My sister-in-law discovered the wonder of crockpots recently. They are a complete staple in our house. We couldn't eat without ours. At least once a week I'll cook something in there. Often, it's enough for two meals for us, a family of five. It's a big crockpot. ;)
Work has been awful (note the lack of posts) since my boss left for his new job, and the crockpot has been doing a lot of duty.
Some favorite recipes:
Roast Beef ala Crockpot
1 roast
1-2 cans beef broth or consumme
2 Tbsp. minced garlic
2 bay leaves
Pepper to taste
1 can cola of your choice (diet or regular, does not matter)
Carrots (as many as you like)
Pearl onions (if you like)
Put everything in the crockpot. Order does not matter, though I've noticed that the carrots don't necessarily cook all the way through if they aren't in the liquid. Turn crockpot on high for 10-12 hours.
To mix it up, sometimes I'll add a 1/2 c. of sherry or red wine. Sometimes I add mushrooms (I love portabella).
I'll make either mashed potatoes or noodles when I get home.
Spaghetti Sauce
1 pound ground beef, cooked
1 small can tomato paste
2 jars tomato sauce, or 1 jar Prego or Ragu or your favorite spaghetti sauce.
2 Tbsp. minced garlic (note: I love garlic. If you hate it, leave it out.)
1 Tbsp. Italian seasoning.
Mushrooms (as many as you like)
Mix all in crockpot. Stir mushrooms and meat through well. Cook on high 8 hours. Fix spaghetti when you get home.
For variety, I'll toss in all sorts of veggies (shhhh, don't tell the kids). Green and red and yellow peppers. Leftover eggplant. Whatever works.
A variation is to toss the noodles into the crockpot about 30 minutes before serving. I prefer the more traditional serving method (sauce ladled over spaghetti before eating), but for leftovers, if there are enough noodles, I'll toss 'em in and reheat.
My Mom's Soup, ala Crockpot
1 soup bone
Enough water to cover soup bone
1 28 oz. can tomato juice
1 can crushed tomatoes
Coupious amounts of seasoned salt or Mrs. Dash of your choice
1 bay leaf
Vegatables of your choice, chopped
Throw everything in pot. Cook for 5-6 hours on high, 8 or more on low.
At the last 30 minutes, either toss in rice *uncooked* or alphabet noodles *uncooked*.
I have more; I'll add a few some other time, but SpongeBob's almost over.
One more working mommy recipe to share:
Mommy-tracked's Hot Toddy
1-2 fingers of rum
Squirt of lemon juice
Dash of both nutmeg and cinnamon
1-2 fingers of piping hot water from teakettle
1 sugar cube
Mix. Enjoy!
31 January 2007
23 January 2007
Nine days.
That's how long it took to get power back to our house.
We are lucky: There are still about 10,000 people in the city without power. At least one professor I know is living out of his office with his family, still, 10 days after the storm.
Yesterday I took time off to clean the house, scrub the fridge and floors, and move our things over from the rental where we were staying. There's at least one more load left. I still need to clean our deep freeze of the primordal frozen ooze in the bottom. That's tonight's project. Ick.
This weekend will probably be spent chainsawing the brush and trees down in our back yard. We need to reset the rock around a flowerbed, too. The ice played havoc with that, as well.
All in all, we came out well, if a bit cranky and frazzled. And now we know what to do next time:
* Have water. Lots of bottled water. We never lost water, but I know people who did. Best to have enough to get each person through at least two days.
* Put fuel in your cars before the storm hits. We actually know this, but didn't do it. We've lived north for years, and before a blizzard comes, you fill your tank. This time, we were busy and rushed, I was sick, and so it didn't get done. Then we were among those scrambling for gas after the storm, when 90 percent of the city was out of power. No power = No working gas pumps.
* Plan what you'll need for at least a week if you have to leave your home. On this, we did pretty well. I packed clothing to get us through, warm things, and as much as I could cram in a suitcase.
* Take all your important papers with you. We forgot this, but at least we had the option of going back to our house a day later and getting them. If it had been a hurricane, we'd have been screwed. Insurance papers, passports, birth certificates, financial statements. Take them with you. Buy a fireproof safe to keep them in, one that you can carry.
* Check the batteries. The first night, we figured out we had two working flashlights, and one was a Fisher Price kids' version. Ditto on the weather radio/battery-operated radio. Once power's gone, you are toast.
* Keep a landline phone. We have this, and it helped family members to know they could call us. Our cells stayed charged (car chargers), but there's no guarantee of the towers staying up (my coverage was awful, and I had tons of dropped calls while I was trying to work that first Monday).
* Have food ready that can be cooked over a fire. Again, I did well. We had tons of canned food. We had a woodstove, so we could eat.
* Have tons of firewood. Again, we did fine here. My parents delivered a stack this fall, and it was enough to get us through.
* Wrap pipes. My husband had to scramble to Lowe's late one night to get insulation to wrap our pipes. We should have done it years ago (just good fuel economy, actually). But it keep our pipes from freezing.
* Have a back-up, back-up, back-up plan. Our back-up plan fell through when my cousin lost power. So did our back-up back-up. It was sheer luck that we found a place to stay, and didn't have to spend a fortune in hotel fees. Plan three steps away from what you think you'll need to do. Next time, we know we can go to our church and stay. Or my office. Neither is ideal, but both were warm and had access to showers.
The more you know.
May none of you ever have to use these tips, but get them lined up, just in case.
We are lucky: There are still about 10,000 people in the city without power. At least one professor I know is living out of his office with his family, still, 10 days after the storm.
Yesterday I took time off to clean the house, scrub the fridge and floors, and move our things over from the rental where we were staying. There's at least one more load left. I still need to clean our deep freeze of the primordal frozen ooze in the bottom. That's tonight's project. Ick.
This weekend will probably be spent chainsawing the brush and trees down in our back yard. We need to reset the rock around a flowerbed, too. The ice played havoc with that, as well.
All in all, we came out well, if a bit cranky and frazzled. And now we know what to do next time:
* Have water. Lots of bottled water. We never lost water, but I know people who did. Best to have enough to get each person through at least two days.
* Put fuel in your cars before the storm hits. We actually know this, but didn't do it. We've lived north for years, and before a blizzard comes, you fill your tank. This time, we were busy and rushed, I was sick, and so it didn't get done. Then we were among those scrambling for gas after the storm, when 90 percent of the city was out of power. No power = No working gas pumps.
* Plan what you'll need for at least a week if you have to leave your home. On this, we did pretty well. I packed clothing to get us through, warm things, and as much as I could cram in a suitcase.
* Take all your important papers with you. We forgot this, but at least we had the option of going back to our house a day later and getting them. If it had been a hurricane, we'd have been screwed. Insurance papers, passports, birth certificates, financial statements. Take them with you. Buy a fireproof safe to keep them in, one that you can carry.
* Check the batteries. The first night, we figured out we had two working flashlights, and one was a Fisher Price kids' version. Ditto on the weather radio/battery-operated radio. Once power's gone, you are toast.
* Keep a landline phone. We have this, and it helped family members to know they could call us. Our cells stayed charged (car chargers), but there's no guarantee of the towers staying up (my coverage was awful, and I had tons of dropped calls while I was trying to work that first Monday).
* Have food ready that can be cooked over a fire. Again, I did well. We had tons of canned food. We had a woodstove, so we could eat.
* Have tons of firewood. Again, we did fine here. My parents delivered a stack this fall, and it was enough to get us through.
