A couple smokey acres

This Little Piggy Should Have Stayed Home

2011-10-25T17:05:00.000-07:00

My runner's feet are used to many ailments...well earned ailments! I have dealt with blister's and bouts of Plantar Faciitis. I have even travelled up the leg to torn ligaments, skinned knees, and, yes, the palms of my hands which I used to break many falls.

With all of these "earned" afflictions, it is somewhat disappointing to report that my latest injury was acquired by walking. Yes, walking. I should be used to the fact that 7 year-old boys do not stride with the same purpose as adults. They meander. They stroll. They abruptly stop...perhaps in front of their mother...who, perhaps, wasn't paying attention...who may have hit her little piggy at just the right angle on her son's heel to send zings of pain flying through her foot. Perhaps.

I am not sure if my little toe is broken or just severely bruised. I do know that upon seeing it the next morning my 5 year-old asked if it was going to fall off. She seemed to be a bit disappointed when I told her I didn't think so. Maybe she was hoping for a piece of toe to take to school for Share Day.

The good news is that I can still run with only a little pain. And I do mean little because I am no friend of pain or anything that causes it. This is where anyone who doesn't run will question my sanity. "Why would you keep running with a possible broken piggy?" Maybe if I didn't run I wouldn't understand it either. I only know that I have a half marathon coming up and I am committed to finishing it. And, I also know that running is a part of me. I would define myself as a runner. Not a win-the-half-marathon type of runner, but a turtle-along-and-cross-the-finish-line type of runner.

So, I get to add distorted little piggy to my list of peculiar injuries and ailments. And, unless it falls off in my shoe I plan to be at the start line on race day. I think this littlest piggy should have taken the lead of his little piggy friends and stayed home or at least opted for roast beef.

Gifts

2011-10-24T11:35:00.000-07:00

God places great gifts upon each of us and many of us spend valuable resources to discover these gifts. Without having the benefit of a bank account mirroring Fort Knox, I am going with what I generally know about myself to say that two of my gifts are the (sometimes annoying, I am sure) gift of gab and my über enthusiasm for motivation (which, again, I am sure is sometimes severely annoying. My apologies to all who workout with me at 5am).

Once we discover and identify these gifts, we have to figure out what to do with them. This is where the battle (and the fun) begins. We can think inside the box; inside our comfort zone. Or, we can step outside of all we believe possible and really conjure up some grand plans. I am all for grand plans. I think everyone should be extraordinary in what they dream for themselves.

I have recently discovered that I really dig coaching. Coaching on various levels. I have loved coaching a small team of fitness nuts and I have completely enjoyed coaching friends and colleagues through some challenges that momentarily derailed their lives. Much like the insane joy I get from organizing everything from my closet to my desk drawers, I find I have a very joyful heart when I help people identify and reach their goals.

Since my day job needs me (read that as: I really need my day job!) I will have to tinker with my coaching on the side. I must thoughtfully direct my coaching so as not to become "one of those" moms that completely whacks out at school sports competitions. And, I don't want to become "one of those" friends that doles out advice on everything I know absolutely nothing about. But, in my mind, I do have some grand plans. I am definitely thinking outside of the box though I am doing all my planning while safely within these four cardboard walls.

Why I "heart" fitness

2011-10-20T15:43:00.000-07:00

I am a bit of a fitness nut...not so much a nutrition nut but, I definitely have an affinity for fitness training. I truly love working out and running. Because I have small kids, I workout in the wee hours of the morning while they and my husband sleep. I think I would be too exhausted at the end of the day to lace up my running shoes anyhow. And, it is kind of fun to be up before the bulk of the population.

I run two days a week with my running buddy and that same running buddy is also my workout partner. Three days a week we carpool to our church where our trainer meets with us and others willing to punish...oops! I really meant PUSH...our bodies at 5am. On Saturdays, I meet up with my brother and we take in our longer runs that keep us ready for a half marathon now and then.

I don't see myself as a lean, mean muscle machine. Probably because I haven't developed the same love I have for fitness with my nutrition. I am sure that is coming though! As we were running this morning, my buddy and I tried to find our true motivation for getting up before the roosters and running with lights on our heads so we can see through the darkness. Why do we do this?

We realized we do it in large part for our daughters. Both mothers of young girls, we are trying to be examples for them. We are trying to keep ourselves in decent shape so we don't criticize our weight or appearance in front of them. It really struck us that we don't want to beat ourselves down in front of our girls and have them inherit that same warped perception.

I'll admit to standing in front of a mirror and bemoaning my shape; my size; my hair; my face. But, I am increasingly conscious of this now that I have a daughter. I don't want her to think she is ever anything but beautiful and exactly how God intended for her to look. I know, right? I should feel this same way about myself.

Unfortunately, somewhere around junior high my self-confidence took a nose dive. I struggled with self-image for years. High school was modern day torture. I withdrew into myself and became painfully shy and awkward. Anyone who knows me now might find this tough to imagine...I am the girl who talked to the guy who dumps the solar potties in Yosemite on my last hike to Half Dome. I have the gift of gab and I regularly exercise it.

I don't want my daughter to ever feel inferior. I don't want her to wrestle on too-tight pants and then feel so large it feels that she is taking up more than her allotted space on this planet. I don't want her to give so much thought to her appearance that she misses out on some of life's little gifts like meeting new people or trying new things.

It wasn't until I started skydiving that I finally released the chains that bound me. It was when I started to purposely exit an aircraft in mid-air that I developed a sense of being able to do anything and accomplish anything. I began to care less about my hair and began to realize that I had a lot to say about a lot of things.

A shining moment for me was when I was talking to two guys at the drop zone and making both of them laugh. I couldn't believe I had captivated the opposite sex. When they began to argue about which one was going to ask me out on a date I was completely flabbergasted and, admittedly, flattered!

After I stopped skydiving, I took up running which lead to my love of fitness. No longer a spring chicken, it takes a bit more effort to keep myself in semi-decent shape. But, I do it because I honestly do crave the endorphins and I want to do what I can to help keep my self-image from warping again. I work out for myself and for my daughter. My amazing little girl that once told me, "I have the prettiest mommy. I just love you!" I replied that I loved her back and that she was positively beautiful. It was at that moment that she looked up at me with those cocoa brown eyes and said, " I know, Mommy. I know." That is the self-confidence I want her to hang onto too!

I do Love Lucy

2011-10-04T12:43:00.000-07:00

Growing up in Central California in a small farning community had its perks. We had the annual frog jump competition; Harvest Holidays (where we literally celebrated the harvest), and we had the Tule Fog.

I so loved waking up on school mornings and racing to the front window to see if the fog had rolled in throughout the night. I knew in my grade-school mind that if I could not see across the street, I would get to stay home until 10am. We had some serious foggy day schedules working for us.

It was on these mornings that my mom would navigate that Tule Fog in her slick gold Gran Torino. Her destination was the donut shop. She would pick up six donuts...two for her and two each for my brother and me. When she returned home we would eat our donuts and watch reruns of I Love Lucy. Those were some of my favorite moments growing up. How simple they were but also how wonderful. On those mornings blanketed in thick whiteness there were no worries and there was no stress. It was just donuts and Lucy and lots of belly laughs!

I still love watching I Love Lucy. My husband and kids don't quite get my fascination. I still find Lucy positively hilarious. I sometimes watch the show and wish for a simpler time. Maybe a time that was more quaint. Though, I imagine I could still get myself into plenty of messes much like Lucy and Ethel. And, since I don't see my husband belting out "Babaloo" quite like Ricky Ricardo I will have to be satisfied with I Love Lucy reruns...

Walk This Way!

2011-09-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

I feel like I finally have the direction I have been seeking (Thank you, God!)! The fire is in my belly; my nerves are a bit jangled; my head is flooded with thoughts and plans. It's good...it is good!

Some things to work out. Some things to figure out. A lot more conversations with God. A lot more conversations with my hubby. But, I am on my way! Baby steps. Baby steps are good. Isn't it amazing how a toddler toddles this way and that one moment and then is racing up and down the hall the next? That is my plan...cautious at first and then racing full speed! I need to fasten my seat belt for the ride! It is sure to be an adventure!

Crossroads

2011-09-06T15:52:00.000-07:00

For the first time in a long time I feel as if I am at a crossroads. Have you ever been there? Where you are doing something but have this nagging feeling you should be doing something different? And, by "something" I mean BIG something. Like career something. Like life-changing something.

Maybe it is burn-out. Maybe it is boredom. I find myself working so hard for so little. And, by "little" I don't just mean salary (though it is a wee amount) but I mean little satisfaction and little joy.

I have a fierce motivation and a fiery determination when I am working on something I am passionate about and something that makes my neurons fire in rapid succession. I get dogged down by lack of appreciation and the sheer volume of apathy I face daily. I dislike feeling trapped by a paycheck; unable to catch a dream because, dagnabbit, I have bills to pay and children to feed.

So, I stand here at this crossroads. I am trusting that God will speak to me. Maybe give me a nudge in the right direction. Actually, scratch that. I don't need a nudge. I need a real, honest to goodness thwack on the back. One that will send me a few steps down the right path before I know what hit me. I am anxious to see what adventures await and what trail markers I will find. I have optimism in my heart and am not afraid to work hard. I would rather work hard for my passion than sit cozy with my boredom.

I believe it may be time to take a leap of faith. To close my eyes and take the first step. I just have one minor detail to work out...what I am actually stepping toward...

When one door closes...

2011-07-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

...another door opens. At least that is the theory! I believe it to be true. I think some doors must close so that we are able to see other doors opening. Hindsight is 20/20 but at the onset of a slamming door we don't always realize that perhaps something better is waiting ahead.

Looking back on my time on this planet I can recall a number of disappointments that turned into far greater opportunities. And, there have been times when I jumped the gun and ran screaming through a closing door only to stand on the other side and wonder what the heck I had done.

Mostly recently, I applied for a promotion at work and was edged out by a colleague who will, in fact, do an amazing job. But, when the call came in that I didn't quite make it I found myself momentarily devastated. I could not see beyond the door that had just closed - very gently and kindly - in front of me. I sat in a stupor for several minutes before I mustered up the chutzpah to finish up my day.

Now, I envision myself standing in a hallway of doors wondering which ones will open. Some are locked up tight - probably for the better - and some are cracked open just a bit letting some light spill into the hall. My challenge is to be patient and not whack open any doors with a crowbar or wrestle any open before the hinges are greased and ready to open with ease.

Sometimes it is hard to hold tight to our faith and believe that God has greater plans for us; greater than anything we can imagine for ourselves. I am holding tight to this belief and praying that I recognize the doors as they open before me instead of missing them while I blindly run forward without purpose.

So, I will release my crowbar and my wrecking ball and I will walk calmly forward with my eyes seeking doors ajar. Then I will hold my breath, say a prayer, and gently nudge them open. I hope to find that I will soon be stepping over the threshold of something very, very good!

When Murphy's Law and Optimism Collide

2011-05-03T09:56:00.000-07:00

As the title of my blog suggests, I did have a house that burned down and had to be re-built. These are the things that happen to other people right? According to my friends, I am their "other" person. I am the one most likely to trip when being introduced to royalty; the one most likely to give myself a black-eye while starting the lawnmower; the one most likely to run into a glass door thinking that it is open. Thankfully, none of these things have happened...yet! Give me time.

Murphy’s Law simply states: “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” I know this law well. This law appears to govern my life. A bit of self-fulfilling prophecy? Not really. The fact is I am very much an optimist. I see the positive side of most situations and maintain a fairly bright disposition. I was once dubbed by a colleague as “chronically happy” as if I had a debilitating abnormal personality trait.

In my life of stumbles, delays, failures, and sheer shocks, I have continually attempted to focus on being thankful for whatever comes my way. The bible – our instruction manual for life – tells us to be thankful in all circumstances. This is not always the easiest task.

Often, being thankful is not an obstacle at all. You find a $5 bill on the ground. Thanks, God! An unexpected discount appears on your phone bill. Thank you, God! You have a great hair day. I love you, God! Other times being thankful is a supreme challenge. Your home is completely destroyed by a fire. Um…hmmm…thank you?

Hindsight is 20/20. After the fact, I find it easy to see why things played out the way they did. I believe everything happens for a reason far greater than any plan I have for myself. When all is said and done, I can look back and think, "Oh! Of course! That led to that, which led to that, which put me here." DUH! But, in the mix of things it is easy to lose sight of anything positive. When we are overcome with grief, doubt, hurt, or pain, being thankful is the last emotion we want to tap into too.

When the stakes are high and the challenges are insurmountable it is easier to scream; easier to lash out; easier to crumble and weep; easier to cast blame. It is harder to say, "Thank you." It is hard to look at the ceiling which now lays on the bed you occupied moments prior and say, "Thank you. Thank you for not letting me be under that rubble."

It is easier to shout, "WHY ME?" rather than quietly be thankful that the brown shag carpet met its demise.

It is easier to curse the smoke detector for not going off until the firemen arrived rather than thank my husband for waking me from a slumber laced with carbon monoxide.

It is harder to be thankful because we simply don't think of it. When the chips are down and things are bleak it is in our nature to plot out worst case scenarios.

While standing in our kitchen and peering up at the hazy blue sky where a ceiling should have been it took all my muster to think, "The cabinets are still hanging. Our wedding dishes survived!"

It was in fact on that foggy day that I decided I would not bemoan my situation. I consciously became thankful of every little and every enormous gift.

My husband and our animals all survived without a scratch. We kept our wits about ourselves. We were calm and rationale. The firemen saved our photos and financial records. They found my great-grandmother's pearls. The dress I was sure I would wear again was destroyed so I would never have to have that yard-sale-or-not battle again. My cell phone was in my hand for an unexplainable reason. It provided us with a means to call 911, our family, our insurance agent. We found a pile of clothes near out bedroom window that the firemen had tossed out. It allowed us to put on something other than pajamas and our neighbors two sizes too small sneakers. We saw the goodwill of friends and strangers. As far as house fires go, I would say ours was pretty much OK.

It was a day that tested my own ability to offer thanksgiving. Everyone needs a thankful heart and a spirit of gratitude. We can all exist. That is easy. I believe it is far better to live and experience. Embrace your obstacles. Skew them; tilt them; twist them. Soon the light will hit them at a different angle and you will see your point of thankfulness.

Country Living

2011-02-19T13:55:00.000-08:00

A few years I made the change from city dweller to county bumpkin. All for love I made the change. Before I met and married my husband a world without sidewalks held no appeal for me. I was used to living within hearing distance of my neighbors conversations and backyard antics. I relished that I had a supermarket and a Target within a mile of my house. I liked that my yard work could be done within a couple hours and then I could focus on yard play...planting flowers; playing with the dogs; or simply watching clouds pass in a lawn chair.

Now, the yard is a lot larger and a trip to the supermarket takes a bit more thought. It would be an impossibility to finish up the yard work on our 2.25 acres within two hours. In fact, I would venture to say that our yard work is never done. There is always something that needs mowing or pruning or planting. It takes a shout out of "Hello" to grab our neighbors' attention for a friendly wave. And, the only backyard activities we are aware of are smells of barbecue in the vicinity.

Before county living I didn't know a thing about wells or septic tanks. I didn't realize that wells ran dry and septic tanks filled up. I didn't know a person could buy propane by the gallon and have it delivered by truck. And, I surely did not know that it would take several hundred gallons to keep a home functioning through the course of a year. I never knew about a "Weed Witch" that could cite me if my grass was too long too far into the fire season. "Mosquito abatement" meant about as much to me as "culling a tree."

But there are other things. No longer do we have to drive to the mountains to see the stars at night. No longer do we wish our neighbors party would cease at midnight because we need sleep. We see wildlife like kit foxes and coyotes weekly. We own an owl house and have it perched in a tree. We have three-foot holes ...I mean "caves"... in our back field dug by our children that have the freedom to explore a tree-lined space in safety.

We are part of a community to that waves you into traffic and greets you at the market. We are kindred spirits that relish the quietness of country living. We can actually hear the wind blow through the trees and the bees buzzing on the summer grass.

So, for love I gave up the rush of city living; the convenience of living smack in the middle of things. But, I gained so much more and found in myself a person that enjoys the contentment of country living; the contentment in coming "home."

The Rainbow Bridge

2010-11-08T15:12:00.000-08:00

So soon after losing our Charlie dog we had to say goodbye to another friend, Alty. I got Alty when she was 8 weeks old and named her Altimeter Sky as a tribute to my passion at the time of skydiving. Alty was a German Short hair Pointer. She literally ran everywhere and only stopped running when it was time to eat or rest. She was my first dog that was my own dog. She was sweet and kind and lived life with zeal. It was a challenge watching her age. So agile in her youth and so frail as time took its toll. I am so grateful to have had my friend with me for 14 1/2 years. She was very hard to say good too.

People have told me that pets don't go to Heaven. That hurts my heart because I truly believe that they do. I love this poem that a friend told me about...this is what I believe...

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.

There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.

There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown

Charlie

2010-10-01T15:12:00.000-07:00

We had to say good-bye to our dog, Charlie, this week. Now, Charlie was an amazing dog. He didn't do any especially unique tricks and he didn't fetch my slippers and my daily newspaper. What he did was love us with his whole being.

Charlie came to live with me about 12 years ago. He was roughly six months old. He was found in a neighborhood off the beaten path. A woman opened her door one morning to collect her newspaper and she saw this little puppy laying there. He fussed and cried and as she knelt to pick him up she heard the whines of an older dog coming from the road. It was pouring rain as she started down the drive to find a mama dog with a litter of young puppies shivering in the cold. Charlie was the one that traveled to the door while mama tended to his siblings. While homes were found for the other puppies and mama, Charlie remained with the woman for a few months but for whatever reason decided she could not keep him. I was looking for a companion for my only dog at the time and the fit was perfect.

Charlie was a joyful dog. He had a lively spirit and everyone who met him loved him. I would frequently get asked, "How is Charlie doing?" as if he were my child or spouse. Everyone cared about Charlie.

When I did marry and have children, Charlie accepted each addition with an open heart. He watched over my children as babies and has played with them as young children. He was playful and liked to back talk. If you asked him something he would bark and yap back as if he was giving you a very thoughtful answer.

Three months ago, Charlie was diagnosed with lung cancer and given only 1 to 2 months to live. While we were devastated we sought to make our last bits of time together special. And, Charlie rallied. He started eating; his eyes lit up with that familiar spark. Soon, I began to believe that he had been misdiagnosed. That he didn't have cancer at all.

What I didn't realize was that Charlie was valiantly fighting that dreaded disease everyday. It came to be too much for him and he began to deteriorate rapidly. My husband and I made the most difficult decision to let him go. And, with us by his side, he took his last breath but not before I thanked him for being such a wonderful friend and companion and I told him how much I loved him.

I feel so blessed to have been given the gift of Charlie in my life. He made my world a brighter place and I am grateful for the many memories I have of this most special friend.

My Rockstar

2010-09-03T06:34:00.000-07:00

This three second clip of my daughter captures her entire personality. Her spunk, humor, and innocence are priceless and...pretty comical!

Oy! The Pressure!

2010-08-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

I feel so much pressure to write a blog...a blog about something...anything! A witty blog. An informative blog. A blog that will inspire and require an introspective glance. But...I got nothing.

