custom mixes for you!  You can give songs the thumbs up or down, bookmark them so they play again...this all might be enough to make me stray.  Sorry iPod, but you suddenly seem a little needy.  A little...high maintenance and too hands-on.  Don't get me wrong, sometimes predictability is a good thing, but sometimes I need a little variety.  Something new and unexpected.  I know you are trying with the whole "genius" thing but, darling, it still feels like more of the old stuff in a different order.  But we'll always be friends.  Call me.

Hey, DMV...

My driver's license will be expiring soon so I thought I would practice for it.  Not for any driving test, for the photo. 

I have a thought for the Department of Motor Vehicles: Photobooth pictures for driver's licenses.  People could see what they look like when they are smiling for the camera, push a button and then they could pick one picture to send to the person at the desk.  The person would double check that this is, indeed, the right person and then everyone would be happy!  

Now this has the potential to make the lines very long.  My answer is not to replace the current system, but offer another option for those of us who have photo-related anxiety.