* Wrap pipes. My husband had to scramble to Lowe's late one night to get insulation to wrap our pipes. We should have done it years ago (just good fuel economy, actually). But it keep our pipes from freezing.
* Have a back-up, back-up, back-up plan. Our back-up plan fell through when my cousin lost power. So did our back-up back-up. It was sheer luck that we found a place to stay, and didn't have to spend a fortune in hotel fees. Plan three steps away from what you think you'll need to do. Next time, we know we can go to our church and stay. Or my office. Neither is ideal, but both were warm and had access to showers.
The more you know.
May none of you ever have to use these tips, but get them lined up, just in case.
19 January 2007
Crabby, man, am I ever
Still no power. At last count, there were 18,000 of us in the city without it. Snowstorm is on its way here, too. Joy.
Our yard is a wreck, limbs and two trees down. More could fall later, we'll just have to wait and see. Yet, we have it good: Some neighbors have trees on their homes, others are trapped by fallen trees in the next block up. They can't chainsaw the suckers: Powerlines are threaded throughout the mess.
You can tell at work now who has power and who doesn't: Those of us without power are cranky as all get out. It's been a week (as of 8 p.m. tonight). Most of us have been living elsewhere (hotels, offices, one friend had her family living in their restaurant). We've been checking property compulsively, both to keep pipes from freezing and to make sure our homes haven't been broken into yet.
It's exhausting.
Those of us still waiting for power are feeling a lot of sympathy for those who have been in hurricane hell. Katrina takes on a new perspective now. At least we can get to our stuff, and it hasn't washed away. I now understand how short-tempered you can get in a crisis. I'm trying to keep a good face for the kids and the overworked hubby (day 13 working now). But it is freakin' hard.
Does NOT help that I'm in a position of some limited power at work, and I'm getting heavier workloads from above, and folks from below who still need their projects done.
Crabby, thy name is Mommy-Tracked.
Our yard is a wreck, limbs and two trees down. More could fall later, we'll just have to wait and see. Yet, we have it good: Some neighbors have trees on their homes, others are trapped by fallen trees in the next block up. They can't chainsaw the suckers: Powerlines are threaded throughout the mess.
You can tell at work now who has power and who doesn't: Those of us without power are cranky as all get out. It's been a week (as of 8 p.m. tonight). Most of us have been living elsewhere (hotels, offices, one friend had her family living in their restaurant). We've been checking property compulsively, both to keep pipes from freezing and to make sure our homes haven't been broken into yet.
It's exhausting.
Those of us still waiting for power are feeling a lot of sympathy for those who have been in hurricane hell. Katrina takes on a new perspective now. At least we can get to our stuff, and it hasn't washed away. I now understand how short-tempered you can get in a crisis. I'm trying to keep a good face for the kids and the overworked hubby (day 13 working now). But it is freakin' hard.
Does NOT help that I'm in a position of some limited power at work, and I'm getting heavier workloads from above, and folks from below who still need their projects done.
Crabby, thy name is Mommy-Tracked.
17 January 2007
Happy news followed by citywide crisis
On Friday night, I learned that they found not only the kidnapped boy from my hometown, but another boy who had been missing for four years. We couldn't have had better news.
Two hours later, we were in the middle of a horrid ice storm without power and only a wood stove for heat.
Five days later, we still don't have electricity at our house. We're fine, thanks to the generosity of my husband's boss, who has a vacant rental home in the 10 percent of the city that never lost power. The kids are safe and relatively happy.
Until the ice melts (tomorrow, hopefully it will start melting), we're in danger of having one of several trees land on our home. Our house is surrounded by trees, which are right now coated in an inch of ice. So far, so good. We've lost trees, but they've avoided hitting anything important.
Photos will go up at a later date, but you can check our local newspaper for the damage photos around town. I've lived through ice storms before, but nothing like this.
Two hours later, we were in the middle of a horrid ice storm without power and only a wood stove for heat.
Five days later, we still don't have electricity at our house. We're fine, thanks to the generosity of my husband's boss, who has a vacant rental home in the 10 percent of the city that never lost power. The kids are safe and relatively happy.
Until the ice melts (tomorrow, hopefully it will start melting), we're in danger of having one of several trees land on our home. Our house is surrounded by trees, which are right now coated in an inch of ice. So far, so good. We've lost trees, but they've avoided hitting anything important.
Photos will go up at a later date, but you can check our local newspaper for the damage photos around town. I've lived through ice storms before, but nothing like this.
10 January 2007
Security shattered
I know that we can't keep our kids safe forever. The big bad world intervenes.
I know, for example, that there are three listed pedophiles within a mile of our house. Our kids know, too. They know pictures of these guys. They know that's why they can only play in the back yard, or the front yard with adult supervision.
But Monday afternoon, something happened to completely shatter my sense of having any secure place in this world.
A boy was kidnapped from a stop on my old childhood bus route. He's still not been found. I know his mother.
I grew up in a very rural area. People think (thought) nothing of letting kids walk a half mile home from the bus stop. Most of us hunted or hiked over miles of woods alone from the age of 10. I personally would go off on my bike with a neighbor boy and we'd go for five- or six-mile rides alone at 13.
Once, I was so annoyed at my mom, I took off through the woods for a waterfall I knew was on a neighbor's property. The sounds of water plunging four feet off the precipice soothed me.
My mother was frantic when I didn't come back for an hour. She had my uncle out searching for me. Not because she feared kidnapping, but because she feared I'd be shot.
It was deer season. I was wearing a brown coat. It was, in retrospect, an incredibly stupid thing to do.
But kidnapping was miles from her mind.
Now, when my kids go with me to the farm, I'm going to think twice about letting them hike alone. My eldest is at the same age I was granted freedom to wander the 300+ acres alone.
I can't let her do that now.
And the fact that I can't just breaks my heart.
I know, for example, that there are three listed pedophiles within a mile of our house. Our kids know, too. They know pictures of these guys. They know that's why they can only play in the back yard, or the front yard with adult supervision.
But Monday afternoon, something happened to completely shatter my sense of having any secure place in this world.
A boy was kidnapped from a stop on my old childhood bus route. He's still not been found. I know his mother.
I grew up in a very rural area. People think (thought) nothing of letting kids walk a half mile home from the bus stop. Most of us hunted or hiked over miles of woods alone from the age of 10. I personally would go off on my bike with a neighbor boy and we'd go for five- or six-mile rides alone at 13.
Once, I was so annoyed at my mom, I took off through the woods for a waterfall I knew was on a neighbor's property. The sounds of water plunging four feet off the precipice soothed me.
My mother was frantic when I didn't come back for an hour. She had my uncle out searching for me. Not because she feared kidnapping, but because she feared I'd be shot.
It was deer season. I was wearing a brown coat. It was, in retrospect, an incredibly stupid thing to do.
But kidnapping was miles from her mind.
Now, when my kids go with me to the farm, I'm going to think twice about letting them hike alone. My eldest is at the same age I was granted freedom to wander the 300+ acres alone.
I can't let her do that now.
And the fact that I can't just breaks my heart.
08 January 2007
New year, new post
Dude . . . I know you are in a rush and all, and it's Sunday at Target, which is only slightly less hellish than Sunday at Wal-Mart.
But. . .
This is a parking lot, not Le Mans.
Don't run me down as you move that Suburban around the lanes, trying to find the. perfect. close. parking. spot.
Just park the damn thing and walk like the rest of us.