My mind is full of deadlines and obligations. It is rattled with worry over a million different things. It is chock-full of tasks eagerly awaiting the check mark of completion.

I got a bit sidelined when my husband calmly told me he thought he might have broken his hand. What? Might have broken? A popping sound? A snap? That can't be good. The x-rays proved that is wasn't good and it won't be for a few more weeks until he has surgery. He is a good sport and is ambling around as best he can. But, for the self-employed autobody painter and designer, a broken hand is a broken link in the "I do work, you pay me" chain.

About the same time the hand snapped, my paycheck was dinged. That well that went dry has to be paid for and the 401K I borrowed from is gathering its money back. For the next five years my paycheck will be lighter...a lot lighter. Lighter is good if you are on a diet...I am not. I am a lean, mean, coupon-cutting, sale-shopping machine these days!

So that is a brief glimpse at why my wit is zapped; my thoughts are jumbled; my mind is taxed. I am sure my new, amplified, cost-conscious life will provide fodder for future blogs because, after all, the best things in life - and to write about - are free!

Well, that's embarassing!

2010-08-04T16:59:00.000-07:00

We all have moments that leave us searching for a hole to scurry into. Those times when we truly wish the Earth would suck us up and leave no trace. I have had plenty of such moments...pleeeeeenty! I am anything but graceful. Try as I might to stand talk and act polished, I still find myself in embarrassing moments.

FLYING and FALLING OBJECTS

I have been struck by bird and bird poo. By the poo twice. Once smack dab on the top of my head. Once on my shoulder. Neither pleasant. I think the poo on the head was much more traumatic because it was actually touching my skin...not my clothes, but actually creeping into the follicles on my head. Being somewhat germ-phobic, this literally put me on the outer limits of my sanity.

And, yes, I have been struck by a bird. While dressed in a elegant black dress as part of a wedding party I was struck by a just released symbol of love...the white dove. Proof of the assault came with the wedding photos where I am pictured diligently holding my bouquet while my face is a mix of surprise and horror. You can see my head bent sightly forward from the force and the dove actually pushing off with wildly frantic flapping wings.

I was also struck by an acorn once...in the head...in a huge park...with hundreds of other people. That acorn wheedled its way through the crowd and found my head to drop on. I remember hearing the knock, feeling the smart, seeing the acorn drop to my lap, and looking at my husband as he burst into laughter. I looked around to see other smirks and wondered why that thing had to hit me.

I have been the falling object many of times. I have fallen on the job, at home, at a clothing store. I have fallen while running, while walking, and once I toppled over from a dead stand still. I have fallen on asphalt, on dirt, on concrete, on a huge pile of boxed chocolates, in a moss-laden gutter, and on tile. I have fallen against stairs, cars, chairs, and tables. I have fallen over dogs, children, and my own feet. I have fallen off of motorcycles, bicycles, and scooters. I have even fallen from the sky on a number of occasions. I fall...a lot. When I showed up to my own bridal shower on crutches my mother pursed her lips and gave me a firm scolding because, obviously, I was doing something I shouldn't have been doing and don't I know how clumsy I am?

Also, under the category of flying object I can add the underwire of my bra. While talking to our vet about the health of my dogs I once had my underwire literally fly out of my sleeve and fall in a clatter to the floor. The vet was curious to see what the UFO could be but I had reactions of lightening and I whipped the crescent up and stuffed it into my purse. The vet stared at me curiously but proceed with his diagnosis. The underwire must have been ready to give for it to fly with such force. I am thankful it struck neither human nor animal.

OUT OF THE MOUTH

Some of the worst offenses are those made verbally. I am horrible with names. I no longer even like to address people by their names for fear I will, yet again, have them wrong. Once, on a first date, I called my date the name of his roommate. And, when I worked for a non-profit organization, I spoke candidly to the major founder. When I relayed this great conversation to my boss he doubled-over laughing hysterically. Apparently, the major founder was dead and had been such for a long time. I was just talking to some random guy that looked a lot like the framed photo on the wall. Those moments are the worst!

APPEARANCES

These are really rotten moments because you so often don't realize what a buffoon you look like. I once had my boss ask me what was caught on the front collar on my shirt. As I reach up and fingered it, I realized it was the tag. That's right, I wore my shirt to work backwards.

In another moment of bra drama, as I was flirting with a guy back in my single days I lifted my arm to make a gesture and the guy grabbed and tugged at something under my sleeve. "What's this?" he giggled. It was my bra strap. The thing had come unhinged and was dangling out my sleeve.

Boogers and zits and chives in the teeth are horrible to spy in the rearview mirror of the car. I can't count the number of times I have chatted and cajoled only to head back to the car to find a big black chive between my front teeth. Why don't people tell me these things?

I am sure my world holds more embarrassment for me. It holds far more than I have shared here! I just hope it goes easy on me...like, no more falling on 150 boxes of See's candy in a straight, tight denim skirt that would leave me wallowing like a turtle on its back. Yea, no more of that!

Fres-YES!

2010-07-07T11:51:00.000-07:00

I have endured the looks, the comments, the eye rolls. The sorrowful gestures that say, "I am so sorry you live in Fresno." The worst was the pity I received from a woman while passing through Barstow, California. She sadly nodded her head and clucked her tongue as she said, "Oh, you live in Fresno? I am so sorry for you." I couldn't help but lean forward and whisper, "You know you live in Barstow, right?"

I will declare here and now, without shame and downcast eyes, that I unabashedly LOVE Fresno! While I now live on the outskirts of town, I still consider Fresno my home. I have lived here since 1987 and now I am raising my own family in this amazing place.

Everyone hears and focuses on the negative media that Fresno receives. Yes, the city certainly has its fair share of problems. But, what about the good parts of Fresno? Yes, there are indeed good parts...oodles of them!

Fresno is centrally located in this grand state of California. We sit with the beautiful Sierras on one side and the rolling Pacific Ocean less than three hours away on the other side. We have repeatedly satisfied my husband's craving for fresh clam chowder with day trips to Pismo Beach and we love to spend winter days playing with our children in the Sierra snow just west of our home.

Yosemite National Park sits grandly in our backyard attracting visitors from all over the world. No less than five times have I gotten up early to hike Half Dome and been back to sleep in my own bed that night. I marvel at the sheer beauty found in the park. It is breathtaking and inspiring. I don't think one can visit Yosemite and doubt God's existence.

Fresno offers more beauty found in the great agricultural landscape. I relish traveling home from business trips to be greeted by the fragrant smell of orange blossoms. The rich, citrus smell is the smell of home to me. It is comfort and security. A seasonal trip through the Fresno Blossom Trail is an amazing trip for one's senses. From the incredible beauty and colors found in the Almond, Plum, Peach, Nectarine, Apricot, Citrus and Apple blossoms to the incredible sweet and savory smells to the buzzing of hundreds of dutifully busy bees.

Fresno offers an array of great places to shop and there are numerous places to treat your palate to any number of cultural cuisines. Fresno offers the best Mexican food I have ever tasted. While some towns boast Taco Bell as true Mexican cuisine, Fresnans know that has nothing on Sal's, Javiar's, Mexicatessen, or Casa Corona.

One thing I truly love about Fresno is the small town feel it has managed to maintain while growing steadily in population. I love running into friends in random places. From the Woodward Park Library to SaveMart to The Shops at Riverpark, my husband and I always seem to encounter the friendly face of someone we know.

Fresno may not sit at the top of a list of the best places to live, but for me, it truly is the only place I can imagine raising my family. My kids are learning good, solid values not only from me and my husband, but from the community that surrounds them. They are seeing the rewards of hard work and the joys of a more simple life. They don't require 8-lane highways and skyscrapers dotting the skyline. They enjoy trips to the movie theater and swim lessons. They love picking fruit from our own trees and adventures to the coast and mountains.

Fresno offers many of the perks of a metropolitan city without the congestion and delays. Fresnans appreciate a less-intense lifestyle than the larger cities to the north and south of us. To me, Fresno is home. To those who pity me because I live in Fresno I say Fres-YES!

See 'em, but don't hear 'em

2010-06-17T09:11:00.000-07:00

There are people who still subscribe to the notion that children should be seen and not heard. While I admit that my children are adorable to view, I think of what I would miss if they were never heard.

I likely would never puzzle over why the sky is blue and not pink. I might not question the differences between a one-hump camel verses the two-hump variety. And, I might never be curious enough to dig a hole in my backyard in hopes of finding a real dinosaur bone.

I understand that children can be loud and down-right obnoxious at times. And, I freely admit that I am able to tune them out while others cringe and claw at themselves in sheer agony at the piercing screams and giggles of childhood. I believe this is a trait of parenthood. We train ourselves to listen for sounds outside the normal and drown out the rest. If my children are quiet, my senses immediately perk up. I can tell the difference between a shriek of annoyance at a sibling and a shriek of pain due to falling. The sound of children is part of being a parent. And, though I ask my children to bring the noise level down a notch at times, I would never beckon them to be completely silent.

If children were seen and not heard we would see the chocolate smeared on their faces but would never hear about the yummiest chocolate chip cookie they ever ate. We would see the sadness in their eyes but never realize it was because their "bestest" friend in the whole world wanted to play with someone else at recess that day. We would see that their clothes don't match but never know it was because they chose to wear all their favorite clothes together regardless of color. We would see the dinosaurs in piles in holes in the backyard but never learn that it was the grandest imaginary fossil treasure.

I don't want my children to be spit polished and tucked in. I don't want them wearing sweater vests with nary a hair out of place. I don't want them to sit quietly and never wonder or be curious. I love that my children need to have their dirty feet scrubbed in the tub each night. I love that they have actually tasted mud pies. I delight in their laughter and marvel at their profound questions. And, yes I love their bright eyes and genuine smiles. Those things are all part of the marvelous package of childhood. Let's let children be children because childhood is short enough as it is. Let's see children and hear them too...we will surely learn a thing or two.

Dry Hole

2010-06-08T13:46:00.000-07:00

Living where we do comes with the knowledge - or fear - that there will come a time when the well will run dry. For me, that fear was realized on Saturday afternoon. As I watered our little makeshift garden I noticed our water pressure was low. I mentally noted it, but wasn't concerned by it. It was later when I asked my son to start his bath that the universe paused a moment. I was fussing with the kitchen sink and wondering if the faucet was plugged when my son came in all smiles and giggles telling me how the water was only trickling into the tub. My world slammed to a halt and I felt my blood run cold. I called...rather...I hollered for my husband and together we tromped out to the pump.

The pump was humming along but no water was being pulled up into the tank. The pressure rested at 15%. I pleaded with myself to not pass out. At that moment, I could only think of the hefty price tag we were facing. Wells don't come cheap and in these difficult economic times we are financially strapped.

After my initial breakdown where fear collided with tears, my husband and I were able to plan for the worst. Hoping that just the pump motor was bad, but sensing the whole well was dry, we took steps to pull a loan out against my 401K. On a Saturday night at 9pm, there is not much one can do. But taking a few steps towards a resolution along with an Ambien at least provided for some sleep.

Now, here is where I get to be extremely grateful. I called our pump company at 8am sharp on Monday morning. A crew arrived and by 9:30 we knew the pump motor was shot. Still waiting on a verdict on the water level, I contacted my 401K provider. After hearing my plight, a representative faxed me the paperwork to sign for tan emergency loan against my retirement fund. By 11am I had the paperwork signed and faxed to my fund manager and the loan was approved. It was moments later that my husband called to let me know that the well was indeed dry.

I choked down this information with a bit of ease since we would have the funds to cover the expense. I arrived home just prior to the arrival of the manager of the drilling crew. He provided us with a 5-digit estimate and told us he would file for permits that afternoon. In a move not typical, the County approved our permits in minutes rather than days. This allowed the drilling crew to come out yesterday evening to bring out their equipment to get set-up for an early start today.

We found out that sometimes it takes several months to get a new well drilled. We found ourselves with a dry well completely out of sync with the normal pattern so our wait was a mere 24 hours.

I am anxiously awaiting the free flow of water. It takes about 5 business days to complete a new well and destroy the old one. With luck we will be showering in our own home by next Tuesday at the latest.

My feeling of gratitude for the funds and quick response of the pump company is currently out-weighing my feelings of inconvenience. It is not convenient to be without water. It is not especially inconvenient with two small children who are home for summer. It is frustrating to fill the toilet tanks with water and to wash dishes with a two-gallon jug. It is incredibly difficult to suck up our pride and accept the use of parents' and siblings' showers and washing machines.

In a stroke of irony, on Sunday, a friend let us know we could have his old above-ground pool. We have no water but we have a pool! I can't wait to fill that pool up with water fresh from our 500 foot well! That will be a wonderful reward for these past few days filled with challenges.

My take on LOST

2010-05-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

I have been a huge fan of LOST. Like most fans, I have enjoyed the confusion and endless number of unanswered questions. After most episodes I would turn to my husband and cry, "What was that about?" But it held me captive week after week and season after season. I loved LOST and am surprised at how sad I feel that a television series is over. I think Vincent laying with Jack as he died was the final kicker for me. I have yet to recover from that image of such a loyal friend.

I have been pondering the final episode since the 1:05 a.m. this morning when the Jimmy Kimmel show was over. My whole take has been formulated and finalized on very little sleep but here are my thoughts on what Lost was indeed about...

I think the Island was reality. I think the plane crashed and life on the Island was real. I think the images we saw in the "Sideways Flashes" where glimpses of a place somewhat like purgatory. A holding place for souls not ready to accept their own death. I think that everyone in the Sideways Flashes were deceased. Many of the characters that were in these flashes were people who we witnessed die on the Island (or off, as in the case of John Locke).

Jack's father said that "time" was non-existent when they were at the church and Jack realized he had died. I believe that the people who reunited in the church died at very different times. We saw Jack die at the end of the show. But, in seasons earlier, we saw Libby, Shannon and Boone die. And we also saw Ana Lucia die yet she was the cop that sprung out Desmond, Sayid, and Kate in the Sideways Flash. We didn't see Kate or Claire or Sawyer die but we assume they got off the Island because we know they caught the plane. We can also assume they went onto live full lives. We also did not see Ben or Hurley die. But Hurley told Ben he was a "great second" so we can assume the two of them watched over the Island for some period of time after Jack's death.

I believe Ben did not want to leave and enter the church because he had not yet resolved his life with his death. He still had issues though he received forgiveness from Locke and also from his daughter, Alexandra, and her mother, Danielle Rousseau. In the Sideways Flash, Ben is loved and accepted by Alexandra and her mother. So, in death, whether they know they were dead or not, they allowed Ben to redeem himself. We know, in the end, that Ben was a man with a changed heart because he was welcomed into the church even though he was not ready to leave.

Since time is a non-issue in death, we don't know how long the many souls existed in that purgatory-like world. Kate told Jack she had missed him for so long. Jack's father told him that the people in the church were the people most special to one another in life. The people who helped each other through challenges and who loved each other.

I believe Desmond was the first to realize his own death and he made it his mission to bring everyone to the church as they died. As the characters realized they were dead they were drawn to the church to wait for the souls of their friends. Once they had all accepted their deaths and had been reunited in death they were able to "leave" and enter eternity.

I have no idea if my take is right or whether it even makes sense. What I do know is that I will greatly miss LOST and I will be thinking about the final episode for days. I look forward to hearing other peoples' take on the series. I am especially curious about the polar bear which still makes no sense to me!

The Sprinkler

2010-04-23T15:58:00.000-07:00

A couple summers ago I was training very diligently for a half marathon. Though I would run early in the morning, the heat would often become so oppressive I would have to cut my runs short.

On one such morning, I had become so overheated that I changed course and began my run home after only a couple miles. As I ran through the sleepy streets, I couldn't help but notice how many homes had sprinklers running full tilt. They were drenching lawns with lovely, cold, and inviting water.

I was thirst-quenched. The sprinklers wrecked havoc with my dehydrated body. I focused on getting home where I would reward myself with a brimming glass of ice cold water.

But, as I passed house after house of sprinkler-soaked lawns my thirst became absolutely unbearable. I began to not only notice the sprinklers, but that the blinds were drawn on most of the homes. The people inside were still asleep with their air conditioners churning. My mind turned to that of a criminal. "Who would mind if I took one sip of water from a sprinkler?"

Well, these things never play out the way we expect them to in our minds.

I did indeed attempt to take a drink from a sprinkler. However, in my dehydrated state, the sprinkler I chose was one of those high-powered doodads that rocket-launch water across the lawn. They spray out with a rat-tat-tat-tat and then they fire back with a tattattattat! I bent over the sprinkler and tried to get any amount of water to stay in my mouth while the power of the blast threatened to launch a hole through my cheek.

It was in that very undignified position that I saw them. I glanced to notice the two slippered feet standing just inches away from my head. I shot up in a flash and came face-to -face with a most confused older woman. She looked perplexed and none to happy that I had tried to syphon a sip of her water. Her hands were on her hips and her pj's were covered by an old fuzzy bathrobe.

I stammered that I was sorry and that I was just incredibly thirsty but she spoke not one word. She just stared at me as I sprinted down the street with my thirst forgotten and my shirt sopping wet.

When I got home, I ran the hose over my head and sat on the patio. It took a few minutes for the me to grasp the hilarity of the situation and to have a good laugh. I thought that next time I should pick a gentler sprinkler, but then decided that next time I would be better off to carry my water with me.

My floors

2010-04-17T14:42:00.000-07:00

I have heard that when it comes to housecleaning everyone has their "thing"; their one thing that matters. If that one thing is clean, all is well with the world. My thing is the floors. If I can walk barefoot on my floors without succumbing to grit, I can conquer the world! If my floors are dirty and grimy they will so haunt me that I can't accomplish a thing.

As I was tackling the floors today I realized what a story those tiles could tell. While I mop them and scrub them, there are little hints of life with children that are seemingly permanent.

When I open my closet, I see tiny drops of bright pink nail polish that remind me of the time that my daughter dropped the bottle and it shattered. While I cleaned up the most evident spots, I overlooked a few. They really don't bother me. They remind me of my precious daughter and her love of bling and beautiful.

In my front room, you will see googly eyes stuck to the floor. Every time I mop over them I am reminded that I really ought to scrape them up. But, then there wouldn't be anymore googly eyes on the floor. And, honestly, they make me smile. I don't know how they came to reside on my floor, but googly eyes are just fun.

There is also the streak of brown from when I vacuumed over a non-washable crayon and a patch of turquoise where some little artist decorated with a non-washable marker. The carpet in the kids' rooms is littered with colored sticker stars. I vacuum over and over them but they remain. They are all bits of evidence of life in my home. Life with color, vivaciousness, and Crayola products.

All these little blemishes just need a few moments of time to tend too. Yet they remain. I guess my decorating style right now is "Early Childhood in Progress." And, I am good with that because the floor isn't gritty. It may have googly eyes and modern art, but there is no grit to drive me crazy! And, I know that some day, the googly eyes will wear away and I will long for them. My house with be quiet and peaceful and I will long for the chaos of raising children.

Skippyjon Jones is muy, muy Excellentito!

2010-03-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

I have just become a huge fan of Skippyjon Jones. I visited a bookfair at my son's school and picked up two different Skippyjon Jones title-itos. I am not sure if me or my children laughed harder as we followed the adventures of this Siamese Cat who fantasizes about being a Chihuahua and running with a wild gang, Los Chimichango's!

As I read the words, I found myself attempting to channel Speedy Gonzales to muster up my best accent. My accent was muy, muy lame at best but my rascalitos thought is was totally loco and insane-ito! My son even pleaded with me to read it again...yep, in his eyes, I was that good!

I ordered two more Skippyjon Jones books and have to admit I am pretty excited for them to arrive. With these and just seven more episodes of LOST, well, I am a pretty excited El Skippito Friskito myself-ito!

Mean Girls

2010-03-18T12:56:00.000-07:00

Today, I had coffee with a dear friend from high school. As happens, we drifted apart to be reconnected just a few months ago by random circumstances. While enjoying our coffee we reminisced a bit about high school before catching up on our lives now...which with both agreed, are quite stellar!

As I left the coffee house, I started thinking about my high school days and drudged up some old memories that were probably better left buried. I recalled my skirmish with the "Mean Girls" who were once my friends. These "Mean Girls" - who we will call MG's because they don't really rate a full set of letters - were atrociously awful. The meanest MG was a girl named Ana...oh yeah! That's right! I am naming names! And, I can do this with confidence because I am pretty certain she is not one of the five people that read this blog.

Anyhow, Ana, was a spindly little wrench. She would whisper secrets about me to the other girls in our group while I was sitting right there. Once I called her out on it. With nerves so tense I thought I would vomit, I screeched, "Why don't you just say what you want to say to my face?" Well, that catapulted her to center stage where she unleashed a verbal lashing so harsh I honestly do not recall the words. I only remember her contorted face and being mesmerized by how large her mouth was as the words spewed out.

It was on this day that Ana had one of her evil minions deliver a note to me between classes. This is how lame high school is...the messenger had typed up the note in her typing class! Anyhow, all the girls...um...excuse me...MG's signed the note which declared that they were not friends of mine anymore. I remember looking at the note and being horribly embarrassed. I had just been kicked out of the lamest group on campus...in writing! I felt hot and nauseous...a theme of my high school years. But, I refused to shed a tear on campus

Whenever I choose to recall my high school years it seems this is the memory that pops into my mind. I recall the snotty look on Ana's face and the smirk of her messenger (her name was Jennifer by the way) as she handed over my walking papers. I tend to forget my friends like the one I met with this morning. I forget the times we laughed and had silly conversations and dreamed about how our lives would turn out.

Whatever happened to Ana? I am not sure. No amount of Facebook stalking has turned up information on her. I have seen her twice since high school. Once while Christmas shopping with my son when he was an infant. I was strolling through a shop when I heard her itchy voice talking to the cashier. She was talking about how her hair used to be long and actually had her high school picture in her wallet to show the cashier as proof. I thought that was weird because I certainly never carried around my senior portrait. The second time I saw her was outside of a home improvement store. My hubs and I had just loaded up our truck with whatever gear we needed to complete some forgotten home improvement project and Ana walked by with her dad. She caught my eye as I watched her pass and her reaction was to speak louder so I could hear her say, "so Denise says to him..." It was at that moment that I felt pity. I was hanging out with my family that I had created with my husband and she was walking with her dad and talking like a 30-year-old high school student...oh hey! That's like the cast of 90210!

I am so thankful for the few good friends I did have in high school. We have moved on and gone separate ways but it is a treat to reconnect with them and hear about their lives and successes. I will work on remembering the fun moments of high school and letting my memories of the MG's slip away. Maybe one day I will run into Ana again...perhaps I will ask her to show me her senior photo.

Rainy day

2010-03-02T14:43:00.000-08:00

So, here I sit in my office watching the rain fall. I love the rain! I especially love the rain when I am inside and not splashing around in it. But, I love the sound of rain tapping the windows and the smell of rain when I step on our porch. I was thinking about other things I love and realize I am one lucky chick-a-dee!

I love the sound of my children laughing. They have these great belly giggles that spurt up from their very core. Their laughs are the sound of genuine delight and happiness.

I love having faith in a being greater than myself. I love praying and the comfort I feel knowing that God is at the wheel. It is hard to feel insignificant when I believe God created me to be specifically who I am.

I love my friends! I have such good friends from all walks of life. I love their differing characteristics and dispositions. I especially love my girlfriends who allow me to be my silly, dorky self!

I love scented lotions. I love a hint of scent rather than a dab of perfume which ultimately makes my skull cramp. It is fun and girly to slather on lotion that smells like cherry blossoms or raspberry buds.

I love living in the sticks...or on the fringes of the sticks! I love having a plot of land to traipse around on. I find joy in watching my son dig the biggest hole he can possibly dig as he searches for dinosaur bones. I relish in watch our dogs run the length of the property scouting out scents and traces of varmints. I love watching my daughter dance around in wildflowers while dressed up in a tutu and tiara.

I love old jeans, pony tails, and sloppy sweatshirts. All of these represent comfort, of which, I am a huge fan!

I love unexpected checks in the mails; e-mails from old friends; clearance sales on great merchandise; books I can't put down; laundry that is done; reading bedtime stories to my children; running without feeling winded; and a marinara heavy Italian meal.

And, I love my husband. I love that we don't always see eye-to-eye (and not just because he is taller) because it means we have maintained our individuality in our unity. I love that we both think we suck at the parent thing even though our kids are forming into amazing little people. And, I love that he loves me even when I am having a bad hair day; a bad zit day; a bad outfit day; or all of those days rolled into one!

The sun is starting to poke out and I am sad to see the rain go. But then I realize I also love the sun and again ponder my many blessings.

That picture to the right...

2010-02-27T10:10:00.000-08:00

...that is my "happy Jack-o-lantern" face. My brother has the exact same one...

We are the jolly jack-o-lanterns in the family!

And, this concludes today's blog about really nothing.

Things that are plain irksome!

2010-01-25T11:27:00.000-08:00

I was just sitting here thinking about the lady at the movie theater that left the bathroom without washing her hands. Worse, she had a child trailing behind and she didn't wash her hands either. That is blatant filthiness in training! Yuck! As I mull over this scene, I am reminded of other things that just irk me to my core. Here are a few random things that really get my goat...

1. People who drive slow in the fast lane. Hello folks! There is a reason it is called the fast lane and you are not it! Move your taillights to the right!

2. Braggarts! Oh, you know who you are! You one-uppers! Everything someone says, you have to up them one. Here is the thing...you are in competition with people who are not in competition with you! Live and let live! Who gives a hoot about your gazillion accomplishments and graces? Certainly not people you have already told 10,000 times. Here is a thought...listen for a change. You might be surprised at what you hear and learn about those around you.

3. Sunday Christians. Oh, you bug me deep to my core. Just because you have accepted Jesus as your savior does not give you a right to act like a twerp everyday but Sunday. Just because Jesus forgave your sins does not mean you can continue to commit them everyday but the Sabbath. And, how about some tolerance? The last person that was perfect walked on water. If you are still swimming get a clue!

4. Dirty feet. Soap is a beautiful thing! I think if a person is going to wear sandals they should really thing about scrubbing their toes. And, it is winter...why are they wearing sandals in the first place?

5. Silver testicles hanging from pick-up trucks. What the heck? That is all I am going to say about these raunchy, tactless, heinous things.

6. People who drop the F-Bomb constantly. Um, here is a thought...GET A VOCABULARY!

7. Secret agendas. These fascinate me. I used to think that only in the world of Soap Operas could people formulate truly ludicrous plans and attempt to carry them out. People who plot to get revenge or devise schemes to bring others down...well, really, they need psychiatric help. There is just no excuse.

8. Butt cracks. In my day - oh, I sound so old! - girls didn't show butt cracks laced in thongs. Who thinks that is sexy anyway? The butt crack was sole property of the plumber. If you needed a plumber you saw the crack. I figure if he is fishing a toy out of your toilet, ill-fitting pants are the least of his worries. Girls, buy a belt or hike them up. Let's just add boxers to this category also. What is with the low-hanging pants? Why is it stylish for boys to look like they are carrying a load in their pants so heavy that their nasty old boxers show? I can't even begin to understand this.

9. Discovering my favorite jeans have been worn so much that they have a hole in the butt. Can't even do yard work in those. Yet, they still hang in my closet in hopes of some miraculous mending that is certainly beyond my skills.

10. Great books that end on the last page like a made-for-TV movie that wraps up in the last 2 minutes. I love a great plot but am annoyed with rapid-fire endings like the author simply had no other thoughts for the characters.

11. Stupid people in general. People who vote for issues without reading about them. People who go along with the majority because they can't think for themselves. People who disregard the law and do everything but bake a cake while driving their cars. People who drive drunk. People who abuse children and animals. People who laugh at the ill-fate of others. Eye rollers...those people who have no other way to express themselves than by rolling their eyes and truly believing that no one sees them do it. People who issue backhanded compliments. Like, "Oh you look so pretty for someone your size." Or, "Wow! This is a great casserole. I can't believe you made it!"

OK. Nine and 10 are a little silly. And, I know it is not my charge to change the world. I also know that I have no right to be so fully annoyed by the things above. But, sometimes things are just so incomprehensible that I find myself completely riled up. My only saving grace is my children. If not for them I would become one of the baboons of society that annoy me the most. I would become so irate that I would become an incomprehensible, stupid person. For them, I must keep it together. OK, so I don't always keep it together. But hopefully I can keep statements like "Mommy! Look at that weenie driving slow in front of us. Why doesn't he just move over?" to a minimum.

Ellie and the Toothbrush

2010-01-01T09:16:00.000-08:00

Santa put battery operated toothbrushes in the kids' stockings this year. They were beyond thrilled! Mitchell got the hang of his toothbrush quite fast but Ellie has had trouble figuring out how much pressure to apply. She presses too hard. On hearing the gears begin to slip, I told her to not press so hard. She ignored my request and the grinding continued. I finally took the toothbrush away from her and told her I would have to start brushing her teeth again. She looked and me aghast and declared, "Mommy! You have ruin my life!"

I was quite surprised by this and said, "Ellie, I haven't ruined your life. I just took your toothbrush away."

She glared at me and said, "Fine! Then you ruined my heart!" With that she spun on her heel and walked away leaving me in stunned silence.

I wonder if this is training for the teenage years?

Japan People

2009-12-27T21:55:00.000-08:00

The Christmas season brought me a bar of dark chocolate that was perfectly awful. Bitter is not a strong enough word for the awfulness that clung to my taste buds. After gasping and gulping water, I told the Dear Hubs that he too should share in the experience. He took the tiniest bite which was immediately followed by a look of horror and a quick grab for the Crystal Light.

Our son, Mitchell, declared that he loved all chocolate and asked for a bite. I warned him of the impending gag and then offered him a teeny piece. He put the piece on his tongue and in mere seconds was rubbing that same tongue with a paper towel.

"Mommy!" he declared. "That tastes like soil! Who would even eat that? Who would eat that on purpose?"

"I don't know." I answered honestly. "I am sure there are people that think that tastes really good."

"Oh yuck! Maybe like people that live in Africa or something."

"Mitchell! Why would you assume that people in Africa would like that?"

"I don't know. I mean there are giraffes there and they eat just anything. And, lions. Lions eat whatever too."

I looked at him. I was confused.

Sensing my confusion, he proceeded.

"Our maybe like Japan people. Maybe that might like it."

"You know kiddo, you are Japanese."

Mitchell looked at me completely shocked and said, "What?"

"You. You are Japanese."

Mitchell looked from me to his dad and back again. He giggled and said, "I am a Japan people?"

I so wish that more people could view the world with his innocent eyes. I wish more people would look beyond their prejudices and see people from the inside out. I was stunned by the simpleness of Mitchell's discovery and how it completely baffled him. He sees people as people and does not classify them into descriptive categories. To him, we are Mom and Dad. We are not Caucasian and Japanese. I love that! What a place this world would be if we had more mutts and less labels.

Reflecting Back on 2009

2009-12-15T09:59:00.001-08:00

Reflecting back on 2009, I see that the year started with all the promise of the fattest pig at a county fair. After all, the house was still standing and the tribe was in reasonably good health. In truth, when compared to 2008, the year ahead looked mighty fine indeed.

But, like that pig at the fair, the blue ribbon is all well and good but in the end, you find yourself in a skillet (I really do see a vegetarian diet in my future)!

In my work, I had a fresh slate to work with. After dismal sales in 2008, I was off to a fresh start. I worked diligently to bring my numbers up and succeeded (though my end-of-year numbers are a bit sketchy!). I spent a lot of hours working and a lot of time away from my family. That just makes me sad. I know I would make a stunning stay-at-home millionaire if someone would just hand me the check!

The dear hubs also found success at work though it to came at a price. His price tag? Dealing with an absolute psycho. What should have been an open and shut home sale turned into a fiasco with a listing agent who I truly think had a mental disorder. I inspected my hubs when he got home at the end of each day to make sure his hide was still intact. The deal finally closed escrow and we finally got paid but it took months of agony and headaches to get it done.

In March, I competed in my first duathlon and had my first mammogram. The duathlon was called the "Spring Fling" and it took place on the most miserable day of the year. Rain poured out of the sky. The 400 entrants had dwindled to less than 100. I admit...I made the choice to compete. And, I didn't come in dead last...that honor went to the poor girl who got a flat tire on her bike and had trouble fixing it. I learned that there is a HUGE difference between a road bike and a mountain bike...guess which heavy, metal disaster I was riding. And, I learned that it is very hard to run in the mud...not just because the mud is slippery but because it cakes to your shoes so that you feel like you are running on stilts. I also learned that "playing" in a rainstorm is rewarded with a nasty sinus infection. So nasty it grosses out children.

About the mammogram, I just have to wonder why that upper plate on "The Squisher" is clear plastic? There are few things more horrifying that seeing one's boob completely smashed like roadkill (yep, back to the veggie diet)!

The summer was a nice change of course. We enjoyed a lot of family time and spent a vacation camping at the coast. Our camp was invading nightly by - according to legend - a 65-pound raccoon. I believe that first night we determined that the thing weighed 35 pounds but he has grown considerably as the story has been retold. The first night that bandit absconded with my best Tupperware which was pack full of brownies. The Tupperware was saved but the brownies, though untouched by the raccoon, had lost their appeal. It was our first adventure camping in our four person tent. With two small children we realized a bigger tent must be planned for in the future and that one bag of clothes is not enough for children who seem to have a magnetic pull toward the ocean waves.

In August, Mitchell started Kindergarten. He couldn't be happier to have finally achieved "Big Boy" status. Miss Ellie? Not so much. She was inconsolable. Mitchell had left her behind at preschool and her little heart was crushed. I took her to enjoy a Mommy and Ellie manicure and pedicure but the blues still weighed on her. After many tears and devastating morning drop-offs, Ellie finally accepted that it was what it was and set herself to being a successful preschooler.

We are winding up the year a bit weather-beaten. The kids fell ill with some nasty bugs and I found myself sick with the swine flu (that county pig!). We have struggled this year with finances in a bleak economy. But, have found that time and time again, God has been watching out for us. We settled our backsides into the skillet right before Thanksgiving but received the grace of our health being restored and a little kicker from work to make ends meet. So, we escaped the cooking, just like Wilbur in Charlotte's Web.

I guess that 2009 wasn't all bad. It was, however, challenging. I am not sorry to see it go. I look to 2010 with a hopeful heart and a lot of optimism. When things look bleak my son's words echo in my ears. Once, after falling down, Mitchell sprang to his feet and declared, "That's OK! My spirits are still up!" So, it is with those words I shall look to the New Year. 2009 may have knocked me down (better than knocked me up!) but I look to 2010 with my spirits still up!

Back to the Books

2009-12-04T10:02:00.000-08:00

January 1st will mark the beginning of my tenth year in college publishing. That is amazing to me! Prior to this job, the longest I held a single position was three years. Anything longer than that and I would get bored or feel the need to try something new. But, when I entered publishing the challenge became to work through any bouts of boredom and to challenge myself within my current job title. It has worked out well. Ups and downs, good days and bad. Overall, I have to admit that I really like my job even though no one truly understands what it is exactly that I do!

My first job, outside of babysitting, was working as a sales clerk for B. Dalton Books. That is actually where I first met my dear friend Zen over at onezenmom.blogspot.com. I stocked books and hauled boxes and suffered daily paper cuts. I ultimately declared that I would never work with books again.

After college, I went to work as a marketing assistant for a manufacturing company. One of my key tasks was to assemble catalogs, package them in boxes, and haul the boxes to the lobby for UPS pick-up. Seriously. I was back in books. I hated having to get dressed in nice work clothes only to sweat and struggle with boxes or worse - schlep through the rain with them.

After a very brief stint in non-profit where I hauled no books I went to work in advertising. In advertising I dealt not with books but with people. Crazy people with money to spend and unfathomable ideas. People that wanted to be treated like celebrities instead of home-builders and gadget makers and fast food assemblers. How I disliked that job! When I found out about the opening in the world of publishing, I went after the job like nothing I had ever done before. I wanted the escape from advertising even if it meant going back to schlepping books.

I, obviously, got the job in publishing and have been hear ever since...back in books! I have a car and a shed full of textbooks covering a world of disciplines. I do find myself hauling books this way and that but the perks of the job far outweigh the perils. And, I figure that hauling books is good exercise...except when it's raining and then it really is just miserable!

Words

2009-11-24T09:41:00.000-08:00

I love words. I love linking them together and creating vivid mental pictures. I love learning new words. And, there are some words that are just fun. I was thinking of words that I love most. "Serendipity" is a chart topper for me. Not only is it fun to say but the bubbly excitement captured in its definition is truly an accidental discovery of something valuable.

Another fun word to say is "hemoglobin." That word just bounces off the tongue. It lacks in definition, having a dry medical meaning, but really makes a comeback with the fun shapes your lips make to sound it out. "Hibiscus" is another winner. A cheery word with a beautiful, Hawaiian flower in the definition. I have tried growing hibiscus in our flowerbed because I wanted the sheer ability to say, "Oh that? That is hibiscus! Isn't it a beautiful hibiscus?"

Some words are embarrassing to say. Why are body parts so mortify in their names? I still shriek internally if someone says "penis" or "vagina." I much prefer their other common names of "pee-pee" and "hoo-hoo." How I got through childbirth is still a wonder.

Oh mercy! Some words are just icky. Icky sounding and icky in definition. "Hemorrhoid." The name lodges in the throat and conjures up painful mental pictures. The same holds true for "probe" and "varicose." Yuck!

I like love little-used words. I enjoy the challenge of incorporating them naturally into daily conversations. For example, "Well, tallyho then! I am off!" Or, "Methinks it is time for dinner." Yep. I am geeky like that.

Well it is time to wind up this wordy blog. So I will close with wishing you a "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" kind of day!

Can't Escape the Dork Factor

2009-10-20T16:08:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article recently in which the person was asked, "When are you most yourself?" This question made me think. As a person with zero celebrity status, I have the pleasure - or maybe the curse - of being myself all the time. I don't try to put on airs because, in truth, I would be dreadful at such a task. So, whether I am running after my kids in the yard or working to close $100K worth of business I am me...my goofy self.