Thank you.
But. . .
This is a parking lot, not Le Mans.
Don't run me down as you move that Suburban around the lanes, trying to find the. perfect. close. parking. spot.
Just park the damn thing and walk like the rest of us.
Thank you.
27 December 2006
Stay-at-home mom
The way the holidays landed this year, I decided it made sense to stay home this week. I get paid to stay with my kids and we don't spend on daycare.
Bonus.
So far, so good. This week has gone better than planned. Sure, we've had whining and fights, but not many. They've been playing together fairly well (thank you Santa for Hullaballo and more Thomas bridges).
We even survived a trip to Wal-Mart this morning for groceries, all three in tow, something I rarely attempt because it is a nightmare. Instead, the gentleman behind us in line complimented the kids on how well-behaved they were. Shocked, I am. But happy.
Tomorrow is a playdate with middle child's best friend. I'd like to catch a couple of movies and go ice skating, too, before the week is over.
If we could afford to have me stay at home full time, I think I'd do it. I feel so relaxed and on top of my mommy game right now. I'm getting projects done around the house that have piled up. I have time to play with the kids and enjoy them without being tired. The laundry isn't overwhelming, because I can do two loads a day and keep up.
Work seems more stressful than it is worth. I've been working so long for the paycheck, and not enjoying what I do, that this refresher was sorely needed.
Honestly, I'm dreading going back. It's not fulfilling or fun any longer. Work is a long, hard slog.
The kids are much more fun.
Bonus.
So far, so good. This week has gone better than planned. Sure, we've had whining and fights, but not many. They've been playing together fairly well (thank you Santa for Hullaballo and more Thomas bridges).
We even survived a trip to Wal-Mart this morning for groceries, all three in tow, something I rarely attempt because it is a nightmare. Instead, the gentleman behind us in line complimented the kids on how well-behaved they were. Shocked, I am. But happy.
Tomorrow is a playdate with middle child's best friend. I'd like to catch a couple of movies and go ice skating, too, before the week is over.
If we could afford to have me stay at home full time, I think I'd do it. I feel so relaxed and on top of my mommy game right now. I'm getting projects done around the house that have piled up. I have time to play with the kids and enjoy them without being tired. The laundry isn't overwhelming, because I can do two loads a day and keep up.
Work seems more stressful than it is worth. I've been working so long for the paycheck, and not enjoying what I do, that this refresher was sorely needed.
Honestly, I'm dreading going back. It's not fulfilling or fun any longer. Work is a long, hard slog.
The kids are much more fun.
12 December 2006
06 December 2006
Salt? Sand? What's that?
I really hate this city right now. It's been almost a week after the nasty ice storm hit here, and guess what?
Our neighborhood streets (heck, most neighborhood streets here) are still glass.
The city doesn't plow or sand or salt the neighborhood streets. Heck, by Sunday, some of the main roads were still utter messes, nearly three days after the storm.
I've always lived up north (St. Louis, Columbia, NY, Iowa, Chicago). They know how to plow. They send out multiple plows when the storm starts, not at the end. Some places better than others, but you can believe a week after a storm streets would be 90 percent snow/ice free, especially after multiple days in the low 40s.
They put down salt and sand. Even our neighborhood in Chicago, which didn't get plowed constantly, at least saw salt and sand trucks go through once a day.
No, here, they wait for it to melt.
That could be a while. Our neighborhood is lined in trees. Oh, and it's hilly. Did I mention that?
Grrrrrr. I want to move back north. Now.
Our neighborhood streets (heck, most neighborhood streets here) are still glass.
The city doesn't plow or sand or salt the neighborhood streets. Heck, by Sunday, some of the main roads were still utter messes, nearly three days after the storm.
I've always lived up north (St. Louis, Columbia, NY, Iowa, Chicago). They know how to plow. They send out multiple plows when the storm starts, not at the end. Some places better than others, but you can believe a week after a storm streets would be 90 percent snow/ice free, especially after multiple days in the low 40s.
They put down salt and sand. Even our neighborhood in Chicago, which didn't get plowed constantly, at least saw salt and sand trucks go through once a day.
No, here, they wait for it to melt.
That could be a while. Our neighborhood is lined in trees. Oh, and it's hilly. Did I mention that?
Grrrrrr. I want to move back north. Now.
Breakfast with the Jolly Elf
A few days late. My apologies, all three of our home computers are on the fritz.
We struggled through the snow and ice to get downtown for the event. Two days after the storm, no plowing of major arteries, and our neighborhood streets were glass. Fun.
Once there, once signed in, we settled in to pancakes, juice (or coffee, in my case) and bacon. Sang carols. Did art projects that made reindeer ornaments. (Where did I put those, now that I think of it? They must still be in the diaper bag.)
Middle child whined mightily because the balloon artist wasn't coming our way fast enough. You'd think the threat of Santa walking among us would be enough to stop that, but you'd be wrong. A balloon candy cane is wayyy more important to a four-year-old than impressing the big guy.
Youngest played shy with everyone: University president who came by to say "Hi"; my VP who did the same. Santa, too. The jolly old elf was fine from a distance ("Santwa!!"), but once we were in line for the lap-sit and chat, she wanted no part of it.
Her brother informed Santa what his little sister wanted, and pointed her out to the big guy, just in case.
Ticky-tacky gifts received from student ambassadors dressed as elves (really, not that bad. Santa hats and in red), we had to go back to the balloon guy to repair the popped blue part of the blue-and-white balloon candy cane before we could go home.
All in all, not any better or worse than last year. Kids had fun, hubby and I survived.
Oh, and city streets after ice and snow storm: Sucked.
We struggled through the snow and ice to get downtown for the event. Two days after the storm, no plowing of major arteries, and our neighborhood streets were glass. Fun.
Once there, once signed in, we settled in to pancakes, juice (or coffee, in my case) and bacon. Sang carols. Did art projects that made reindeer ornaments. (Where did I put those, now that I think of it? They must still be in the diaper bag.)
Middle child whined mightily because the balloon artist wasn't coming our way fast enough. You'd think the threat of Santa walking among us would be enough to stop that, but you'd be wrong. A balloon candy cane is wayyy more important to a four-year-old than impressing the big guy.
Youngest played shy with everyone: University president who came by to say "Hi"; my VP who did the same. Santa, too. The jolly old elf was fine from a distance ("Santwa!!"), but once we were in line for the lap-sit and chat, she wanted no part of it.
Her brother informed Santa what his little sister wanted, and pointed her out to the big guy, just in case.
Ticky-tacky gifts received from student ambassadors dressed as elves (really, not that bad. Santa hats and in red), we had to go back to the balloon guy to repair the popped blue part of the blue-and-white balloon candy cane before we could go home.
All in all, not any better or worse than last year. Kids had fun, hubby and I survived.
Oh, and city streets after ice and snow storm: Sucked.
01 December 2006
Snow Day!!!
I'm as bad as the kids.
Yesterday morning, a particuarly bad ice/sleet/snow mix was headed our way. Every school district but ours closed in anticipation of a mess. Our superintendent was just hired from Colorado. He didn't understand that two inches of ice + snow here = disaster. The plows: Don't plow until the storm is done. Sand and salt? What's that?
I've lived here nearly four years, and they never clean the roads well. After living up north for years, it just boggles the mind.
At any rate, by noon, the roads were glass, and I was picking up the kids. An hour later, we made it home. I drove in sleet so falling so thick that visibility was nil.