One dear friend once described me as a dork...and I embrace that label! I feel bad for people who think they have to act a certain way to fit in with a certain group. I love that I have an eclectic group of friends and I am my dorky self with all of them. That is a measure of true friendship...your true friends are the people that accept you and all your quirkiness.

Because of my dork factor, when I am with my friends laughter is as much of the conversation as words. I LOVE to laugh. I have a loud, guffawing belly laugh. Yes, I have been know to throw out a snort now and then as well. But isn't that fun? Isn't it even funnier when you snort when you laugh? It leads to more laughter. My kids have amazing giggly belly laughs. I love to hear them laughing as they play and run around. They haven't developed the snort yet but every so often the giggles bring about toots which results in peals of laughter.

I have some friends that are cool but most are dorks like me. We love life and take each day for what it is worth. We have challenges but we can laugh at them and ourselves. I am amused by people who can't laugh at themselves. They are so serious and so continually "on" that when something goes amiss they are mortified or worse...they are furious. Now, if I took myself that seriously I would be a mess. I am more clumsy than graceful and if I couldn't laugh at myself falling down I would be in sorry shape.

Everyone must have a dork factor deep in their core. People need to release their inner dorks and just be themselves. This world would be kinder if we all had a bit of goofiness in our days.

City to the Sea

2009-10-09T15:46:00.001-07:00

This Sunday I will be running the City to the Sea 1/2 marathon with my brother. This will be the third 1/2 we have done together and my six overall. Last year I finished in 02:28:22. My dear brother finished one second earlier. We'll see what the timing chip reads this year!

Cure JM Awareness Day‏!!

2009-10-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

*

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

Broken Chin?

2009-09-28T21:56:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was laying in bed with my three-year-old. We were talking about all the things that are important to little girls. We discussed favorite colors, Christmas presents, baby dolls, and our dogs. We were facing each other as we shared her favorite princess pillow. Very randomly, my sweet, adorable, darling little girl asks, "So when are you getting another chin, Mommy?"

Surprised I asked, "Another chin?"

"Yeah. Another chin," she responded in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Do I need another chin?" I asked.

"Yeah Mommy," she replied. "Your chin is broken. You have a rainbow."

I lifted my fingers to my chin and feel the crease that runs between the top of my chin and my lower lip. It has always been there. I think it is because of my overbite (wouldn't mean Katie have a field day with this one!?!?). And it does sort of have an arch to it.

"This?" I asked.

"Uh-hmm. You have a rainbow cause your chin is broken. See I don't have a rainbow," she said as she ran fingers across her smooth little chin.

"Well, do you think I could just keep this chin?"

I could see that she thought this was a bad idea. Her little mind was working double-time. She was rubbing her chin and looking at mine. I just know she was thinking, "Why on Earth would she want that horrible chin?"

Finally, my darling daughter spoke in very careful words, "Sure Mommy. You can keep that chin. It will be alright."

And with that she patted my hand and went to sleep leaving me to ponder my rainbow chin and the mind of a child.

Ugh!

2009-09-25T21:27:00.000-07:00

You ever have one of those days? You know, those days. Those days were nothing goes right and the more you try to make it right, the more frustrated you become? Today was one of those days for me.

Instead of complaining about it, I am going to take my bad day and put it to bed. Tomorrow is a fresh day! I hope that it starts on time and doesn't end with tomato sauce on my work clothes. That isn't too much to ask and it is good to have small, focused goals in mind as I work through the day.

Stepping Stones

2009-09-17T22:01:00.000-07:00

I was thinking this evening about all the things I have gone through to get to this exact moment in my life. Nothing turned out as I expected it would and I am very thankful that God's plans are always much better than my own. I thought about how even my worst experiences prepared me or paved the road for my life now.

In my trip down memory lane, I skipped over the soul-crushing four years of high school and went straight to college. I thought about how I met one of my dearest friends on the first day of freshman orientation. I thought about how that friend later offered me a job that connected me with two other people who have become two of my dearest girlfriends. I thought about how that job offered me the experience I needed to get a different job. It was at that different job that a co-worker introduced me to his friend who later became my husband.

I even thought for a moment about the creepy, controlling, head-case of a boyfriend I had before I met my dear husband. Had I not dated such a wretch would I have appreciated my husband as much as I do? Would I marvel at my husband's calmness and mellow manner? Would I acknowledge that in my husband I met my match? Someone who embraced my thrill-seeking tendencies rather than shook his head and muttered miserably?

Had I not taken that job and met my husband I likely would not have had my home burn down. But then I wouldn't have been blessed with a new one. I likely wouldn't have had a few of the pets that have given us both so much joy. And, I wouldn't have two of the most precious gifts God has ever given me. I can no longer imagine - nor do I want to imagine - a world without my children.

When hard times are pressing on us it is hard to realize that "this to shall pass." That this moment is merely a stepping stone to get us to another place. An experience is something we can learn from whether the experience is good or bad. We wrestle through and then step to the next stone. I really do believe that everything happens for a reason...every block builds on the next.

Think for a moment about all the little things that helped get you to this moment...appreciate them! I certainly do. I appreciate the traffic ticket that sent me to traffic school which I disliked so much I drive much slower now. I appreciate the world's worst neighbor that we lived next to when we lived in town. If not for her, we might never have ventured out to "the country." I appreciate the carpet cleaner who, while cleaning my carpets, paused and said, "I have this feeling I need to tell you to be still. God wants you to be still." It was when I stood still I met my husband. And, I appreciate our dirt and weeds landscaping in our front and back yards. I appreciate it because I know someday we will have grass and I will relish that grass every day.

I hope that whatever stone you are standing on is a great one. And, I hope when you find yourself on one warped and cracked that you will remember that "this to shall pass" and you are simply paving the way for a brighter future.

Barbie Moms

2009-09-11T08:34:00.000-07:00

I find myself increasingly in awe of Barbie moms. I really don't know what else to coin them. They drop their children off to school with perfect, Bump-it worthy coiffures. They dress in linen that, amazingly, never has wrinkles. They wear high heels, fake nails, and lots of Bling. Yes, they are awe-worthy creatures.

Me? Depending on my work schedule for the day, I can be seen dropping off my children in anything from my running gear to black slacks. If I was placed into the outfit of a Barbie mom I know with certainty I could not pull it off. I lack grace. I walk with a goofy gait. I laugh loud and sort of like a clucking chicken. I like sneakers...really, I love them. I would rather wear denim than silk. I have good manners, but I certainly don't eat with style. I don't eat with just my teeth for fear of smudging my lipstick because I rarely wear it.

The Bump-it hairstyles elude me. I wrestle with my hair daily and most often opt for a simple ponytail. I do put my make-up on with care, but it isn't an art for me. My make-up isn't dramatic or alluring. It is functional. It covers up blemishes and ruddiness.

Perhaps my simple sense of style is why I find Barbie moms so intriguing. I wonder how many hours they spend getting ready each day? I wonder if their husbands have ever seen them without make-up? I wonder if their homes are spotless? I wonder these things but I don't want them. I don't want to be perfect or even attempt to be. I don't want to worry more about my clothes than my priorities. I don't want to be prettier than the other moms in the PTA. I don't want that stress. I want to enjoy my life; to enjoy my family. I want to run around the back field with my kids and laugh instead of squeal in horror if my son lobs a mud ball at me. I want to let my daughter put purple lip balm on me and be able to leave it there because she thinks it is pretty.

I will never be a Barbie mom and I am OK with that. Instead I will settle into my own skin and be the best sort of mom I know how to be. A mom who is simply herself.

A Night Out is in Order!

2009-09-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

OK...I am one day shy of it being a full month since I posted something. It is life! Life is so busy. I really do hate it when the days on the calendar start filling up. A lot of it is work. Summer is over and I am back working in earnest until Christmas Break. A lot of it is school stuff. With a kindergartner among us, my dear hubs and I find ourselves busy monitoring homework, attending PTA meetings, helping with Mitchell's first fundraiser, and managing all the paperwork we find in his backpack each day. A lot of it is family stuff. This is the fun stuff. Day trips to the ocean, birthday parties for friends of the kidlets, swimming at Auntie's or Grandparents.

I do notice that there is one thing clearing missing from the little boxes on the calendar. There is no date night. The dear hubs and I have not blocked off anytime for us. We have time noted for our friends independent of each other. I had a knitting adventure with my Mom written in. The dear hubs has a dinner with his buddies planned. But there is no time for him and me. A time to just sit and have a nice dinner without the constant, "What is this? I don't want this? I don't like green beans! Can I have more milk? Wait, I mean MAY I have more milk PLEASE? He is looking at me! Ellie totally has a booger in her nose! He made me spill my milk!" And, maybe catch a movie that isn't animated...though I am pretty big on Disney and Pixar. We could grab a coffee and people watch. We could wander the aisles of the bookstore at leisure. Everything could be in slow motion.

What would likely happen is we would eat our quiet dinner too fast because we are programmed that way now. We would talk about the kids and wonder what they were doing at that moment. I would squeeze in a trip to Target to get a few household items before we hit the bookstore where I would find the cutest picture books that I just know the kids would love. We would collapse in chairs at Starbucks at the end of the evening and marvel at the energy of youth and quietly question their clothing and piercings. We would begin to look at our watches a bit too anxiously. One of us would suggest we probably ought to go pick up the kids. We would reminisce about our quiet and relaxing night out. We would say we should do it again very soon. Then, as we park in front of the house, we would quickly steal a glance and each. Very quietly I will say, "Sweetie?" He will reply, "Yes?" And, I will say, "I am going to beat you in and get the first hugs and kisses!" We will both exert more energy than we have in days and rush to greet our children with the unconditional love found only in parents and puppies!

Talking with my Hubs

2009-08-04T14:01:00.001-07:00

My wise friend, Zen, recently posted a blog about S-E-X and touched on the fact that communication is an essential part. I couldn't agree with her more. I was thinking about her blog and thinking about my relationship with my husband and the fact that I can talk to him about, literally, anything. I think this is the way it should be. If you marry someone, you should be comfortable talking about even the most uncomfortable topics. Your spouse is your partner through thick and thin...through the best and worst of times.

My husband has seen me dressed to the nines and he has seen me perched on Death's door with my head in the toilet. He has seen me when I am brimming with grace and when I am spewing anger. He knows that I would rather wear my jeans than my slacks. He has seen me exhibit the patience of a saint and he has seen me irrational. He knows I weep openly at sad movies and long-distance telephone commercials. He knows I have a soft spot in my heart for animals. He has seen me dancing in the kitchen and loves me even though I continually attempt to add the Running Man to my list of moves. He knows how self-conscious I am. My husband also knows that he has the most amazing power to hurt me; and we both know he never will. I am my most vulnerable with my husband and our relationship is stronger as a result.

My husband has seen me in labor and laboring at yard work. He has seen me in the light of accomplishment and in the darkness of defeat. He has seen me at my wittiest and at my saddest. He knows my fears and my vices. He knows what I treasure. My husband knows how to tease me in a way that makes me laugh rather than breaks me down. Because we know each other so well, my husband can say one word at the right moment and send me into peals of laughter.

And, yes. I can talk to my husband about anything. It hasn't always been easy but we both work very hard at communicating with each other. My husband can ask me anything and I will respond honestly. And, I know the same is true for me asking him about things. Marriage is hard work but it is well worth it. It is so FUN! I love being married and am so thankful that I get to spend my life with my husband.

Communicate! If you are taking your clothes off for someone you have permission to ask and to tell. You want to get to the point were your spouse can say, "Hemoglobin Globe-trotters" and you double over with laughter!

Be sure to check out Zen's post on S-E-X at http://onezenmom.blogspot.com!

The Way He Sees It

2009-08-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

My son wanted to take some pictures with our camera. I got him set-up and off he went. When I saw the photos later I was amazed at the photos that so clearly showed his perspective of the world around him. He took 34 pictures in all - everything from our dogs to his play structure - but below are a few of my favorites.

First and foremost you have to have a picture of your little sister with her white, eyelet dress and her bare, country feet!

The second picture is a view of the sky from our back porch. The clouds were pink as the sun began to set.

This sunflower has been loved and nurtured by our son.It makes me think he is almost ready for a pet...then he reminds me he wants a snake or a lizard and I am thrown back into reality.

I honestly don't know that I even noticed the propane tank for the barbecue had a blue rhino on it. But, my son, took notice.

This is little sis and mom being porch monkeys it the backyard.

Hmmmm...

2009-07-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

...me thinks I better get over Writer's Block posthaste!

Jump 51

2009-07-14T11:09:00.000-07:00

I used to be a avid skydiver. Back before I had a husband and children, my passion was indeed jumping out perfectly good airplanes. Though I do love land activities, I will admit to often missing the feeling of flying.

I recently came across my old log book where I diligently tracked the details of every jump. I took the plunge 157 times. This is a mere drop in the bucket compared to my friends with wings who literally jumped thousands of times.

My log book is hard to decipher. It seems I spoke a different language as a skydiver. I read entries that said, "Launched a round. Rotating molars - 4 points! Yee-haw!" and, "Meat Missile! Wahoo!" While those cause me to search in the furthest reaches of my memory to remember what I possible meant, I also read entries that brought me right back to the moment. Jump 107 detailed, "Adrenaline rush! Opened at 4000'. Could see for miles! Very alert. Very intense. Very fun." This was my first night jump. I remember that intense feeling of jumping into blackness. My senses were on hyper-alert.

And, then, there was Jump 51. The infamous jump. The log simply states, "Good jump - bad landing. To the ER." I will preface this with saying that most skydiving accidents are skydiver error. I am no exception. My gear worked perfectly. I, however, malfunctioned. At an elevation where I should have been committed to my landing, I second guessed myself and drastically changed my landing pattern.

I remember the seconds before impact. I clearly thought, "This is going to hurt." And hurt it did. With the wind to my back instead of my face I hit the ground at approximately 25 miles per hour. I remember having my hands out in front of me while weeds whacked my face as I dug a shallow trench in the landing field. Once the motion stopped, I literally jump to my feet and shouted, "I'm alive!" This was immediately followed by my bending over in utter agony.

I was told that I would forget the pain of childbirth. I have to say, nope. Not so much. The pain I felt on that day - June 6, 1994 - was also one that stays with me. I think I recall it because it still nags me. My pregnancies and stress have found me gripping my back and breathing in some gorilla form of Lamaze.

After the "stumble," a friend took me to the ER where we were told to wait amongst people feeling a tad under-the-weather and kids with runny noses. After over an hour of impossible pain, which was not relived by sitting or standing, I approached the triage nurse.

"Please," I implored. "How much longer is my wait?" My words came out in gasping bits.

The nurse, looking bored beyond comprehension, replied, "Well, it will be awhile. Tell me, how would you describe your pain."

I looked at her and chopped out, "Excruciating!"

I don't know whether she sensed the truth in my voice or feared I was about to come unraveled, but moments later I found myself laying on a gurney getting x-rays. After the x-rays, I lay on that gurney curled up as the doctors talked in hushed tones. A woman came by sweeping the area. She looked at me and said, "Hold on." She came back with a pillow and a nurse with a vial of the good stuff. I thanked that woman profusely before I floated into the clouds on a psychedelic journey.

After that, my biggest concern was that the paramedics who came to transfer me to a larger hospital were not attractive. Weren't all paramedics attractive? I may have voiced this out loud. Whether I did or not, I found I wasn't concerned that I had fractured my back. I wasn't concerned that I had come dangerously close to severing my spinal column. I rattled off the number to my parents' location. They were out of town for the day...no worries!

The next few days was spent in the hospital followed by numerous doctor appointments. I was fitted with a brace that fit pretty well under my clothes. And, I was on the mend. I saw a neurologist because of the location and nature of my injury. He warned me to never skydive again. Three months later, I sent him an 8x10 glossy of my first jump after the accident with a note thanking him for helping me keep my wings.

I hung up my wings a couple years later. I felt a nagging that I couldn't shake. I decided to try something on land and signed up for a marathon. Since then, running has been my passion. But, I still look up at night and know I once flew the skies with creatures just like me. That gregarious bunch always had my back and will forever have my friendship.

The "Grabbing"

2009-07-12T13:58:00.000-07:00

Though we became engaged about five months after we met, my dear hubs and I initially began our courtship on a cautiously optimistic tone. We had both be burned...to a crisp...by previous companions and were in no mood for games or nonsense. Still, we did the things that only those who date seem to have the stamina to do. We would talk into the very wee hours of the morning and, then somehow, I would get myself to work by 7:30 each day.

I remember one particular evening. My now hubs had come over to my house and we had dinner and watched a couple of movies. And then...amazingly...he kissed me. I had been waiting for that kiss! So now, in addition to our long talks we added the kissing element (remember when you could kiss for hours!?!?). As our evening progressed, I looked at the clock and was shocked that it was 4:30 a.m. I had scheduled a run with my friends and was supposed to meet them in an hour. I remember sternly looking at my now hubs and saying, "I have to try to get some sleep before I run. You can stay and nap with me but we are just napping! No funny business!"

Soon, we were snoozing on top of the covers as far apart as my full-sized mattress would allow. No one was more surprised than me when I awoke to find my hand firmly planted on my dear hubs nether region. I gasped! I remained motionless. Was he awake? Why on Earth had I grabbed him? How long had I been holding onto him...er, It? I listened. He was breathing steady. Maybe he was still asleep. Gingerly, I released my grasp and quickly move my hand back to my side of the bed. I lay there, horrified, until the alarm sounded and I hastily made my way out the door.

Neither of us spoke about the "grabbing" until after we had been married for a couple of years.

"Hey, remember that one night, when I said you could nap with me before a run?" I had asked.

"Oh, yea. The night you grabbed me?" he laughed.

I was surprised to learn that he had been awake. I asked him what he had thought when it happened.

"At first I was excited, then I realized you were asleep. Then I got nervous. I was sweating cause I didn't know what to do, " he said. Then he added, "Mostly, I was surprised."

Well, I am certain he has been surprised many other times that I am unaware of. I don't think I have grabbed him in my sleep anymore. I have woken myself up petting his head but everything stays above the waistline. Perhaps to my hubs dismay, that is as frisky as I seem to get in my sleep these days.

Too Much Information

2009-07-07T18:46:00.000-07:00

We can just file this post under T.M.I. I am experiencing my first Urinary Tract Infection. Holy moly! This is the most discomfort I have experienced since I was overly pregnant and the baby dropped. Seriously! The urge to pee is exasperating. I am constantly running to the bathroom to relive myself of what my dear, sweet hubs with a healthy urinary tract calls "driblets." This has to be a glimpse of the Netherworld. An eternity of straining to squeeze out a single driblet of pee. I vow that I will never again take for granted a healthy trip to the loo! Oh, the days when a girl could pee freely. Getting old is plain rotten.

Fine!

2009-07-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

It was my turn to put Miss Ellie to bed last night. After her two stories she looked at me and said, "I want my daddy!"

I replied, "Well, you get me. Tomorrow is Daddy's night to put you to bed."

She huffed and said, "Fine!"

I decided to lay down with her for a bit so I stretched out on my side next to her. My mistake.

Fuming she hollered, "Don't look at me!"

"OK!" I responded. But, before I could look away she shrieked, "Fine! I am just going to go under here and pick my nose!" And, with that, she flung her blanket over her head.

I didn't want to check to see if she was actually picking her nose because if I did she would surely see me trying desperately hard not to laugh at her!

We huffed...

2009-07-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

...and we puffed! And we bleeeew the candles out!

Tomorrow is the big 3-6!

2009-07-01T18:57:00.000-07:00

So, tomorrow I tack on another year. Unbelievable! My life has taken many twists and turns to arrive at this very point in time. I can be pensive and reflect on my journey, but instead I find myself immensely enjoying the sound of my dear hubs and children attempting to bake a cake. This is my hubby's first cake baking experience. And, lucky for him, it seems our almost five-year-old is the Grand Pooba of cake baking. Not only is our son barking commands, but our daughter is parroting him. So everything is echoed. I am sure my husband is exasperated, but from where I am sitting it is highly amusing.

I hear the click of glass, the whirl of the mixer (which I am surprised they located), the opening of the oven door, and the arguing of siblings. My son is detailing the next steps to my hubby. It seems there will be lots of sprinkles involved in this masterpiece. I can't wait to taste this cake which has been made with copious amounts of love. I am sure Betty Crocker will come through for my kitchen full of big-hearted bakers.

Exasperation

2009-06-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

It is only my children who know how to push my buttons to the point of exasperation. They completely bewilder me at moments. I am amazed by their sheer gall and boldness. If I could somehow harness this fierce energy I would be a force to be reckoned with. No one would dare cross my path on a bad day. I would not filter what I say. I would not take care to not offend. I would say what I feel, when I feel it, whether it suits anyone or not.

My children don't have filters. They stand bold behind their beliefs whether that belief is that bedtime has arrived too early or that dinner is some form of poison in disguise. They will put their hands on their hips and argue their point until I am bedraggled by the mere conversation. They can talk sideways, backwards, up, and down. And, before I know it I have been talked into a corner confused at how I got there.

I am extremely thankful that these vexations are not the norm. However, having just experienced one, I am certain I will still be recovering by the time we have the next occurrence. I am not quite to the point of writhing in a corner, but I will admit that hiding under the covers sounds very appealing at the moment. And chocolate. Chocolate sounds delightful. And, a massage. A massage to ease my tension. But, instead, I will peek in on my sleeping children before I go to bed and I will see their peaceful faces and know that every exasperating moment is merely a pebble on the road of life.

Mitchell is sitting in my lap...

2009-06-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

Let's see if I can get him to answer some questions.

1. What is Mommy's favorite color?

Pink

2. What is Mommy's favorite food?

Broccoli

3. What is Mommy's work?

Computer

4. What is Daddy's work?

The shop...where he does jobs

5. What is Mommy's favorite drink?

Water

6. What is Daddy's favorite drink?

Crystal Light

7. What is Mommy's favorite thing to do?

Rest

8. What is Daddy's favorite thing to do?

Pet the doggies

9. What is Daddy's favorite food?

Tacos

10. What's Daddy's favorite color?

Red

11. What is Daddy's favorite resturaunt?

Taco Bell

12. What is Mommy's favorite TV show?

Lost

13. What is Daddy's favorite TV show?

Lost

14. Who does Mommy love?

ME! (That is what Mitchell answered! Smart boy!)

A Poem by Mitchell

2009-06-11T22:04:00.000-07:00

I am a boy
I hear a Rhinoceros
I see a little squirrel
I want a real bear

I am a bear
I pretend to be a zebra
I feel my heart
I touch my head
I cry when I am hurt
I am good at playing

I understand being patient

I say I'll be good
I dream I touch a squirrel
I try to be good
I hope to be a Paleontologist when I grow up
I care about giving my sister kisses every night

I am Mitchell

The TV

2009-06-09T15:52:00.001-07:00

The kidlets were playing in their toy kitchen. They decided they would clean their toy kitchen. They then decided they should clean the house. They started with the TV. They applied lots of water to the TV to clean it, because, to clean anything you have to use water. And, it stands to reason that the more water ones uses the cleaner something becomes.

The good news is that the kidlets won the battle in the war of water verses electronics. They did not electrocute themselves. The bad news is that the TV met an untimely demise. But, really, I would rather have my kids unscathed than a TV that works. And, it was an ugly, obnoxious TV anyway. You don't realize what you don't need until you raise children in your home. Like a full set of dishes or chairs withouts stains. Really, what fun is that?

Stand Up and Fight!

2009-06-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

I have many fears. I have big, overpowering fears about losing my children or my husband. I have everyday fears that are more like concerns. Concern about our finances; concern about making healthy meal choices for the kids; concern for our general health. And, I have silly fears. Worry that if I chose to wear my boots with my slacks, will I fall yet again at work. Worry that my child will pop the balloon they receive at a restaurant (yes, I fear balloons...laugh if you must. I am not afraid to jump out of a plane though. Silly, I know).

Through all my fears, one is consistently in the forefront of my mind. I am terrified of being attacked from behind. I have no reason to have this fear. I have never been attacked from any direction. I have never even being in a physical fight. But, this fear sticks with me. I even implored my husband when we were dating to never sneak up behind me. He has never intentionally done so but he has caught me off-guard a number of times. My response is to jump and shriek and then laugh nervously while my blood pressure returns to normal.

My fear of being attacked has served me well. I look people directly in the eyes if I pass someone while on a run or walking up to the ATM. I walk with my head up and soak in details around me. I try in earnest not to put myself in foolish situations. I am cautious but unprepared for what might happen should a predator ignore my show of confidence and attack. Actually, I was unprepared until last week. I was attacked. Thankfully, it was by a man in a padded suit in a self-defense seminar but the feelings I felt when his arms grabbed me couldn't have been more real.

My son's karate instructor, Master Dave Johnson, hosted a day-long self-defense course this past weekend. I attended because of this being attacked fear I haul around with me everywhere I go. I was thinking it would be a lot of, "if this happens...do this." I was completely wrong. We learned that there is no standard way to defend yourself based on the situation. Every situation is unique. Every situation has its own variables. You have to be able to draw on your knowledge and chose in an instant the skills that will serve you best in your given predicament.

As we went through the punches, and kicks, and jabs we began to see how combinations of moves could help defend us from an attacker even if it is just enough to get away and run. It was not textbook self-defense. It was real life self-defense.

At the end of the day, every student was "attacked" five times. Even though it was expected, the adrenaline was real. Before my first attack, I was shaking. It is like waiting for a very important test score. Like waiting for some impending evil to happen. I was going to see if I could apply what I learned in a three to five second attack. My first attack involved a lot of slapping and struggling on my part. By my fourth attack, I had my screaming in and was liberally issuing heel palm punches and thrust kicks. By my fifth attack, I had the guy over my shoulder and on the floor in front of me. I felt utter shock at the sight of him at my feet. And, I felt empowered.

I hope that I never have to use my newly found skills. I also know that I need to continue polishing them and refining them so that I will be able to call upon them in a moments notice. I am going to take Master Johnson's class again without hesitation. I encourage all my friends to take his class or a similar one. There is no price-tag to steep for your life. I would pay all that I had to keep my friends and family safe. We live in such an uncertain world I figure a few basic self-defense skills will help keep me safe, or at least give me a better chance of escaping an unpleasant situation.

Remember, don't sneak up behind me. It really freaks me out. And, now, you might just end up on the ground in front of me!

Fun House Mirror

2009-05-29T09:55:00.001-07:00

It began about a month ago. Every morning, after I am dressed for work, I do a once over glance at my attire using the full-length mirror hanging inside our closet door. It is just a spot check really. Making sure my buttons are in the proper button-holes; my shoes match my outfit and each other; no stray globs of toothpaste are attached to me.

It was completely horrifying to me to look in this mirror one morning only to see a short, squat, pot-bellied toad looking back at me. I couldn't fathom how this transition could have taken place without my seeing signs of it. Granted, I am not a skinny twig, but rather I would describe my build as athletic. The figure facing me in the mirror was the opposite of athletic. I mourned the image. I recalled how my son had patted my belly the night before asking, "When did you get so fat, Mommy?" I was stupefied. I had let myself go. My love of food outweighed my morning runs. I felt deflated...in a completely fat way.

Morning after morning my psyche took hits from the image in the mirror. I tried to embrace the belly, the boobs, the thick thighs. I tried to find outfits that would disguise my unpleasant metamorphosis. Nothing seemed to work. There wasn't a single pair of slacks, jeans, or capri's that could flatter my new figure. Every top seemed tight and every blouse seemed inflated by my expansive, barrel-shaped torso.

I took action. I upped my runs. I ordered a Pilate's DVD. I ate more reasonable servings. I bought pre-measured, single serving ice creams containers (really, why give up ice cream completely?). I replaced my Dr. Pepper with Crystal Light. Yet, my efforts were wasted. Every morning I was greeted by the toad. I was infuriated and dejected at the same time. My husband's assurances that he had no idea what I was talking about upset me. I knew he was being nice. Probably fearful I would sit on him and squash him in his sleep.

Finally, I reached my breaking point. I dressed with care for somber, family event one evening. When I opened the closet door for my once over the toad looked back at me. In an instant, I reached up and pushed the toad back with all my might. The door the mirror resides on, slammed into the wall. Take that you toad!

Then it clicked. I had noticed something when I pushed the mirror. It straightened. I looked more closely. I pushed the mirror gently with my finger. It straightened again. I watched my reflection as I straightened and released pressure on the mirror. Me, toad, me, toad, me, toad... I felt tears brimming in my eyes. Tears of sheer relief. I realized the mirror was warped. Warped from the hands of children shoving behind it to see if the world of the mirror was real. I literally jumped with glee. I raced to the kitchen junk draw for my 3M double-sided sticky strips. I stuck two behind the center of the mirror and pressed it firmly against the closet door. The mirror stuck; straightened. The fun house image was gone. The old me stood in its place.

I gained a new perspective from my many weeks with my warped mirror. I realized that I am far to hard on myself. I realized that I should continue my runs (and my new found love of Pilate's) for the joy I experience and not for a feeling of obligation to simply lose weight. I didn't like the me that obsessed about weight and food. I like the me that eats with gusto and delights in second helpings. I acknowledge that I want to have a healthy lifestyle for my benefit and to set a positive example for my children. But, I acknowledge that as I age, I will change. Some changes will be easy and some will be utterly mortifying. I will continue to apply my potions creams daily to combat or slow-down as much of the aging process as possible, but I won't deny that I will age regardless of my efforts. I will defend myself as much as I can without becoming compulsive. I believe as long as I can keep the toad at bay, I will be just fine.

Little Boys and Farts

2009-05-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

Little boys are into farts. Heck, big boys are into farts. My nephew is no exception. He spent the night with us and as we were driving out to our home he was telling me all about his imaginary friend, Fire Fartman. Really sounds like a dashing fellow if one can get past the odor of his many talents with farts.

Later that evening, all three kids were playing out in the back. They were running every which way and playing in that totally absorbed way that kids do. When the world fades away and only the play at hand exists. As I watched them, my nephew suddenly broke away from the group and came running toward me in a mad dash.

"Hey, hey! Auntie, you know what?"

I couldn't possibly so I replied, "No. What?"

"You know sometimes when you fart? Like when you fart, sometimes poop comes out of your butt?"
Oh no, no, no.

He continued, "Well, I was just out there playing and I farted and some poop came out of my butt."

I hung my head, closed my eyes, and sighed. Welcome to my world.

Then I looked at him and said, "I will go get the Shout."

Um, yeah. He's a clown.

2009-05-13T21:39:00.000-07:00

I had a brief, very brief, career in the world of non-profit. It didn't take long for me to realize that, though I found the end result of my efforts rewarding, I just wasn't cut out for the job. During my employment with the local non-profit chapter of a very worthy cause, we coordinated one of our largest, annual fundraising events. The weeks and days that led up to the event left everyone on staff exhausted though we eagerly awaited the day of the event to see the actual turnout.

The day was beautiful. The sun was shining, the volunteers were present, the vendors were in place, and people were arriving. I just needed a chipmunk and a bird to sing with for the ultimate Disney moment. As I was taking in the sight, I noticed a paunchy fellow in a charcoal gray Members Only jacket standing off to the sidelines. Oh, yeah...this wasn't in the 80's it was 1998. He had on dark sunglasses and was shifting his weight from foot to foot. I approached him and asked if I could help him with something.

"Yeah. Are you with the organization putting on this event?"

I replied that I was as I attempted to make eye-contact with him. He would not look and me but rather looked around as if he suspected we were being watched.

"OK," he said. "I have him."

"You have who?" I questioned.

"I have Ronald."

"Ronald who?"

Frustrated, he replied, "Ronald MacDonald. I have him."

"Oh great!" I replied as I spun around looking for said clown. "Um, where is he?"

"He's close," Members Only replied.

"Close?"

"Yeah. When you are ready to transport him I will get him."

"Transport him?" What the heck was this guy talking about?

"Yeah. Do you have a transport vehicle?"

"Well, we are just crossing a parking lot, but I supposed I could wrestle up a 'transport vehicle' if you really need one."

"OK. I need you to get the vehicle and meet me at the black automobile sitting right behind me at the curb."

"Uh, the minivan?" I asked even though it was the only "automobile" sitting at the curb.

"Shhhhh!" the guy scolded as he spun his head around looking for, I assumed, adoring fans or Ronald groupies.

What a weirdo! I walked away and located a Mule (think four wheels with power-steering, not donkey). I got in and floored it until I screeched to a stop in front of the minivan. Sure enough, Ronald emerged.

"Hi Ronald it's a pleasure," I said as I extended my hand that was met by void space. "Er, Mr. MacDonald, I guess, it's a pleasure." Still nothing. Hand still hanging in the void. So I drew back my hand and gestured to the Mule, "Shall we?"

So off we went. Ronald, his handler, and me. The three amigos on a two-minute journey across a parking lot.

When we arrived at our destination, Ronald's handler looked at me and asked, "So, what would you like for Ronald to do?"

"Oh, OK. Well," I turned and addressed Ronald, "you were here last year so if you could just repeat that performance that would be great."

"Actually, you need to talk to me," said Members Only.

"About what?" I ask.

"No. You need to direct your comments to me. I will confer with Ronald."

It was just too much.

"Are you serious?" I asked incredulously. "You want me to talk to you when you are standing next to Ronald who is standing in front of me with two ears of his own?"

"Actually, we no longer wish to work with you. Where is the gentleman who worked with us last year?"

"What? This is ridiculous. He is a CLOWN!" Oh yes! I said it. It was at that point that I knew Ronald was not deaf. His painted face screwed up into a look of horror and he literally gasped. It was as if I had physically punched him and knocked the wind out of him.

Members Only took immediate action and stood between me and the faint-looking Ronald. "Look Lady. Ronald MacDonald is NOT a clown. He is a persona. If you want Ronald to participate in this event you will get us the gentleman that we worked with last year. Our conversing is over!"

"Fine!" I seethed. I walked back to the Mule and fired it up. I muttered and I cursed and I grumbled about Ronald the "Diva" as I quickly located my boss (and my dear friend) and told him that we had a situation with Ronald and his handler. My boss was able to smooth Ronald's ruffled feathers and I received a mild scolding from the advertising agency that represents Ronald MacDonald the persona and not Ronald the clown. But, seriously, in my book, he will always be a clown. How could he be anything but? Even if his face wasn't painted white with a big red grin he would be a clown for the way he acted.

These days when I see Ronald at non-profit events I always have the urge to trip him, but I refrain. I look at him and thank goodness that it is him, not me, in the big, floppy red shoes and red, bushy wig. I am thankful to just be me and not a diva "persona."

A Mom

2009-05-11T09:41:00.000-07:00

I am a mom. It is weird to think sometimes. The girl-next-door who never thought she would get married, let alone have little kidlets. But here I am. I have been blessed with a puzzlemate who complements me perfectly. And, together, we have these two precious children. These children who have an amazing zest for life. These children who make friends with the neighbors when I haven't taken the time. These children who literally do stop and smell the roses when I don't even notice them bloom. These children who study and know every crease in my face and every change in my appearance. They are amazing! And, me...I am blessed to be their mother. They inspire me. They baffle me. They leave me in awe. They fill me with joy. And, they test me. They try my nerves. They push the boundaries. They push my buttons. But, they are mine and I love them beyond comprehension. I look at them and wonder how I could create something so perfect and wonderful? But, if you ask they will tell you. They will tell you that "God made me this way." And, again I find myself in awe of such a simple yet profound statement.

I wish I could keep the world simple for them. I wish I could take away every ache and broken heart that I know is facing them. I wish I could ease every worry and anxious moment. I have a desire to shelter them but that is not letting them live. They long to explore and experience. They are living life. As much as I have yet to teach them, I learn much more from them everyday. Kids are amazing creatures. Mine have forced me to reevaluate my life. I no longer live for me. I no longer work so I can buy new clothes and trinkets. I live for them. I live to be with them and share their experiences. I work to provide for them. To provide them with clothes and food and experiences and, yes, trinkets and treasures.

I know I am a mom because I smile when my children smile. My heart breaks when theirs is hurting. And disciplining my children has been my greatest downfall as a parent because it is so hard. I try so hard to understand what is going through their minds when they don't even understand that themselves.

But whether being naughty or nice, my children are the most precious gift I have ever received. They bring me the greatest joy. I marvel that I have been entrusted to care for these amazing creatures. I was delighted to wake up on Mother's Day to two kidlets calling me "Mommy." Of course, they were calling for "Mommy" to get them breakfast, but still, they were calling!

Forget the Swine Flu for a Moment...

2009-05-03T10:11:00.000-07:00

...and instead focus on the monstrous, system-cleansing, nameless, vacation to Hell, 24-hour bug that is making the rounds. No amount of scouring the house saved the dear hubs and me from catching this wicked virus. The dear hubs scored a double whammy with a Friday diagnosis of walking pneumonia. We were two adults that were definitely down for the count.

It came on fast. One moment I am crawling into bed ready for a good night of sleep and, literally, the next moment I am overcome with body aches and a great urge to heave. And so it began. I vomited consistently all night. Anything from my mouth to my stomach was purged. Not a single particle was left behind. I am certain I purged the plaque from my teeth. Nothing was spared.

At 5am I found my self talking to a fuzzy form of my dear hubs. I was explaining my weakened state. It was when his form dissipated into nothingness that I completely freaked out. I hopped from my sick bed on the couch and staggered down the hall in tears. I woke my hubs from a precious, much-needed sleep to relate that I had experienced my first, true hallucination. That got the hubs up and he sat with me until Mother Nature beckoned him to the perils of the bathroom. I cried, and did what any 35-year-old wife and mother would do...at 5:30am I called my mom.

When Mom answered I began talking in weeps and sobs. She had gone through this same bug just two days prior and was up with my sick father at that very moment. She knew what was going on. A half-hour later Mom was sitting with me, her mere presence emitting a phenomenal healing power. She came armed with 7-Up and anti-nausea syrup. She coached me through the last of my heaves and left well before Phase Two kicked in.

Phase Two came on like a tornado. With mere seconds of warning I dashed to the bathroom. I grabbed the sink counter and hung on for dear life as my system began to purge the lower states.