Today, my older two are outside, reveling in the first significant snow they've seen since we moved here. First snow day in years. My youngest is two, and she's never seen snow.
She was not impressed. She was fine with sledding, if you carried her to the sled, sat with her on the sled, and then picked her up out of the sled, never once letting her brother's old SpongeBob snowboots touch the snow.
I just went out to let the dog frolick in the snow with the older two, and my kids look like yetis. You can't tell that they have on coats.
Later, we'll have hot chocolate and cookies. We'll clean up the house so we can decorate for Christmas tomorrow. The wood stove will be roaring with a fire.
A good snow day, all around.
Just wish my husband could enjoy it. The media never rests, and he's glued to his desk posting updates. He called at lunch, wistful tones in his voice. I know he'd love to sled. I might have to allow sledding after dark just so Dad can have his turn, too.
Be safe, all on the East. It's headed your way. It's nasty at first; beautiful later.
Yesterday morning, a particuarly bad ice/sleet/snow mix was headed our way. Every school district but ours closed in anticipation of a mess. Our superintendent was just hired from Colorado. He didn't understand that two inches of ice + snow here = disaster. The plows: Don't plow until the storm is done. Sand and salt? What's that?
I've lived here nearly four years, and they never clean the roads well. After living up north for years, it just boggles the mind.
At any rate, by noon, the roads were glass, and I was picking up the kids. An hour later, we made it home. I drove in sleet so falling so thick that visibility was nil.
Today, my older two are outside, reveling in the first significant snow they've seen since we moved here. First snow day in years. My youngest is two, and she's never seen snow.
She was not impressed. She was fine with sledding, if you carried her to the sled, sat with her on the sled, and then picked her up out of the sled, never once letting her brother's old SpongeBob snowboots touch the snow.
I just went out to let the dog frolick in the snow with the older two, and my kids look like yetis. You can't tell that they have on coats.
Later, we'll have hot chocolate and cookies. We'll clean up the house so we can decorate for Christmas tomorrow. The wood stove will be roaring with a fire.
A good snow day, all around.
Just wish my husband could enjoy it. The media never rests, and he's glued to his desk posting updates. He called at lunch, wistful tones in his voice. I know he'd love to sled. I might have to allow sledding after dark just so Dad can have his turn, too.
Be safe, all on the East. It's headed your way. It's nasty at first; beautiful later.
28 November 2006
Sorry, busy
My boss's last day is two weeks away, and the other assistant director and I are swamped.
Quick wrap:
Kids had a blast at my family's farm. They were dirty filthy from playing in hay, cattle feed, and who knows what, but they had a great time. Tractors and four-wheelers and hikes through the woods, oh my!
We had a blast out at a Blues game and The Dubliner downtown with N&M. Sometimes, ya just gotta ditch the kids and go hang with college friends, who also ditched their kids.
Our kids hung out here with Grandma and Grandpa while we watched the Blues play pathetically poor hockey, so they weren't hurting.
Next post will be the Breakfast with Santa insanity. Wish us luck. Pray for patience for us.
Quick wrap:
Kids had a blast at my family's farm. They were dirty filthy from playing in hay, cattle feed, and who knows what, but they had a great time. Tractors and four-wheelers and hikes through the woods, oh my!
We had a blast out at a Blues game and The Dubliner downtown with N&M. Sometimes, ya just gotta ditch the kids and go hang with college friends, who also ditched their kids.
Our kids hung out here with Grandma and Grandpa while we watched the Blues play pathetically poor hockey, so they weren't hurting.
Next post will be the Breakfast with Santa insanity. Wish us luck. Pray for patience for us.
09 November 2006
Unsure and unhappy
Two bad days at work. Back-to-back.
I've already been questioning why I'm there . . . for months, actually. But nothing more appealing has opened up.
This past week has really done a number on my psyche. It's really hard to do my job when I don't feel respected, when I'm second-guessed. It's been even worse, recently, as more projects come down the pike, but no real help or new hires to take on some of the work load.
I had planned to take the afternoon today, anyway. My kids were out at noon because it is parent-teacher conferences days. It's nearly 80 degrees here today, so it was a good fall day to get out. Especially after a morning meeting didn't go well. I needed out, mentally and physically.
But the day in the sun with my kids, a picnic at the park, and a quick explore of the cave there helped. Some.
I've already been questioning why I'm there . . . for months, actually. But nothing more appealing has opened up.
This past week has really done a number on my psyche. It's really hard to do my job when I don't feel respected, when I'm second-guessed. It's been even worse, recently, as more projects come down the pike, but no real help or new hires to take on some of the work load.
I had planned to take the afternoon today, anyway. My kids were out at noon because it is parent-teacher conferences days. It's nearly 80 degrees here today, so it was a good fall day to get out. Especially after a morning meeting didn't go well. I needed out, mentally and physically.
But the day in the sun with my kids, a picnic at the park, and a quick explore of the cave there helped. Some.
06 November 2006
02 November 2006
Three is a magic number
Years ago, we bought the Schoolhouse Rock DVD when it came out. Our eldest was fascinated by it, and as Gen Xers who grew up with it, we thought it was beyond cool.
After multiple watchings and a move from IL to here, we packed it away and didn't bother pulling it out. There's only so much Conjunction Junction one can stand.
I pulled it back out about a month ago, and our eldest rediscovered it, and our four-year-old son was mesmerized by it. He has favorites. He can sing entire songs. This from a kid who previously had zlich, zip, nada interest in anything educational.
We took all three to a local production of Schoolhouse Rock Live! recently. That's when I learned that "Three is a magic number" is my son's favorite episode.
He's now fascinated by it. He looks around the house for combinations of three. He's learned subtraction this week, just by figuring out how to get to 3, or 6, or 9. Basic multiplication: He's got it, at least when it's the 3s.
I'm blown over. It's like a switch flipped on in his head, and now he's learning by leaps and bounds. Math. Reading. He now spends hours with this phonics computer game we bought his older sister years ago. He spelled ANT last night, out of the blue.
Incredible.
It's inspired my little hyperkenetic kid to learn, more than 30 years after it was created to teach me (and the rest of us) to learn during Saturday morning cartoons.
After multiple watchings and a move from IL to here, we packed it away and didn't bother pulling it out. There's only so much Conjunction Junction one can stand.
I pulled it back out about a month ago, and our eldest rediscovered it, and our four-year-old son was mesmerized by it. He has favorites. He can sing entire songs. This from a kid who previously had zlich, zip, nada interest in anything educational.
We took all three to a local production of Schoolhouse Rock Live! recently. That's when I learned that "Three is a magic number" is my son's favorite episode.
He's now fascinated by it. He looks around the house for combinations of three. He's learned subtraction this week, just by figuring out how to get to 3, or 6, or 9. Basic multiplication: He's got it, at least when it's the 3s.
I'm blown over. It's like a switch flipped on in his head, and now he's learning by leaps and bounds. Math. Reading. He now spends hours with this phonics computer game we bought his older sister years ago. He spelled ANT last night, out of the blue.
Incredible.
It's inspired my little hyperkenetic kid to learn, more than 30 years after it was created to teach me (and the rest of us) to learn during Saturday morning cartoons.
27 October 2006
Go crazy folks!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
St. Louis Cardinals, World Series Champions!
My kids are happy, my daughter's thrilled that I'll no longer be stressing out by the TV. My brother is somewhere in downtown St. Louie right now, partying with the masses. Wish I were there with him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
St. Louis Cardinals, World Series Champions!