The dear hubs and I emerged from our respective hovels late in the afternoon. We appeared skeletal and hollow. The hubs was off to pick up the kidlets at his mother's house. Earlier, she had immediately agreed to watch them for the day. I crawled back into my mess of blankets on the couch and slept a hard sleep until the kids were home and I was flung back into Mommy-mode.

The kids were oblivious to our sickly state. They came home with the flurry of requests that are typical of preschoolers and pre-preschoolers. They wanted dinner, they wanted cartoons, they wanted to play, they wanted to draw, and, perhaps most thankfully, they wanted to cuddle which afforded us a few extra minutes of much needed rest.

Beware...the swine flu is making the news, but there lurks a greater evil. Wash those hands and arm yourself with Lysol. I've been to the edge and back. It is a brutal journey. Let sleeping swines lie and don't disturb the evil, 24-hour mega bug.

Sick Kidlets

2009-04-30T15:08:00.000-07:00

Our kids have been truly fortunate to have avoided any serious ailments thus far in their lives. Each has only had one previous bout with the flu...that is until now. Last night, I was up literally all night with my son. I found myself saying, "it's OK sweetie" and "get it all out" in my most soothing voice. I was patting his back and dashing after cool washcloths. All while trying not to get completely grossed out. Sickness is ugly! And, it smells.

This morning, I e-mailed my boss to let him know I would be out tending to the kids and then I went to work disinfecting our house. I spared no cleaning product! I scrubbed and wiped and rinsed and mopped. I did a job that would find favor with any HazMat team. I killed all stray germs with vengeance. Angry that they made my kids sick.

And, I cuddled. I took turns holding and rocking the kids. My daughter is on the mend but both kids are currently in competition over which one is the most sick. My son says he trumps my daughter because he "threw up eight times last night and you didn't!" Oddly, I remember doing this same thing with my brother. Like it is a badge of honor knowing exactly how many times you tossed your cookies during the night.

As the day has worn on the kids have gotten a little more sparky. Their eyes are lighting up. Their conversations are more animated. They are more mobile. That is not to say that they won't collapse in a heap if the sibling is getting even an ounce more attention. Me? I am just worn out! The hubs? He is actually sick also. He had to fend for himself. I called out the digits for phone number to reach our doctor and he made his own appointment (a first in our years of marriage!). So he is at the doctor and then has a short grocery list...saltines, 7-Up...

I think tomorrow the tribe will be much better. Not batting a perfect score but definitely back up at the plate.

Bullies

2009-04-21T10:55:00.000-07:00

I have been up early these past couple of weeks to get to where I need to be for work. I have caught up with my favorite morning radio show. The latest topic of morning conversation has been bullies. Ah, bullies. I caught myself reflecting on my first encounter with a true bully.

Her name was Irma. She was in the eighth grade and I was in the seventh. For whatever reason, Irma decide early in the school year that she did not like the look of me. She wore a black beret everyday. It was rumored that she burnt most of her hair off a few weeks before the start of the school year in with a home perm gone bad. She called me a "rich, little white girl." Well, she had the white girl part right but that was about it. I was 12. I didn't work. I had no money. Any money I did have was from my parents and they certainly were not rich. We were not destitute but I remember my mom buying "Sugar Snacks" in a bag as opposed to "Sugar Smacks" in the cereal aisle.

I didn't really fear Irma until I saw her in action. I was walking to my locker one day and heard a commotion behind me. I turned to see my first, and last, girl brawl. Two girls where throwing fists at each other. When one girl proceed to knock the other to the ground and ram her head into the concrete. I saw that the dominate attacker was Irma. I stood frozen, watching as male teachers rushed to pull the two girls apart...or rather, pull Irma off the girl she defeated. My bones felt weak and my blood ran cold. It was at that moment that I feared Irma.

I told my mother about my fears and she said, "Bob and weave. Get a good punch in and then run like crazy." Was she serious? Bob and weave? I decided to consult a higher authority on the topic and went to my brother. He was a bit more helpful telling me to "go for her eyes" and "kick her in the kneecaps". But, he ended with the same advice as my mom, "After you do that, run like the wind!"

Somehow, I made it through the school year without getting pummeled. I still remember my mom dropping me off for school on a day we had to dress up for pictures or something. I was feeling like a nerd in a most unattractive tea-length skirt, nylons, and flats (I surely do not miss fashions of the 80's!). As I hopped out of the car my mom called after me. I peeked back in and she said, "If Irma comes after you, throw those silly shoes off so you can run faster!" Um...OK. I will do that after I bob and weave a bit.

Irma may have been the first bully but she certainly hasn't been the last. I met other bullies in high school and even professionally. I have run into bullies years after the fact and they look surprisingly weak and unhappy. I no longer fear my bullies. I no longer wonder how fast I can run in the opposite direction. My dear hubs once told me that he sees bullies as weak people who try to dominate, intimidate, or put down another person because they are afraid. Often, they are afraid of being picked on themselves. I don't fight my bullies. I don't throw verbal barbs at them. I don't mock them behind their backs in hopes they don't turn and see me. I just ignore them. Actually, I pity them a bit. How sad to be so unhappy that you have to pick on people as you work your way through life.

That said, I am not sure how I will react should one of my children ever be bullied. My years in school were a lot less violent. I will certainly take it seriously and I know that bobbing and weaving isn't likely the answer. I don't think running is the answer either. My Granny (my amazing great-grandmother) always told me, "Pretty is as pretty does." But she also advised to never lie down and take anything. Maybe the answer to defeating bullies is a combination of both. Stand up for yourself without resorting to bullish tactics. Watch your words and your actions (and, OK, sneer just a bit as long as the gesture isn't seen!).

Death of a Dryer

2009-04-19T18:08:00.000-07:00

This weekend, our dryer went kerplunk. It continues to tumble clothes with all its might, but it no longer sucks in the propane to heat itself up. The dear hubs pulled the beast away from the wall and hopped down in the space behind it. He found himself standing in a gooey mess. And, I had a moment of recall..."Oh yeah! I remember a bottle of detergent that tipped over a couple years ago...gosh! I didn't know that much poured out. Wow. What a mess, eh?" Uh-hum. The hubs disassembled the thing and tinkered and tugged. And, for a few moments we had heat...and then again, there was none.

Well, we had plans to head to the hardware store anyway. With our tax return, we planned to buy a new barbecue because our current one is almost rusted through on the underside. And, we needed to buy some lumber to continue work on the kids' clubhouse (which is going to be a sight to behold). So, we added a dryer to the list. And, I told the hubs, we might as well get a pair since the washer has a tendency to spit oil on our clothes from time to time.

Armed with limited knowledge we headed to Lowe's. Good golly these things are expensive. We stuck our heads in machines made by Maytag, and Bosch, and Whirlpool, and Samsung (don't they make stereos?). Things clearly have changed since we bought our last set just over five years ago. Now everything is about energy savings and efficiency and water conservation. And, most everything loads from the front and sits on a stand. The stands cost extra (to the tune of $500 extra) so needless to say, we skipped those. I am not too good for a bit of back breaking laundry thank you very much! There were shockingly few dials...mostly buttons and a few with gauges. There were some with timed start delays. There were features for dry cleaning and washing silk and wool. There were some with a function labeled "sanitary." Shouldn't all loads come out in sanitary condition? I expect that when our washer and dryer arrive the instruction book will look something like an encyclopedia.

We settled on a middle-of-the-road set that has "sport" in the name. It can wash up to 12 pairs of jeans at once which should really be like 24 pairs of kids pants right? We do a lot of washing around here so anything that can compound the loads is cool in my book. And, I am hoping the set arrives soon because we are going hillbilly with the dear hubs' boxers drying in the back yard right now. We were told our new washer and dryer will be delivered on Thursday and, with all its nifty features, I expect it will make us dinner that night too...maybe something on the barbecue.

Easter was delightful!

2009-04-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

There was much hunting of eggs at Auntie's and at home...

And, then there was dancing...joyous dancing...

Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting!

2009-04-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

Mitchell has found his niche! His loving Karate...or actually Seieido...lessons. And, when I asked Miss Ellie if she wanted to take ballet or Karate she screamed, "Karateee!" So, Master Johnson will have another student in a year or two.

We hoped that Karate lessons would boost Mitchell's confidence since he is a shy guy. I have seen positive changes already. The fundamental lessons and discipline of the sport seem to be a natural fit for Mitchel. He does have Samurai warriors in his ancestry so maybe it is in his genes. And, I did have a grandma that was a bulldog! Whatever it is, I am so happy to see Mitchell coming out of his shell!

Poor Fashion Selection

2009-04-07T17:20:00.000-07:00

It is spring right? In the spring I usually switch out my warm clothes for the lighter fare in the bin in the garage. My children have larger wardrobes than me but our tiny closet forces me to separate our attire by seasons. The dress code for work is business casual though, I admit, I take liberties with the casual part. So, being spring, I found myself working today in a near-sheer black top - that my modest self wears a black tank underneath - capri pants and little prissy flats. I say prissy flats because they make my size 9's look smaller and daintier. I had no jacket, no other slacks to don, no other shoes to sport aside from my running shoes and even I can't go that casual! I was also 150 miles from home.

So, I left the hotel and bristled a bit at the chill in the air. I found a black sweatshirt in the car that I thought I could wear just until I got myself to work. Well, work for me is largely outside. I call on college professors and that has me daily traversing campus. I got to campus about the same time as the storm clouds. I spent the next few hours hunkered under my umbrella and racing from building to building. Here is the thing, when the rain is coming in sideways, an umbrella is little help.

By 1:30 I was soaked to the bone. I looked like a drowned-rat...wait, I looked like a LAME drowned rat. I was the boob in my frilly spring gear when I should have been making tracks in wellies and a raincoat. And, unfortunately, my hair always betrays me. It there is something amiss in my world, my hair will rat me out. Somehow, the sideways rain drops flatten my fine, thin hair into a style seen only in the back of fashion magazines where they put a bar across the woman's face to conceal her identity.

I had to throw in the towel. I had to call it a day. I hauled my soaked self to my car and made a beeline for the hotel. I am dry now but my hair is still suffering traumatic effects. I hope the sun shines tomorrow since another pair of capri's is waiting in my suitcase!

Monkeys in the Bed

2009-03-31T18:47:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to find two monkeys had crept into bed with the hubs and me. One body was sprawled across me like a sack of potatoes and the other was wedged smack dab in the center of the bed. I was able to snap one picture before the monkeys sensed my presence and greeted the day with smiles and amazing crops of bedhead!

So, we cancelled our land line...

2009-03-28T23:03:00.000-07:00

...because we tired of battling with the phone company to fix the static on our line. Actually, static was pretty minor compared to the crossing lines we experienced prior to that. It was unnerving to pick up the phone on the first ring and find another person saying hello to the same caller. I usually hung up. I figured if the stranger answering my phone really wanted to talk with my mom, that was fine with me. Maybe a friendship would blossom.

The thing that forced us to drastic measures was the computerized voice on the automated repair system saying "We will be out to repair your line between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. on Friday." Seriously? They needed us to stay put for 12 hours. Well, we did. And, they never showed. Oh, the acres were smoking that night! I was furious. I whipped out my static laden phone and starting punching numbers. They must have known it was me. No matter what I tried or how long my hubs and I traded off waiting on hold, we could not drum up a live person.

So, we cancelled. You can bet I talked to a live person then. She tried everything on her little check sheet to get me to hang onto that phone number. She finally stopped trying when I said, "Your company asked up to wait for a repair appointment that would take place between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. and no one ever showed up. Why would I want to keep service on this line?" I heard...silence. I waited a couple beats and the asked, "Hello?" She replied, "Um, oh yes. I am just processing your request."

When a corporation gets so big that customer service falls on the list of priorities it is time to pack-up my business and take it elsewhere. In this economy, I want a bit more for my buck. In this case, a live person to speak with from the get-go would have been a pleasant start.

I forgot to blog about the St. Patty's Run!

2009-03-28T22:20:00.000-07:00

Shame on me! I have been so busy with work that my blogging has been sporadic at best. I just realized, as I read the post of a dear friend, that I neglected to blog about our local St. Patty's Day Run. I blogged about the duathlon that I hauled myself through, but not the run a week prior.

Mitchell and Ellie geared up for the St. Patty's Day Run despite the cold circumstances that met us on the doorstep. I certainly have a penchant for running in the muck and gloom. Mitchell ran the 1/4 mile race with a huge grin plastered on his face. He really enjoys running. He pumps his little arms and his nimble, coltish legs flat-out fly. We later learned that he scored a medal for second place. Actually, he and another couple kids shared second place. I am not sure how that works out, but Mitchell was delighted nonetheless.

Miss Ellie...well, let's just say that Miss Ellie was traumatized by the sight of Ronald MacDonald. She takes after me in that she wants no part of that crazy clown. He absolutely freaked her out. When her race came up, the dear hubs was set to run the 1/8 mile stretch with her. I think he made about 10 steps with her attached to his leg before he scooped her back up to the safety of his arms. Now, I really don't know how the scoring went with her race, because Miss Ellie scored a first place medal. I think she was confused by that as well.

My running buddy and I ran a great 4 mile race thanks to her black German Shepard acting as our pace setter. We finished in 38 minutes and were rewarded with a bottle of water. There were no medals waiting for us. Not even for spirit! Drat!

We flung it!

2009-03-22T14:48:00.000-07:00

The mud that is...we flung the mud...from our sneakers! Today I had a total adventure with my dear friend and running buddy, Julie. We had signed up in advance to compete in the local Spring Fling duathlon. I am a decent runner but definitely not a cyclist. But still, I really wanted to take on this event. So, with the help of my dear hubs, we outfitted my mountain bike with slick tires, a seat for girlie parts, and the all important tire repair kit.

The forecast said rain (read that: freezing dollops of water falling from the sky). It was just a drizzle when I loaded up the bike in the darkness of the morning so I thought we might have a good go at this. As I travelled into town, the rain really started pouring. When Julie and her hubs arrived I hopped in their car and we sat and ticked out our options...grabbing coffee won by unanimous vote. With coffee serving dual purpose as hand-warmer, we headed back to the starting area to check on things. It was still raining buckets but Julie and I decided we ought to at least get our swag bags. We had to sign a waiver to get our bags and we had a race number we had to write on the back of our hands. As Julie was writing my number on my hands, I sensed I would find myself on my bike as the morning progressed. We went back to the car and at Julie's encouraging enthusiasm it was agreed that we would at least do the first run which was four miles. We conceded that we could always turn back.

Having never done a duathlon I awkwardly dealt with getting my little transition spot organized. After we wheeled our bikes over, I hooked my seat over the bar so my bike would be easy to grab. I hung my backpack on my handlebars...and that was about it. I noticed other athletes had a whole system going as they set up their areas. Yep, these were the pros. If my mountain bike didn't give away the fact that I was a novice then I am sure my attempt at busying myself did.

We stood at the starting line with about 100 other individuals and I realized I was way out of my league. These folks were die-hards. They were not about to let freezing rain ruin their event. They stretched and did jumping jacks in the minimum of attire. I was dressed to take on the slopes and they were sporting skin-tight tank tops. Yet, when the horn went off, I was among them. Julie and I held a nice clip for the entire four miles despite the slipping and sliding in the mud of the off-road course. The soles of our shoes became so caked with mud I am sure we stood at least an inch taller. It was in those first miles that Julie said we would finish this together. I hoped she wouldn't mind coming in at the bottom of the heap. My only hope at an award would be for spirit. Julie did note that we were the most fashionable runners in our bright pink Just Us Girls biking jerseys. But today we were not just girls...we were TOUGH girls!

With the first four miles completed we ran back to our transition spots. I looked at my bike in a daze. I grabbed my backpack and swapped my hat for my helmet. I self-consciously stripped off my running pants and realized how ridiculous it was to wear snowboarding socks with my ultra tight running shorts. In an attempt at fashion I scrunched my socks down. Really, that helped. I chocked down a granola bar like a caveman and asked Julie if she would like one. She opted out as she had a lot more transitioning to do than me. Without clips on my pedals I would be riding in my running shoes...such a novice!

We walked our bikes to the start and I took off knowing Julie would easily catch me. Now here is a true friend...Julie had the ability to finish the ride in half the time it took, but she lagged back with me. She coached me along and maintained that we were in this together! I felt like a scab for holding her back but I so appreciated her encouragement. As we approached a healthy hill Julie said she was going to pump up it and would meet me at the top. As I grimaced my way up the hill I heard breathing louder than my own coming from behind. Soon I was side-by-side a chap who looked like we was about to collapse. He said, "You're looking real good! Great job!" I thought, "Good word! What must I look like if he is passing me?"

As I got to the top of the hill I saw Julie helping a Just Us Girls teammate fix a flat tire. As I approached she said to keep on pedaling so I did. Soon she caught up with me and, with her helping me along, we finished the bike portion of the ride. We hopped off our bikes and headed back to the transition area. I felt tingly all over. Every fiber of my being was emitting energy. It was the wildest feeling I think I have ever had.

My first transition was awkward...the second was just a mess. In my tingliness, I struggled to hook my bike back up on the bar; I fumbled around for my hat; I sort of walked around my little area for no reason. Then, we were off again. Two miles to go. Julie and I tried to converse which gave way to laughter because our faces were so cold our lips refused to pronounce words.

It was just a few moments into the run that I related to Julie that I felt like my legs were heavy, solid blocks of ice. She said this is common and that it would pass and soon it did. When we reached the muddiest portion of the trail I marveled in the fact that we were going to finish this race. Despite the rain and freezing cold, we were going to get it done. We slogged up the last hill and hit the last stretch with renewed vigor. Julie told me to run ahead and she let me finish before her in honor of it being my first duathlon.

We didn't break any records...though I have no doubt Julie would have scored a medal had she not patiently waited for me...but we did have a blast. Julie said it would be an "adventure" and she was so right.

A Two-Wheel Experience

2009-03-14T22:51:00.000-07:00

Today I took on the motorcycle. After a wipe-out years ago left me attending my bridal shower on crutches, I haven't exactly been eager to hop on a hunk of metal and tootle down the road. But, today the circumstances were perfect. The kids were with the grandparents, the weather was beautiful, and the hubs was hopeful. So, after a brief refresher, we were off. Our destination...the DMV motorcycle course which I will need to pass in the next couple of months to obtain my license.

My bike is cute and girlie. I love it! The hubs did a custom paint job on it so it is very "Jen." It is much smaller than the one that allowed me to become so intimately acquainted with the gravel on our street. It is big enough to travel down the highway (once I get my license mind you) but not so big that I feel like I can't control it.

After a few jerky stops and starts around the neighborhood we headed for the main thoroughfare to get us into town. I noticed, as I traveled 40 in a 55 zone, that the hubs is remarkably at peace on his bike. He sat so relaxed. He was one with the bike. Me? Not so much. I was tense. My neck muscles ached as I sat ramrod straight and clutched the bike between my knees. My teeth were clenched and I dared not look anywhere but the road ahead to spy any obstacles that might jump out in front of me.

I made it over the railroad tracks and through the first stops signs and lights. And then, we were "in town." It was at this point I was hit with a full-blown headache. I prayed to God and gave thanks for making it through each traffic light and street change. I lurched my way through town to the DMV where I made a few passes at the motorcycle course. Let's just say that if I had taken the drive test today, I wouldn't have passed.