My kids are happy, my daughter's thrilled that I'll no longer be stressing out by the TV. My brother is somewhere in downtown St. Louie right now, partying with the masses. Wish I were there with him.
So very, very close
We're so close.
We've been this close before, only to lose. 1985 and 1987 are etched in my memory banks. They aren't good memories. Don Denkinger's name mentioned in my presence is still likely to set me off on a tirade.
It's a very good thing I didn't know my husband in 1987. I probably wouldn't have married him if I had.
Lest you think I'm the only slightly insane, slightly superstitious Cardinals fan out there, I direct you here, to recent IM chats among our friend Christian and his two friends Julia and Jenny.
Scroll down a bit if it doesn't display properly. Then settle in for blow-by-blow hilarity.
We've been this close before, only to lose. 1985 and 1987 are etched in my memory banks. They aren't good memories. Don Denkinger's name mentioned in my presence is still likely to set me off on a tirade.
It's a very good thing I didn't know my husband in 1987. I probably wouldn't have married him if I had.
Lest you think I'm the only slightly insane, slightly superstitious Cardinals fan out there, I direct you here, to recent IM chats among our friend Christian and his two friends Julia and Jenny.
Scroll down a bit if it doesn't display properly. Then settle in for blow-by-blow hilarity.
20 October 2006
Wooooo-HOOOOOO!!
Oh. My. God.
That was the longest game of my life. I was sure we were doomed when Beltran came up in the 9th with the bases loaded.
Adam Wainwright is now my baseball hero. Wow. Three curves, three strikes, got him looking.
Keep it up, guys. Four wins to go. Hopefully not in the snow.
That was the longest game of my life. I was sure we were doomed when Beltran came up in the 9th with the bases loaded.
Adam Wainwright is now my baseball hero. Wow. Three curves, three strikes, got him looking.
Keep it up, guys. Four wins to go. Hopefully not in the snow.
19 October 2006
Go Cards!
Please, please, please.
I'm scaring my kids, because I yell at the TV when you do something dumb, like swing at a breaking ball in the dirt, or line out to the second baseman.
Please, please, please, win or lose, don't do dumb things, 'kay?
Thanks.
Go Cards!
I'm scaring my kids, because I yell at the TV when you do something dumb, like swing at a breaking ball in the dirt, or line out to the second baseman.
Please, please, please, win or lose, don't do dumb things, 'kay?
Thanks.
Go Cards!
13 October 2006
Stupid Killer B
Carlos Beltran v. Jeff Weaver. Did not end pretty.
Beltran finds a way to mess with our pitchers' heads every October. See Jayson Stark's commentary on that lovely development here.
Beltran finds a way to mess with our pitchers' heads every October. See Jayson Stark's commentary on that lovely development here.
10 October 2006
Yay Cardinals!
That's what my son and I said all last week.
Here's hoping we can replicate it this week. Unfortunately, most of the games will be on at times he can't see, being as how his bedtime is at 8 p.m.
That frustrates me, because the way you raise baseball fans is to take them to games and let them watch the important ones. The latter is impossible to do if they are all on during prime time.
(oh, sorry twins fans. didn't mean to jinx you last week.)
Here's hoping we can replicate it this week. Unfortunately, most of the games will be on at times he can't see, being as how his bedtime is at 8 p.m.
That frustrates me, because the way you raise baseball fans is to take them to games and let them watch the important ones. The latter is impossible to do if they are all on during prime time.
(oh, sorry twins fans. didn't mean to jinx you last week.)
03 October 2006
We made it, barely
The only time I've ever cheered for the Atlanta Braves: Saturday and Sunday.
We made it to the postseason. We don't deserve it. But let's make the most of the opportunity, guys.
Go Cards.
(oh, and go Twinkies. I have more hope that you'll make it to the second round.)
We made it to the postseason. We don't deserve it. But let's make the most of the opportunity, guys.
Go Cards.
(oh, and go Twinkies. I have more hope that you'll make it to the second round.)
26 September 2006
Bad Mommy
I totally forgot about the checkup I scheduled for the youngest.
There is nothing worse than looking up at your Outlook notes and seeing: "You should be at the doctor's office in nine minutes, and you have no prayer of making it, because you are on the north side of town, and the doc is on the south side."
Crap, crap, crap.
For about 30 seconds, I was delusional enough to think I could make it. Then I gave up that delusion, and called the doc and rescheduled for next week.
There is nothing worse than looking up at your Outlook notes and seeing: "You should be at the doctor's office in nine minutes, and you have no prayer of making it, because you are on the north side of town, and the doc is on the south side."
Crap, crap, crap.
For about 30 seconds, I was delusional enough to think I could make it. Then I gave up that delusion, and called the doc and rescheduled for next week.
22 September 2006
What, exactly, are you on?
Fashion designers, I'm lookin' at you. What in the name of Michael Kors is going on?
I've seen the Getty Images of the fall shows, and I'm NOT impressed.
This is not the '80s.
I've already lived that. The skinny jeans, the shorts with tights,bubble skirts . . . that looked silly on me in junior high and high school.
I'm sure as hell not going to my next power meeting in ANY of this stuff.
Seriously, if you are going to redo an era, can we dothis .
I've seen the Getty Images of the fall shows, and I'm NOT impressed.
This is not the '80s.
I've already lived that. The skinny jeans, the shorts with tights,
I'm sure as hell not going to my next power meeting in ANY of this stuff.
Seriously, if you are going to redo an era, can we do
20 September 2006
My hometown's 15 minutes of fame
Over. Thank goodness.
I'm happy the child was found, safe, sound, and unharmed.
And I'm forever grateful that now CNN, FOX NEWS, et al have departed, and will no longer be showing the place I grew up as the land of rubes and idiots and hicks.
Some of them, are, sure. But most, not so much.
I'm a reporter, and I'm appalled at how little effort was put into finding the intelligent to interview. Then again, the intelligent don't usually hang out at the Quik-E-Marts of the world.
Sigh.
I'm happy the child was found, safe, sound, and unharmed.
And I'm forever grateful that now CNN, FOX NEWS, et al have departed, and will no longer be showing the place I grew up as the land of rubes and idiots and hicks.
Some of them, are, sure. But most, not so much.
I'm a reporter, and I'm appalled at how little effort was put into finding the intelligent to interview. Then again, the intelligent don't usually hang out at the Quik-E-Marts of the world.
Sigh.
17 September 2006
Busy-o-rama
I thought things would slow down a bit after Labor Day. It was not to be.
Just in the past few days since our last holiday:
* Youngest came down with hand-foot-mouth virus, and was out of daycare for four days this week.
* My boss announced he's leaving at the end of the year. Suddenly, work is even more hectic as he's got a short-timer mode about him, and the power vacuum is being filled by someone else. This is not necessarily a good thing.
* Hubby and I signed up for a couple's retreat months ago. Then I forgot about it, completely. It's next weekend, and somehow, we have to be in St. Louis by an incredibly early hour on Friday evening and have dropped the kids and the dog at my parents' long before then. Somehow, this seemed like a better idea last February when I signed us up.
* We did a family portrait over the weekend. We won't be buying any. It was that bad, as middle child made goofy faces in every shot, youngest child had finger in mouth the entire time or was ready to blow at any moment. Maybe we'll try again at my cousin's wedding in three weeks. Surely we can get one good picture that day, right?