With an idea of what the test would be like, we headed back toward home. On the way back, something began to happen. I found myself staying with the speed limit. I found myself enjoying the breeze which I had previously labeled as gale force winds. I found my mind relaxing. I found myself truly enjoying the experience. I enjoyed myself so much, that it seemed we got back to the house incredibly fast.

The hubs parked his bike in the garage so he would be ready for a Sunday ride after church. As I got ready to take my bike back to his shop I asked if he wanted a lift. By the time we reached the shop I was overcome with belly laughs that the short jaunt provided. It has been a long time since I had such a fun outing with just my hubs and the ride to the shop summed up the experience...it was new, it was a bit unsteady, it was hilarious, and it is definitely something I want to do again...soon!

Who Would've Thought?

2009-03-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

I marvel at the concept of time passed. I often find myself saying, "Five years ago, who would've thought [insert comment of choice here]?" I guess I am a person who reminisces about things. Yesterday I found myself recalling that, in addition to being my dear friend Zen's birthday, it was the sixth anniversary of our house fire. Now here we go, "Seven years ago, who would've thought I would experience our home burning down?"

What a rollercoaster ride that was! I never thought I would find myself tired of shopping. But, trying to replace a houseful of items is exhausting. To this day, I have yet to replace the potato-masher. "Who would've thought that six years after the fire I still wouldn't have a potato-masher?" I guess necessities like toothbrushes and deodorant take precedent in such situations and the hand mixer works just fine for whipping up fluffy potatoes.

On this day, six years ago, I was helping to pack up anything that could be salvaged. I was wearing an outfit by Walmart and I was happy. Yes, happy! I was happy because my friends and family surrounded me. Without a trace of hesitation, they joined in the efforts to pack up our sparse possessions. I was happy for my husband. I was happy he had the fortitude to investigate the smoke as I had already given myself over to the extreme tiredness that accompanies the intake of carbon monoxide. I was happy for my pets. Every four-legged critter was evacuated with calmness, because we thought the fire was a tiny thing and, again, I was pumped full of carbon monoxide and NyQuil (what a horrid cocktail!). And, I was happy for insurance! After the shock began to fade and I took in the whole scene I realized that the brown shag carpet was history thanks to the call of a total loss by the insurance company.

Six years later here I sit. Now the mother of two; with a missing uterus; with one dog less and two cats more; with a rebuilt home; with a greater sense of purpose but still no clear vision for the future; with still a very happy heart. "Who would've thought?"

Kindergarten so soon?

2009-03-06T13:03:00.000-08:00

Zonkers! My oldest baby isn't a baby anymore! How did this happen? I am certain it was just yesterday that we were delighting in his baby gibberish and applauding his first steps. How could those years be gone? How is it that I found myself walking hand-in-hand with my little guy to the elementary school office? How is it that he was so confident while all I wanted to do was whisk him away because, surely he was too young for this? Nevertheless, there we were. Mitchell and Mommy going through the motions to register him for "big kid" school beginning in August.

It really does seem like time went by in a flash. Standing at this end, Mitchell's earlier years clearly went by too fast. I remember the day Mitchell was born as if it just happened. I remember every triumph from potty-training to drawing a dinosaur that actually looked like a dinosaur! I remember his very first smile and his very first bicycle ride.

Mitchell is so proud to be going to school. It is such a milestone for him. Hard as it is, and as much as it truly makes my heart ache, I have to realize that Mitchell the baby has grown into Mitchell the boy.

Look Ma! The Clampetts!

2009-03-02T11:57:00.001-08:00

"...they loaded up the car and they moved to Beverley (Hills that is. Swimming pools and movie stars."

There is no denying that my hillbilly genes run deep. But, to me, the car below is vintage! A classic heirloom that I hope stays in our family for generations to come. The car is a 1914 KRIT. It has been in our family since before I was a gleam in my mother's eye. When my grandfather came across the car it was a heaping pile of pieces. Whatever possessed him, he bought the pieces for a song and had the car put back together.

The KRIT was manufactured in the United States in Detroit. It originally sold for $850. That was a hefty price tag for the times.

The KRIT was a part of growing up. I never thought much of it because it was always there. Now, when my kids hop in with smiles on their faces, I see the awe of it and recollect many happy memories.

Mitchman getting ready to ride...
Lukas giving it a crank...
Raring to go!

Little Mr. Big Words

2009-03-02T11:47:00.000-08:00

My nephew will be 4-years-old in a couple of weeks, but to hear him speak he sounds like he is knocking on forty! He is a connoisseur of big words though perhaps unintentionally. This weekend, my brother relayed a story that I just had to share.

Earlier in the week, my brother ordered pizza for dinner. He took my nephew with him when he went to pick it up. Apparently, the girl behind the counter was rather busty. As she handed my brother the pizza, she leaned dramatically over the counter. As they left, my brother look at my nephew and said, "Wow! That girl had big boobies."

My nephew replied, "Daddy! I am not even thinking about that! Your words are inappropriate!"

D'oh!

Umbrella Tassels

2009-02-23T15:28:00.000-08:00

I worked at Merced College today. It was rainy and deary. Most certainly because it was raining I found myself traipsing across campus from one building to the next. Had it been a beautiful, sunshiny day, I am positive all of the people I needed to see would be clumped in one building. But, as it was, I was on the move. I was sloshing through puddles and sinking my heels in grass. It was on these cross-campus journeys I noticed the fascinating world of umbrella tassels.

Yes, umbrella tassels.

As I ventured through the rain I noticed the navy blue strip hanging in my view. It is that thin piece of fabric with Velcro or a snap that you wrap around a closed umbrella. Well, I likely wouldn't have been so mesmerized by this thingamabob, but the one on my umbrella is really long. I began sizing up other umbrellas and noticed a sheer assortment of tassels...all of them shorter than mine. Then I got this tassel complex. Why was mine so long? Were people judging me by my tassel length? Why must it flop around so, seemingly seeking unwanted attention? Yes, sadly, I think about these things. I have mentioned I am self-conscious right?

So with my tassel, that now seemed larger than a loaf of bread, I observed the tassels of the world. Every umbrella no matter how new or old; faded or shocking in color had a tassel. Even one particularly horrid umbrella that was like a clear, plastic dome had a tassel. Actually, seeing that umbrella made me feel a bit better. I was glad I wasn't under a dome looking through plastic as I slopped around campus. Though, I must admit that it had a desirable, nondescript tassel.

I wondered what other things I miss purely because I don't take the time to notice? Umbrella tassels are a silly little thing. What big things do I not see because I am in an all-important hurry to nowhere? I think I am going to keep my eyes open a bit wider (they are pretty wide already!) in the future to see other small things I tend to overlook. In the meantime, I plan on swapping out my umbrella for the one in my hub's truck. He is a big guy. He can pull off a big tassel!

Our County Tax Dollars at Work!

2009-02-21T16:28:00.000-08:00

Um...OK. But, isn't this a sign?

Jen Needs...

2009-02-20T14:19:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Lisa tagged me. She gave me a challenge and I am happy to oblige because it sounds really funny. Here is the challenge...you should try it too!

Go to Google, in Search type your name and needs (example: Jen needs ) and paste the first ten things that come up.

1. Jen Needs...to have a session or two with a therapist. (Oh my!)
2. Jen Needs...a break.
3. Jen Needs...to find a self righteous, conspicuous "I'm better than you" charitable position so she can keep charming the sheep into thinking she matters . (What the???)
4. Jen Needs...a muzzle. (LOL!!!!)
5. Jen Needs...Human Anatomy Lessons. (Hmmmmm...)
6. Jen Needs...Cheering up! (Not! I am a happy camper!)
7. Jen Needs...work.
8. Jen Needs...to take some time and be by herself.
9. Jen Needs...advice.
10. Jen Needs...to go!

Lost Generation

2009-02-18T15:02:00.000-08:00

This is a really cool video I wanted to share. It makes a person think.

Did Someone Say Snow?

2009-02-14T19:21:00.000-08:00

My dear hubs and I are not big fans of Valentine's Day. So, with the thought of a free Saturday not committed to a romantic meal or outing we decided to again head for the hills in seek of snow. Boy, did we find snow! The recent storms blanketed the mountains with many feet of the fluffy stuff.

My mom took Miss Ellie to a Red Hat adventure and shopping for new clothes. Ellie was relieved to not be a part of the snow outing having proclaimed that "Ellie no likes the snow!" By the same token, Mitchell was beside himself that the snow was our destination. He dressed at break-neck speed and was hopping up and down in anticipation as we tried to get out the door with all of our gear.

Grandpa joined us for our adventure (again bringing the tastiest KFC imaginable) and Auntie Shib joined us too (bringing a loaf of Friendship Bread or Friendly Cake that was scrumptious). Food in the mountains just tastes better!

The temperature gauge read 25 degrees as we hopped out of the truck. We went to the same place as last time, but it looked completely different with four feet of snow covering the mountain. Grandpa made quick work with his shovel and dug out a trail to the nearest hill so the sledding could begin.

I wasted no time in making a full-on face plant that left me wallowing on the hillside as I tried to right myself. My dear Sistah Shib offered me a hand but retracted when the dear, sweet hubs hollered to let him take a picture first. Gotta love family!

Mitchell had the most fun. He was not at all bothered by the chill in the air. He set off making his own trails and adventures...

Mitch did break for a photo op with Daddy and Auntie Shib...

We had a day of laughter and joy! There is no better way to spend time that with the people you love the most. Hopefully, Miss Ellie will enjoy the snow someday, but, if not, she is in good company with her Mimi who she loves to spend time with.

We left the hill marked with tracks in the snow and deep furrows marked our wild sledding crashes. But, we also left a happy fellow to cheer those who passed by...

Shhh! It's a surprise Mommy!

2009-02-13T13:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening, Mitchell and Ellie diligently worked on their Valentines for their classmates. They signed their names...Ellie actually drew a squiggle...and then we attached little chocolate bars to each one with double-sided tape. Both kids got that part down and were slapping on chocolate bars faster that I could put the tape on the cards!

After their Valentine's were tucked away Mitchell came up as asked if tomorrow was Valentine's Day. I said no, that Saturday was but his class was celebrating early so all the kids could share their treats.

Then Mitchell looked very serious and said, "We made you a surprise in class this week Mommy."

"You did! I love Mitchell surprises!"

Then he said, "I can't tell you what it is but it is a brownie shaped like a heart!"

I processed his words and thought how best to answer. "So, you have a surprise that you made in class but can't tell me?"

"Yes! It is a brownie heart but it is going to be a big surprise for you!"

I smiled and reminded myself to practice my look of surprise for tomorrow! Mitchell is so my son!

Lessons from Girl Scouts

2009-02-11T19:22:00.000-08:00

Back in my early years as a Brownie in the Girl Scouts we learned a song that we sang in sing-songy Brownie fashion...

"Make new friends, but keep the old. For one is silver and the other gold."

Those Girl Scouts are smart! How lucky we are to have people come into our lives and remain as friends. And, to add more people to our circle of friends as we age is a true blessing.

I am so blessed to have an eclectic circle of friends. I can't think of the exact moment with any of them that cemented our relationship to true friendship. I think they just evolved over time. I have friends I have know since my days as a single college kid. And, I have friends I have met through the common thread of marriage and children. I treasure my friendships that have withstood the test of time. Those amazing friendships that change as we as individuals change.

I love that my friendships are so varied. My girlfriends are a treasure. They accept me for me...good, bad, and ugly! They brighten my life and help me see the sunny side of the darkest clouds. They help me laugh at myself...which, being a bit on the clumsy side, is a regular occurrence. And, my truest friends will honestly tell me when my outfit is a disaster and when I have a boog in my nose. I don't think I could survive without my friends and the laughter that comes with them.

Football is no match for family fun!

2009-02-02T08:47:00.000-08:00

Not being big fans of professional sports, we spent yesterday tending to some chores and having some fun around Smokey Acres. With two acres there is never a shortage of things to do!

Mitchell and I I pulled a few weeds that have gone crazy with the unusual January sunshine. Then I climbed up the ladder and cleaned out the rain gutters. Fascinating! I have never cleaned rain gutters before and never would have thought too had I not noticed that we had little crops sprouting up in them. Next, under Mitchell's strict supervision, I used our hula hoe (The Weeder With a Wiggle!) to knock down hornet nests that we had sprayed in the summer. Mitchell and I oooh'd and aaah'd over them amazed at the hornets' handiwork.

After that, the whole family took a break for a bike ride. Miss Ellie rode her tricycle and I delighted in seeing her pedal her little heart out so proud to be going solo. The hubs and I traded off riding ahead with Mitchell and then going a bit slower with Ellie. When the bikes and trike were tucked away we spent our last drops of energy kicking the soccer ball around the front yard. Ellie ran after the ball deliriously stumbling along. She was so tired she couldn't even kick the ball. She would line it up and run toward it full tilt. Then she would swing her leg and completely miss the ball resulting in her losing her balance and tumbling over. After a few such attempts I declared soccer was over and we headed inside and ordered pizza.

So we missed the SuperBowl and I honestly don't know yet who won. It gets worse... I am not even sure who was playing. I know it was the Steelers and then either the Chargers or the Cardinals? One of those may even be a baseball team! I am not up on my sports but I am up on life at Smokey Acres.

Rhyme Time

2009-01-28T09:07:00.001-08:00

My son and I were out and about having some Mitch and Mommy time. While in the car he said, "Let's play that rhyming game!"

"OK," I said. "Boat..."

"Goat!" he replied.

"Great job! OK...house..."

"Mouse!"

"Awesome! Tree..."

"Bee!" he exclaimed.

"Alright! Hmmmm...OK! How about gas?" I asked.

"Gas!" he said.

"Yes, gas. What rhymes with gas?"

"Gas!"

"That's the word Mitch. But what rhymes with it? What rhymes with gas?"

"Gas Mommy! Gas and gas!" Mitch said proudly.

"Gas and gas?"

"Yes! Gas you put in the car and smelly gas from your bottom!"

Alrighty then!

Happy Farts

2009-01-27T14:31:00.001-08:00

My dear hubs and I were on the tail-end of a disagreement. We resolved the issue but I was still in that funky place between fired-up angry and happy contentment. We picked the kids up from school and headed into town for a bite to eat. Dealing with my funk I was driving solemnly, not saying much. The kids were chatting back and forth. The hubs was staring out the window likely wanting to be anywhere but trapped in a car with me. Then it happened. From the backseat our little princess rips the meanest fart one has ever heard. Peals of laughter fill the car and my funky mood, thankfully, escapes. Ellie is absolutely delighted in her crude behavior and I truly don't mind this time. It took a fart...but I am back in my happy place!

Watch Out Snow! Here We Come!

2009-01-17T19:44:00.000-08:00

The entire tribe was finally well enough to tackle a snow day! We gathered up our kids; our gear; our snacks; and a carrot (for the snowman of course!) and headed to the hills. We met up with my dad and my brother's crew and proceeded to have an absolute blast!

The day started a little rough with Mitchell's first solo sled ride landing him square into a tree. That was followed by Grandpa's version of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride that ended with Grandpa wrapped around a pole and the boys standing in the parking lot looking dazed. We decided the Sno-Park was a bit icy for our fledgling sledders. Grandpa had the foresight to pack a bucket's worth of KFC in his ice chest, so we chowed on that and plotted our next move. We decided to seek out fluffier snow so we could build a snowman. What we found was a little hill all to ourselves where we could sled and build a snowman with oodles of character.

Quite proud of our handiwork...

It is always more fun to sled with a buddy...or a grandpa...

Or a father-in-law...

And even though princesses don't like the snow...they are, um, attached to their Daddies...

And, the perfect end to a perfect day is smiles on faces....

Bittersweet

2009-01-15T12:07:00.000-08:00

While sitting in my favorite coffee house in Modesto I witnessed something that was truly bittersweet. I was plugging away on my laptop and watching the clock so I would not be late in meeting an author who had come to do a presentation at the local junior college. I admit that I am a people-watcher. I truly find the behavior of people fascinating. So, it was not usual for me to look up when the door open and a trio of people moved in.

The group consisted of a daughter, who look to be in her fifties, and her aging parents. Her father was in a wheelchair...quite a hip one! The family got situated at a table near me and then the mother took their orders. When the mother left the table the father leaned into his daughter and said, "Is that lady married? I'd like to meet her!" The daughter replied that the lady was indeed married....to him! The man just beamed and locked eyes on his bride as if he could not believe such a fox had married him.

What a tender moment! So sad that the man momentarily forgot is wife...but so dear that he still desired her. This must be a love that survives the ages whatever they bring.

This isn't Smokey Acres!

2009-01-08T18:45:00.001-08:00

Today, I had my first experience with a topless beach. Oh, I didn't toss my top and let everything hang in the wind. I kept my shirt on and may have even unconsciously buttoned the top button. But, I went for a walk down a little trail outside of the hotel here in Miami . As I strolled, I watched the tide come in and out and then this women steps into my line of vision. I do a double-take. She is there, chatting with a friend, with her breasts flopping this way and that. I am aghast as she bends over and digs through her duffel for a cigarette which she proceeds to light. I know, I was staring and staring is rude. I tried, but could not pull my eyes away. I was a first-rate rubbernecker! But, where I come from girls wear shirts!

So I looked around again and I see a number of women totally at ease with their naked boobies hanging out. I feel like a prude! I set my sights back on my path and then take one more look to the beach. Then I laugh. There are a great many old men in speedos. They are tanned and oily looking. White shoes clomping on the sand. And, did I mention the speedos? This is almost as horrifying as bare boobs. I finally turned and went back to the hotel when I saw a man and his son/grandson (age about 5 years) wearing matching white speedos. Oh, that is just not right! A child in a speedo on a topless beach! Egads! The child was just happy as a clam. I know if my 4-year-old was at my side his lower jaw would be scraping the sand.

I quicken my pace back to the hotel gate which leads to the pool. This is a good people watching spot but I have had enough. As I take the steps back to the hotel entrance I pass two old guys talking. One guy says to the other, "Thing is, the only gals down on the beach going topless is the ones that need their tops on!" Amen to that...um, I think?

What's with the travel juju?

2009-01-06T17:49:00.000-08:00

Why must my every cross-country trip be a collection of various snafu's? If it is not fog, it is ice. If it is not the plane's on-board computer, it is the wing flap. I actually thought I would make it to Miami in record time yesterday. I woke at 4am to no fog. I breezed through the airport security screening. I boarded the plane a full 15 minutes prior to our scheduled departure. The pilot cruised us on out to the runway...on time! And, then it happened. He promptly made an awkward u-turn and faced that jet right back toward the concourse. NO!!!

The pilot declared there was "something" wrong with the wing flap. So we sat. We waited for a mechanic to be roused from sleep. We waited while he tested a number of systems to determine the problem. We waited while he physically located and researched the problem. After a full hour, the flight attendants finally let us off the plane where we waited while the mechanic actually fixed the problem. Now, I am a big fan of wing flaps. I would never fly with a broken one. But why my plane?