Just in the past few days since our last holiday:
* Youngest came down with hand-foot-mouth virus, and was out of daycare for four days this week.
* My boss announced he's leaving at the end of the year. Suddenly, work is even more hectic as he's got a short-timer mode about him, and the power vacuum is being filled by someone else. This is not necessarily a good thing.
* Hubby and I signed up for a couple's retreat months ago. Then I forgot about it, completely. It's next weekend, and somehow, we have to be in St. Louis by an incredibly early hour on Friday evening and have dropped the kids and the dog at my parents' long before then. Somehow, this seemed like a better idea last February when I signed us up.
* We did a family portrait over the weekend. We won't be buying any. It was that bad, as middle child made goofy faces in every shot, youngest child had finger in mouth the entire time or was ready to blow at any moment. Maybe we'll try again at my cousin's wedding in three weeks. Surely we can get one good picture that day, right?
06 September 2006
My pretty, pretty princess
My baby is two.
Two.
Can't be, but it is all the same.
She's very petite, so it's easy to forget how old she is. The child still fits in clothing made for children half her age.
She reminds us of her age through action, though. Climb to the top of Mount Couch. She talks in complete sentences, and started speaking that way that much earlier than my other two ever did.
You wouldn't think someone so short and semi-verbal could scare a four-year-old boy, one big for his age and mouthy, but she can.
* * *
Two years ago, we nearly lost her before we had her. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck three times, and she came so quickly, no one realized until she was nearly born.
I was told not to push, and had to stop for a full five minutes. Those of you who have had kids know that's almost impossible.
Those of you who haven't: Remember that trick where you drop a lit match in a narrow bottle, then set a hard-boiled egg on top of the bottle opening? Eventually the vacuum pressure is so strong, the egg is sucked through. Just at the moment the egg is to pull through . . . stop it. Hold it there. For five minutes.
Right. Impossible.
Somehow I did, and they unwrapped the cord, and she smiled at me. (I swear, we have photographic evidence.)
* * *
My youngest is the most cheerful child I've ever met. She's sweet, she's empathtic and loving. She has a temper, but generally, it never shows.
Unlike my first girl, when I banned pink in all shades, hues, and forms, this time, I'm embracing it. My youngest is likely to greet you with a tiara, a pink tutu, and a sword and a Thomas train in her hands.
She loves all things pretty pretty princess. She also loves getting dirty and playing with her brother outside, following in his daredevil footsteps every chance she can get.
It took me almost 10 years to learn those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can be a pretty pretty princess, and still love Legos and dump trucks.
We had a pretty pretty princess party over the weekend. Pink castle cake, pink tiara, pink straws, lots of pink. My little one is now the proud owner of a Bear Co. bear she picked out and stuffed herself, complete with pretty pretty princess tutu. Pink, of course.
She has two new dolls, and a pink stroller that she pushes them around in. She's willing to share the dolls and the bear with her siblings. But woe to the person who touches her stroller. She attacks her brother, assaults his ears with a high-pitched screech if he touches it, then comes over to shove him away from her baby's stroller.
My pretty, pretty princess isn't going to wait for a knight to come rescue her. She's willing to fight for herself, and her stuff.
Isn't that the way all our pretty, pretty princesses should be?
Two.
Can't be, but it is all the same.
She's very petite, so it's easy to forget how old she is. The child still fits in clothing made for children half her age.
She reminds us of her age through action, though. Climb to the top of Mount Couch. She talks in complete sentences, and started speaking that way that much earlier than my other two ever did.
You wouldn't think someone so short and semi-verbal could scare a four-year-old boy, one big for his age and mouthy, but she can.
* * *
Two years ago, we nearly lost her before we had her. Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck three times, and she came so quickly, no one realized until she was nearly born.
I was told not to push, and had to stop for a full five minutes. Those of you who have had kids know that's almost impossible.
Those of you who haven't: Remember that trick where you drop a lit match in a narrow bottle, then set a hard-boiled egg on top of the bottle opening? Eventually the vacuum pressure is so strong, the egg is sucked through. Just at the moment the egg is to pull through . . . stop it. Hold it there. For five minutes.
Right. Impossible.
Somehow I did, and they unwrapped the cord, and she smiled at me. (I swear, we have photographic evidence.)
* * *
My youngest is the most cheerful child I've ever met. She's sweet, she's empathtic and loving. She has a temper, but generally, it never shows.
Unlike my first girl, when I banned pink in all shades, hues, and forms, this time, I'm embracing it. My youngest is likely to greet you with a tiara, a pink tutu, and a sword and a Thomas train in her hands.
She loves all things pretty pretty princess. She also loves getting dirty and playing with her brother outside, following in his daredevil footsteps every chance she can get.
It took me almost 10 years to learn those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can be a pretty pretty princess, and still love Legos and dump trucks.
We had a pretty pretty princess party over the weekend. Pink castle cake, pink tiara, pink straws, lots of pink. My little one is now the proud owner of a Bear Co. bear she picked out and stuffed herself, complete with pretty pretty princess tutu. Pink, of course.
She has two new dolls, and a pink stroller that she pushes them around in. She's willing to share the dolls and the bear with her siblings. But woe to the person who touches her stroller. She attacks her brother, assaults his ears with a high-pitched screech if he touches it, then comes over to shove him away from her baby's stroller.
My pretty, pretty princess isn't going to wait for a knight to come rescue her. She's willing to fight for herself, and her stuff.
Isn't that the way all our pretty, pretty princesses should be?
01 September 2006
Train wreck
That's what this week has been.
My boss is on vacation.
I'm wearing two hats, one of which is his public relations one.
I'm horrid at PR. I duck it whenever possible.
So, this week:
* Stadium is hit by vandals. We share the facility with another entity, so that PR person is asking me if it will be cleaned up in time for prep football this weekend. Me, I'm thinking, "Prep football? Already?"
* Stadium clean, I have to deal with a zillion little fires.
* Big fire: major speaker for a scheduled debate, well-known speaker, one who is 50 percent of the debate, is stuck in O'Hare, scrambling for another flight. Five hours before the debate is due to start. Panic ensues. After hunting for a backup (thank you to that brave person, btw), turns out the stuck person manages to get unstuck, arrives in time (though frazzled), and does a wonderful job with her counterpart on a debate about civil liberties.
* After working a (ugh) 17-hour day, I had planned to stay home and sleep in a bit today. Not happening, because as I walked in my house at near 10 p.m., dh has to bolt out the door, drive to work, and stay up way too late in an attempt to fix something. So he got to sleep in, not me.
* Early dismissal at kids' school. Grab them. Carry sobbing, crying, unhappy four-year-old into his room at aftercare. Leave feeling very guilty because:
* Plans to leave work by 1 p.m. and take kids to park after school lets out early foiled, I try for 2. Then reminded by student of photo shoot I scheduled at 2:30. Try for 3. Leave office at 3:45 p.m. Take kids home, let them play in yard and sandbox. We're all happy about that, at least.
So, it's been a long, long, long, long week. Thanks to those who have listened to me whine, both in person and by cyberspace.
Long weekend now here, I'm off to pull together youngest's second birthday party for tomorrow/Sunday. Somehow, I managed to buy pretty pretty princess party stuff during a lunch hour this week. My mom has cake stuff, so tomorrow, I'm makin' a castle cake. Photos, if it turns out, to come.
My boss is on vacation.
I'm wearing two hats, one of which is his public relations one.
I'm horrid at PR. I duck it whenever possible.