It was clear I was going to miss my connection in Dallas so I re-booked myself on a later flight. I would get to Miami at 8:30pm instead of 6:00pm. OK. Not devastating. I get to Dallas. I down an airport hamburger. I go to my gate. I am pleasantly surprised that we board just a few minutes behind schedule. No worries...we can make those minutes up in the sky. I get to my seat. I get buckled in. I read my book. I read my book. I read my book. Page after page. Finally, I look at my watch. We have been sitting on the plane for close to an hour! I look out my window and the crew is loading up bags. Well, at least my bag will make this crazy delay. People are getting restless. I notice it is suffocatingly hot. I start to cough. And, I cough. And, I cough. I try to hold it in and I feel myself get all red in the face. I panic because I know people are thinking, "Oh great! Ms. Germ Spreader is on board!" I cough into the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "Please," I think to myself, "I need AIR!" I finally rummage through my backpack and find a cough drop (I am whacked out on cough drops by the end of this flight). The plane finally rumbles to the runway with no clear explanation for the delay. I look at my watch and think we should be in Miami by 9:30pm or so.

It is 10:15pm when we land in Miami. I am in the very back of the plane and it takes no less than 20 minutes to get off. People are holding up the line down the center with rearranging their bags and saying "Oh, should I meet you in the terminal?" to their friends. Just get OFF the plane! I start to cough again. If I take another cough drop I will puke.

I find baggage claim and wait for the belt to fire up. It finally does. Round and round the bags go. I get a sick feeling when the people start to thin out and the same few bags keep passing by. I can't believe it. I sat in Dallas at the gate while they loaded bags and mine did not make it? I ask an incredibly unhelpful TSA agent if he can track down my bag. "No, not really," he replies. Why do they even have bar codes and baggage claim check stickers?

I can't call my dear hubs because he is putting the kids to sleep. I call my parents and relay my woes. I tell my mom I am on the edge. I am so annoyed. I am rambling away into the phone and I realize people are looking at me. What is their problem!?!? Then I realize I have been pacing back and forth in front of the baggage conveyor belt like a caged tiger ready to pounce. These people thing I am losing it. I relay this to my mom and she laughs because she can picture me all wore out and gross looking pacing like a loon.

I disconnect with my mom and go look at the arrival board. One more flight coming in at 11:30 from Dallas. My bag has to be on that flight. I find a seat. I place my face in hands and I pray for my luggage. It has been such a retched day I really want to sleep in my pj's and brush my teeth. Just when my last sad frayed nerve is about to snap I see my bag come out of the shoot. I say, "Thank you God!" and I whip that puppy up.

It is well after 1:00am when I go to sleep. I sleep until 11:45am and then decided I should probably get myself ready for the beginning of the meeting. I have a few days to recover and then I will begin the adventure home. My dear mother said, "If you have to sleep in the airport, don't sleep next to the window this time." Maybe I should start packing an air mattress in my carry-on.

Leaving Home

2009-01-04T10:08:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I fly to Miami. This is the hardest part of my job. It is so difficult to be away from my children longer than my standard three-night work trips. As I do before every week-long trip, I breathe in as much of my children as possible. Yesterday we kicked a soccer ball around the yard; my son and I put together 3D dinosaur puzzles; we piled on the couch and watched Kung-Fu Panda; my hubs and I scrubbed them clean in the bath and then dressed them in their warmest pj's; we all made playdough balls that we lobed around the living room; then we snuggled in for bedtime stories.

Tomorrow I will creep around before dawn getting ready for my cross-country flight. I will kiss my dear children on their foreheads as they sleep and my sweet hubs will walk me to the car and help me get on my way. That first step out the door in the wee morning hours is always the hardest. The first couple days of my trip I will be sad but then the excitement will mount as I get closer to catching my flight back home. When I walk through the front door the kids will scream and I will be shocked at how much they have changed in a week. They will be delighted with whatever trinkets I will for certain bring home to them. They will be happy to have Mommy home and they will never know how my heart breaks when I leave them. And, I will feel complete once again with my family close to me.

A yammering post 'bout nothing

2008-12-31T16:19:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I haven't had a moment since Christmas to blog about the day! Our little Ellie was very sick and not much up for Christmas presents, but Mitchell was wild about the gifts. It was a delight to see sheer joy radiate from him. We had wrapping strewn everywhere as Mitchell plowed through the presents shrieking in delight at each new item.

We had the pleasure of hosting Christmas dinner at our home this year. My grandma and great aunt even joined us. It was quite a feast...I am surprised the table withstood the weight of the fix'ns! It was scrumptious! It was the relaxing day I had hoped for.

Mitchell and my nephew played until they were delirious with exhaustion. We adults enjoyed a few rounds of a new game called Buzzword and then our favorite game of all...Balderdash! The more tired we got the more clever the answers we wrote!

Now I am sitting pondering 2008. What a year! As we leave it behind I find myself down with a wicked cold and holding a heating bill for over $500. Apparently we were almost Smokey Acres revisited. Our heater's circuit board (I don't know what it is but it turns out it is very expensive!) has been "arcing" and at some point caught fire and fried itself. All I knew was I punching the buttons on the thermostat to no avail. We went just one night without heat and it only got to 51 degrees inside. Thank goodness the fog set it and kept a bit of warmth close to the ground. We bundled up in sweatpants and blankets and snuggled in deep.

But heat or no heat, I am thankful to have a house we call a home. I am thankful for my dear hubs and our amazing children. We make it through ups and downs together. Though, I do admit that I am hopeful for a few more ups in 2009! Whatever comes our way we will attempt to take it in stride and have some fun and develop more character along the way!

Bringing Back Santa

2008-12-24T10:03:00.000-08:00

When my brother and I were young, Santa would come visit us before bedtime on Christmas Eve (or the eve of Christmas Eve). We wanted to have this same tradition for our children. So we called up Santa and he made a surprise visit that left my son and nephew speechless!

Santa was his jolly ol' self! It was wonderful and amazing to see him after all these years. And, like magic, his pack had the exact presents the boys asked him for as they sat on his lap...well, okay, he had the fifth thing my nephew asked for!

Unfortunately, Miss Ellie was under-the-weather. She didn't want to sit on Santa's lap...she was clinging to me like a monkey. When Santa asked her if she wanted a "horsey" she shocked her head "no" and turned away. Then Santa said, "I bet instead of a horsey you want a pony!" Magic words! She spun head around and gave a nod that said, "Well, I wouldn't turn one down if you have it in your bag there." How does Santa know these things!?!? Ellie hung onto that new pony even as she rested after Santa left.

Santa reminded the kids to be good and to mind their parents...Santa is good! And, if they behave today, he will be sure to visit our homes tonight after they are sleeping and leave special gifts for them.

The kids were beyond impressed that, at his most busy time, Santa came to see them. And my brother and I had the joy of giving our children something that was so special to us growing up. We witnessed everything from the eyes of parents and know why our own parents made sure Santa came to see us every year.

Katie and my BIG Teeth

2008-12-22T16:07:00.000-08:00

One thing I am totally self-conscious about is my overbite. It is a dosey. I have to keep myself in check because if I ever let myself go slack-jaw with boredom I get a look of complete, "DUR!" It was the thing the "Mean Girls" in high school picked on. It is one of those quirky attributes I should embrace, like the bump on my nose, but I am not there yet...even after 35 years!

So I go to pick up my children from preschool. While I am waiting for them to gather up all their gear I look up and see Katie is making a beeline for me. Katie is an inquisitive little pip who tells me her name every time I see her.

"My name is Katie."

"Hi Katie."

"What's your name?"

"My name is Jennifer."

"Jenfur?" she looks at me puzzled. "I thought you were Mitchell's mommy."

"Well, I am, but my actual name is Jennifer."

"Hmmm...Why are you Mitchell's mommy?"

Good gracious! "Well, I guess I am Mitchell's mommy because God wanted me to be his mommy."

"Hmmmm..." She seems satisfied with that answer but begins to hone in on my face. I think she must see a booger or something. I wait with dread...what is she going to say? And, then she spills it... "What's wrong with you teeth?"

"Excuse me?" I feel myself get hot. We have a mean girl in-training here!

"Your teeth. What's wrong with them?"

"I don't think anything is wrong with them." I squirm under the intense questioning. Where are my children? I start to look around.

"Why do they stick out like that?"

"They don't stick out." Total lie. It is obvious they do. But, really, it is just mean to point out.

"Yeah, like this..." And that evil child does an amazing beaver impersonation.

I think I have flashbacks to high school. I may even have lost consciousness for moment. When I regain my composure I kneel down to little Katie's level and I say, "My teeth stick out Katie so that I can bite things. All kinds of things." She looks at me like I have sprouted a third eyeball and she backs away. Thankfully, my children arrive in a screaming fury at their delight that Mommy-with-the-big-honking-teeth has come to take them home.

I am sure little Katie will mention me in therapy years from now. She probably has dreams of enormous teeth chasing her around. For now, she will likely continue to stare at me from a distance...in total awe of my big teeth. Though I doubt she will, but should she ever question me again I may have to add in a little growl for the full effect!

Christmas Cuties!

2008-12-16T14:36:00.000-08:00

Mitch and Ellie were combed and polished for their Christmas program at school. It is rare to see their cheeks so clean and their clothes stain-free! Ellie does have a Kung-Fu Panda tattoo on her arm, but we'll let that slide!

Superman...

2008-12-15T19:34:00.000-08:00

... is super cute!

A dear friend provided us with these pj's that are hand-me-downs. I love hand-me-downs! And now, Mitchman is properly attired to save the world...in a single bound of course!

White Christmas

2008-12-12T12:30:00.000-08:00

We are gearing up for another White Christmas...Central Valley style! Instead of snowflakes and flurries we get fog. The kind of fog that has traffic reporters stating how many feet you can see rather than how many fractions of a mile.

The view from our doorstep at noonish is not too bad actually (isn't our "grass" lovely?). You can't see the school, but you can see across the street. These are the kinds of days when I love working from home. Pounding away on the computer with a cup of hot java is much better than battling the fog that wrecks havoc on all types of hair and makes the skin "glisten" in an unflattering way.

Looking at the picture above makes me laugh. It looks like our tree has a wild hair. What is that about? The smaller tree next to it is working on the same design. There is actually an even smaller three to the right just outside of the picture frame. They remind me of the Three Bears...Papa Bear, Momma Bear, and Baby Bear.

But, I digress...back to the fog. The fog has Mitchell very concerned about Santa's ability to find our house. He is asking very detailed questions that have Todd and I creating wild answers that always seem to involve "magic." Santa is magic. No, Santa is not at all like God, but Santa is magic. Santa can hear you with magic ears. Santa knows when you are being naughty because he is magic. Santa's sack is magic and that how he fits toys for the whole world in it. It is a magic time of year!

So, Mitchell is somewhat convinced that the fog won't hinder Santa too much. He did ask that we set carrots out for the reindeer so they will be able to keep their strength up. His says Rudolph's nose needs to shine extra bright to cut through the fog!

OK Santa! We're Ready! Almost...

2008-12-07T16:18:00.000-08:00

...so we still have cookies to bake and packages to wrap...but the tree is up and decorated! And, the yard is very merry indeed!

Two ornaments met their demise at the hands of Miss Ellie. She wanted to see if a glass ball would bounce and if an angel would fly. Todd and I wanted in on the action also and we broke an ornament apiece. Thankfully, our two were not fatally destroyed. They are propped up on the kitchen counter while the Elmer's glue takes hold. Mitchell was too busy supervising the whole process to break anything.

The kids are getting very excited about the big night when Santa will come and fill their stockings; have some cookies; and leave some special presents under the tree. Actually, I should say that Mitchell is excited. Ellie seems a little freaked out about a jolly ol' fat man walking through the house at night. We will be working on that!

Brutely Honest

2008-12-05T16:37:00.000-08:00

I admire honest people. The friends that love you enough to say, "As a matter of fact, you do look like a hippo in those jeans." Or, "You have a chunk o' chives in your front teeth." I don't consider these comments rude. I think they are helpful. Seriously. Hipponess is bad and chives are gross.

I live with two very honest people. They can't help it. They don't know about white lies. They don't attempt to spare feelings. They tell it like they see it. They are children.

At first, this was an adjustment for me. It took my dear hubs to put it into perspective for me...they are 2 and 4. They are just observing, not trying to be critical.

Here are some comments I have heard in the last few days...

From Ellie...

I was kneeling on the floor getting her dressed and my slacks had that fabric pooch. Ellie patted this and said, "Look Mommy! You are a fatty."

From Mitchell...

While I was mindlessly singing along with the Christmas CD in the car I heard a growl from the backseat followed by, "Momma! Quit making that horrible noise!"

From Ellie...

I came in from doing yard work and was getting undressed for the shower. Ellie walks in and waves her hands hollering, "Shooie! Shooie Mommy! You smell like a poopoo ball."

So that is the bad...but then their honesty forms the sweetest words sometimes...

From Mitchell...

"Mommy, you sure are handsome."

From Ellie...

"I want you Mommy! I loooove you Mommy!"

From Mitchell...

"I have my happiest days with you Mommy. You make my heart happy. I thank you and God for my whole world." (This one I heard at bedtime a couple nights ago and it still makes me tear up.)

So, I say we be like children. Go out and be honest! Shake someone up! Make them smile! Make them laugh! Be a true friend! And do an honest to goodness chive check for your buddies!

I believe...

2008-11-29T15:00:00.000-08:00

...my exact words were, "you guys can have fun, just please don't get muddy." Apparently, what they heard was, "blah, blah, have fun, blah, blah, blah."

Black Friday!

2008-11-28T16:49:00.000-08:00

The alarm went off at 4am today. I hauled my body out of my cozy bed and prepared to meet my Mom in town at Starbucks at 5am. We were going on a mission! We decided to take on Black Friday!

By the time I reached Starbucks I was awake and excited about our adventure. After a caffeine charge we headed to Kohl's. Madness! I have only been to Kohl's a couple of times so I wasn't too familiar with the layout of the store. Major disadvantage! We had a couple of items that we just had to find. We went scouting and I found myself sidetracked. I completely lost my Mom in the chaos. Somehow, she ended up in jewelry. She called my cell phone and I went in search of her. My mom is a short little thing so you can't spot her by looking over the displays. It wasn't until she popped out in to an aisle that I saw her. We regrouped and refocused and got what we needed too. We met some very nice ladies in line to chat with for the next hour while we waited to pay for our treasures. After that, nothing could stop us!

We went to my new favorite store, Sur La Table. I thought it was just another she-she cooking store...and it is... but they have the most fun gadgets and gizmos! Loved it! Then we were off to Joanne Fabrics and then to a well-earned breakfast at Marie Callenders.

I guess the breakfast recharged my energy stores because when I got home I tackled the yard! When we decided to by this chunk of property I wasn't thinking about yard maintenance. Ugh! Twice a year we have to do major sprucing up! So, I took on the trees! I got 12 of them trimmed and slick looking. My dear, darling husband even fired up the chainsaw and did some major hacking on a mess of a tree in the back. I wanted to try out the chainsaw, but he said he didn't want to go to the ER today...hmph!

As I type this the leftovers are heating, the kids are bathed and yummy smelling, the dogs are snoring, and I am realizing that I am insanely exhausted! But what an awesome day! Our Christmas shopping is near complete! Our yard is looking decent again! And, the sounds of an evening at home are around me. Good stuff!

Count Yer Blessings!

2008-11-26T14:12:00.000-08:00

I know. In times of great upheaval it is very hard to remember to count your blessings. But, with Thanksgiving upon us, now is the perfect time to take a moment and give thanks.

I am very blessed and have many reasons to give thanks...

1. I have faith in God and trust He will provide for my family.

2. My husband is just amazing. He loves me even when I scare myself when I see my bedhead in the mirror.

3. I have two absolutely incredible children who are happy and healthy and keep things hopping!

4. I absolutely treasure my family...my parents, my brother, my nephew, my niece, my in-laws, my aunts and uncles, my grandparents.

5. I have amazing friends that I can laugh and cry with.

6. I have three doggies that defy their arthritis and greet me each morning with a wagging tail. And, I have three cats who let me pet them...sometimes.

7. I have a home bursting with laughter and love.

8. I have crazy low cholesterol.

9. I have legs that like to run.

10. I have a job. In a tough economy, I am blessed to have a paycheck coming in.

That is just a few of the things I am thankful for this year. Be sure to count up your blessings, you will have more than you realize!

Disneyland truly IS the happiest place on Earth!

2008-11-21T10:59:00.001-08:00

I love, love, love Disneyland. I can't recall a time when I didn't realize there was a Disneyland. Growing up, my grandparents lived in the LA area so we were regular guests at the famous theme park. Disneyland has always been a special place for me and, now, I love sharing it with our kids. I am delighted that, despite a screeching ride on the Matterhorn with Mitchell, they love Disneyland too!

We spent a full day enjoying Disneyland. We rode Dumbo, the Disneyland Railroad, The Monorail, Finding Nemo Submarines, Astroblasters, Pirates of the Caribbean, Astro Orbiter...and, um...yes, The Matterhorn. Mitchell's favorite ride was Autopia. He and I shared a car and he LOVED driving around the course. Driving with him is not for the faint of heart or the weak...it was a rather jolting experience that had us both laughing!
Ellie said she most liked "The Boats." I am not sure if she meant the Storybook Land ride or It's a Small World both of which we rode. Ellie also met Dear Minnie Mouse, who is her favorite character!

We need to rack up some more Dream Dollars on the Disney Visa since Mitchell and Ellie are already wanting to go back. And, judging by his expression in the photo below, I would say that Todd is rip-roaring ready also...

That man just makes me laugh!

So we have some lessons we learned at Disneyland...

Keep a bit of Disney Magic in your heart this Christmas Season...

Be good to our planet 'cause we need her...

Make friends with all gorillas...

And remember, it is always good to be a little bit, well, Goofy!

Tractor Kids and Christmas Shopping

2008-11-15T18:58:00.000-08:00

My husband is a dear and patient man. He loves me and therefore accepts my quirkiness without question. Today, he gamely joined me Christmas shopping. That's right...I said Christmas shopping.

I absolutely love Christmas. I love giving gifts. I love baking cookies. I love decorating the the tree, the house, the yard. I love talking to our children about the birth of Jesus. I love the whole package, with one exception...I do not like to shop with crowds. Oh, I like to shop...just not with hoards of people clamouring about and breathing down my neck. So, about this time every year, I get the itch and off we go!

My wonderful parents took care of the kids for us today so we could freely shop for Transformers and anything Disney. Before the birthday party where I hear Mitchell made the first hole in the pinata, Grandpoppa took Mitch and Ellie to his work where they had a bunch of fun on the tractors.

I admit that I chose not to include the picture of darling Miss Ellie digging in her nose for gold!

Now, I remember how much I loved to visit my Dad's work as a child. I remember climbing up on those great tractors and sitting there pretending I was plowing a huge field. I remember the bouncy tractor seats and the feel of the enormous wheels. I even remember the smell of the parts department inside the building. Because I know this, I know what a wonderful time our children had today. I love that they are rough-and-tumble rugrats! I know that they were proud to be visiting Grandpoppa's work place. It was a special treat for them. And, I really hope Ellie didn't leave any boog's on a steering wheel.