So, this week:
* Stadium is hit by vandals. We share the facility with another entity, so that PR person is asking me if it will be cleaned up in time for prep football this weekend. Me, I'm thinking, "Prep football? Already?"
* Stadium clean, I have to deal with a zillion little fires.
* Big fire: major speaker for a scheduled debate, well-known speaker, one who is 50 percent of the debate, is stuck in O'Hare, scrambling for another flight. Five hours before the debate is due to start. Panic ensues. After hunting for a backup (thank you to that brave person, btw), turns out the stuck person manages to get unstuck, arrives in time (though frazzled), and does a wonderful job with her counterpart on a debate about civil liberties.
* After working a (ugh) 17-hour day, I had planned to stay home and sleep in a bit today. Not happening, because as I walked in my house at near 10 p.m., dh has to bolt out the door, drive to work, and stay up way too late in an attempt to fix something. So he got to sleep in, not me.
* Early dismissal at kids' school. Grab them. Carry sobbing, crying, unhappy four-year-old into his room at aftercare. Leave feeling very guilty because:
* Plans to leave work by 1 p.m. and take kids to park after school lets out early foiled, I try for 2. Then reminded by student of photo shoot I scheduled at 2:30. Try for 3. Leave office at 3:45 p.m. Take kids home, let them play in yard and sandbox. We're all happy about that, at least.
So, it's been a long, long, long, long week. Thanks to those who have listened to me whine, both in person and by cyberspace.
Long weekend now here, I'm off to pull together youngest's second birthday party for tomorrow/Sunday. Somehow, I managed to buy pretty pretty princess party stuff during a lunch hour this week. My mom has cake stuff, so tomorrow, I'm makin' a castle cake. Photos, if it turns out, to come.
19 August 2006
Start o' school
I knew I was in trouble when my son started hinting that I should go two minutes after I dropped him off.
We were in the gym with the other kids, waiting for the start-of-school bell to ring. I wanted to hang out and make sure he could find his room. Plus, he couldn't possibly carry everything, even if he thought he could.
My eldest was already with her friends at the fifth-grade table. Her best friends said "Hi" to my son, then promptly told him to leave them be. He actually seemed okay with that.
The morning prayer and Pledge of Alliegance said (Hey, I still know all the words. Go me.), we followed the crowd up the steps.
"Mom, go," he says, grabbing for his nap mat as we are in the middle of the melee on the landing.
"No, I can help you carry this, at least," says me.
"I can do it," he says.
"I'll leave as soon as you get to your room," says me.
We walk down the hall, turn into his room, and he's grabbing the mat away from me. I hold on, ask his teacher where she'd like it. Son is practically shoving me out the door.
I make an attempt at a kiss, which he rebuffs. So, out the door I go. Truly, I held in the tears until I was in my car.
Two days in:
Son loves K4. (It's a meld of preschool and kindergarten, with Montessori thrown in). He already has a "very good listener" note from his teacher. If you know him, you know that is a huge deal, because listening is not his strong suit with us.
Eldest's class is practically all girls. In first grade, they had a huge class with a good gender mix. For second and third grade, they stayed in the same room, because it was the only classroom that could hold them all. Now, they are down to four boys and 12 girls. Those poor four boys. Outnumbered 3-to-1, in fifth grade, the year of female hormones starting to hit.
We were in the gym with the other kids, waiting for the start-of-school bell to ring. I wanted to hang out and make sure he could find his room. Plus, he couldn't possibly carry everything, even if he thought he could.
My eldest was already with her friends at the fifth-grade table. Her best friends said "Hi" to my son, then promptly told him to leave them be. He actually seemed okay with that.
The morning prayer and Pledge of Alliegance said (Hey, I still know all the words. Go me.), we followed the crowd up the steps.
"Mom, go," he says, grabbing for his nap mat as we are in the middle of the melee on the landing.
"No, I can help you carry this, at least," says me.
"I can do it," he says.
"I'll leave as soon as you get to your room," says me.
We walk down the hall, turn into his room, and he's grabbing the mat away from me. I hold on, ask his teacher where she'd like it. Son is practically shoving me out the door.
I make an attempt at a kiss, which he rebuffs. So, out the door I go. Truly, I held in the tears until I was in my car.
Two days in:
Son loves K4. (It's a meld of preschool and kindergarten, with Montessori thrown in). He already has a "very good listener" note from his teacher. If you know him, you know that is a huge deal, because listening is not his strong suit with us.
Eldest's class is practically all girls. In first grade, they had a huge class with a good gender mix. For second and third grade, they stayed in the same room, because it was the only classroom that could hold them all. Now, they are down to four boys and 12 girls. Those poor four boys. Outnumbered 3-to-1, in fifth grade, the year of female hormones starting to hit.
16 August 2006
Catch-up
This last six weeks have been crazy. Crazy at work, crazy at home, crazy with extended family, and hey, school starts tomorrow, so you only get a list of high- and low-lights, not a real post:
* Funny: Youngest loves to be read to. Loves to drag books to a victi-, er, reader and demand reading ability. Overheard while fixing dinner: Middle child, in best four-year-old plaintive wail: "C-, I don't know *how* to wead!"
* Stress: My younger sister had her appendix out three weeks ago. Genetically crummy appendixes run in our family, so now I live in fear for my kids. Interesting appendix facts: One in 15 Americans has their appendix removed. Some folks (read "us") are genetically predisposed to getting appendictis because of a smaller opening from the intestine to the appendix, which allows crud to accumulate and eventually get infected.
* Social: I finally get to go to a conference. One week to SPJ in Chicago. Drop me a line if you'll be there, or know someone I might know there, 'cause I'm on my own, all alone.
* Silly: My three kids, in a kiddie pool, dumping water on top of their heads in 100 degree heat, and laughing like loons.
* Depressing: My grandmother slipping into full dementia. She's now out of her assisted living apartment, into a nursing home. She's already tried to escape, multiple times. She's winging among decades, sometimes three or four in a 10-minute span of time. One minute I'm me, another minute I'm baby me, yet another, I'm not even around, she's 18 and a housekeeper in St. Louis. It's exhausting for the entire family. Some of us are coping better than others.
* Sweaty: It has been insanely freakin' hot here. No rain to speak of in weeks. But at least no sinkholes or power outages (sympathies to the St. Louie folk).
* Heartburn: Is what the Cardinals are giving me. I can handle losing years better than this schitzophrenic mess of a season.
* Scary: School starts tomorrow. I have a fifth grader and a pre-kindergartener. Two more years, and my youngest will be in pre-K, too. Babydom is finally done here. I'm a tad verklempt.
* Proof God has a sense of humor: My youngest has a temper to match her red fuzzy head. Lucky me. My husband calls her Mini-Me.
Stop laughing. All of you.
* Funny: Youngest loves to be read to. Loves to drag books to a victi-, er, reader and demand reading ability. Overheard while fixing dinner: Middle child, in best four-year-old plaintive wail: "C-, I don't know *how* to wead!"
* Stress: My younger sister had her appendix out three weeks ago. Genetically crummy appendixes run in our family, so now I live in fear for my kids. Interesting appendix facts: One in 15 Americans has their appendix removed. Some folks (read "us") are genetically predisposed to getting appendictis because of a smaller opening from the intestine to the appendix, which allows crud to accumulate and eventually get infected.
* Social: I finally get to go to a conference. One week to SPJ in Chicago. Drop me a line if you'll be there, or know someone I might know there, 'cause I'm on my own, all alone.
* Silly: My three kids, in a kiddie pool, dumping water on top of their heads in 100 degree heat, and laughing like loons.
* Depressing: My grandmother slipping into full dementia. She's now out of her assisted living apartment, into a nursing home. She's already tried to escape, multiple times. She's winging among decades, sometimes three or four in a 10-minute span of time. One minute I'm me, another minute I'm baby me, yet another, I'm not even around, she's 18 and a housekeeper in St. Louis. It's exhausting for the entire family. Some of us are coping better than others.
* Sweaty: It has been insanely freakin' hot here. No rain to speak of in weeks. But at least no sinkholes or power outages (sympathies to the St. Louie folk).
* Heartburn: Is what the Cardinals are giving me. I can handle losing years better than this schitzophrenic mess of a season.
* Scary: School starts tomorrow. I have a fifth grader and a pre-kindergartener. Two more years, and my youngest will be in pre-K, too. Babydom is finally done here. I'm a tad verklempt.
* Proof God has a sense of humor: My youngest has a temper to match her red fuzzy head. Lucky me. My husband calls her Mini-Me.
Stop laughing. All of you.
13 July 2006
Relative humidity
The recent rains have added a layer of wet sogginess to everything. You know it is bad when the last rain was three days ago, but the yard is still a muddy swamp. Our dog needs a bath, but I refuse to do it until I'm sure he won't be muddy three seconds later.
I'm trying to reduce stress and get back in shape by biking on the trail near our house. Right now my personal trainer is with her grandparents (a nine-year-old who loves to bike is a *great* nag) and the downpours have slowed me down. But I'll be back on the bike this weekend.
Slogging through the air on a bike when it is this humid, it just feels like you are cutting through jello.
But it's worth it. On the days I bike, I have more energy. I'm reconnecting with nature, as the trail cuts through some of the prettier parts of the city. It gives me time to think, something I rarely have time to do anymore, with three kids who think chanting "Mom" will get them what they want sooner, and an office where the same type of thing happens all too frequently.
I've found interesting things, like the pet cemetery. And the memorial there for a human. A state trooper lost his life in a shootout near that spot, on Pearl Harbor Day.
I paused at that spot to check out the marker. Then I paused to think about that moment: While half a world away, one of the biggest tragedies in U.S. history was taking place, in that spot, a small tragedy that affected a small number of lives happened.
Another reminder to take the time to enjoy life while it happens.
I'm trying to reduce stress and get back in shape by biking on the trail near our house. Right now my personal trainer is with her grandparents (a nine-year-old who loves to bike is a *great* nag) and the downpours have slowed me down. But I'll be back on the bike this weekend.
Slogging through the air on a bike when it is this humid, it just feels like you are cutting through jello.
But it's worth it. On the days I bike, I have more energy. I'm reconnecting with nature, as the trail cuts through some of the prettier parts of the city. It gives me time to think, something I rarely have time to do anymore, with three kids who think chanting "Mom" will get them what they want sooner, and an office where the same type of thing happens all too frequently.
I've found interesting things, like the pet cemetery. And the memorial there for a human. A state trooper lost his life in a shootout near that spot, on Pearl Harbor Day.
I paused at that spot to check out the marker. Then I paused to think about that moment: While half a world away, one of the biggest tragedies in U.S. history was taking place, in that spot, a small tragedy that affected a small number of lives happened.
Another reminder to take the time to enjoy life while it happens.
29 June 2006
Proud member: Cardinals Nation
For those who know me, I'm a wee bit obsessive about baseball.
Especially the Cardinals. I grew up listening to them with my dad and his dad, while out on the farm, in the truck, in the farmhouse. My dad and I went to games. Straight-A tickets were my life in grade school, and when I couldn't get 'em anymore, I bugged my siblings to get 'em.
Sure, I married a Twins fan. It's a mixed marriage. If we end up in the World Series against each other, I've promised to move out to save the marriage.
I'm not joking. Those of you who know me best know that.
So the recent eight-game skid has sent me over the edge.
My husband is a Twinkie's fan. He's philosophical about losses. My eldest is a Cubs fan (I know, I know, I'm working on it). She's learning that it's expected and a fact of life.
So, watching the last two innings of the game last night on Fox Sports Midwest (greatest invention ev-ah), I was about to throw in the towel in the ninth. Hubby made me stay.
Thanks hon.
Bernie Miklasz of the Post-Dispatch(who I've been reading since he was a cub reporter and I was a kid), details how nuts we Cards fans get in light of a fluke win after an eight-game skid.
Especially the Cardinals. I grew up listening to them with my dad and his dad, while out on the farm, in the truck, in the farmhouse. My dad and I went to games. Straight-A tickets were my life in grade school, and when I couldn't get 'em anymore, I bugged my siblings to get 'em.
Sure, I married a Twins fan. It's a mixed marriage. If we end up in the World Series against each other, I've promised to move out to save the marriage.
I'm not joking. Those of you who know me best know that.
So the recent eight-game skid has sent me over the edge.
My husband is a Twinkie's fan. He's philosophical about losses. My eldest is a Cubs fan (I know, I know, I'm working on it). She's learning that it's expected and a fact of life.
So, watching the last two innings of the game last night on Fox Sports Midwest (greatest invention ev-ah), I was about to throw in the towel in the ninth. Hubby made me stay.
Thanks hon.
Bernie Miklasz of the Post-Dispatch(who I've been reading since he was a cub reporter and I was a kid), details how nuts we Cards fans get in light of a fluke win after an eight-game skid.
20 June 2006
Summer slam
Somehow, every day, I have good intentions of posting.
And somehow, every day, real life intervenes with cyberlife.
So, forgive me, but posts will be few and far between. In light of recent deaths this year (look, I can be taught, Maurie and Rob), I'm taking time in the real world to enjoy my kids, and my life.
I won't abandon y'all, but after losing a surrogate mom to cancer and one of the best mentors/Iowa columnists ever to ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) in the first six months of 2006, I've decided some things in life are more important.
Life is busy. But in a good way. My son started swim lessons last night, and is having a blast. My eldest is in her second week of day camp, and having a blast. She learned how to sew with her grandmother at the start of the month, and made a gorgeous quilt. Now maybe that sewing machine will get some use.
The little one, while still small in stature, is large in life. Her favorite word is NO. She doesn't want to be carried any longer (sniff), but will squirm out of my arms and run to follow her siblings to do what they are doing.
I'm going to enjoy the summer with my kids. Maybe later this week I'll post about lightning bugs, as we plan to catch some this weekend at my parents' farm.
And somehow, every day, real life intervenes with cyberlife.
So, forgive me, but posts will be few and far between. In light of recent deaths this year (look, I can be taught, Maurie and Rob), I'm taking time in the real world to enjoy my kids, and my life.
I won't abandon y'all, but after losing a surrogate mom to cancer and one of the best mentors/Iowa columnists ever to ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) in the first six months of 2006, I've decided some things in life are more important.
Life is busy. But in a good way. My son started swim lessons last night, and is having a blast. My eldest is in her second week of day camp, and having a blast. She learned how to sew with her grandmother at the start of the month, and made a gorgeous quilt. Now maybe that sewing machine will get some use.
The little one, while still small in stature, is large in life. Her favorite word is NO. She doesn't want to be carried any longer (sniff), but will squirm out of my arms and run to follow her siblings to do what they are doing.
I'm going to enjoy the summer with my kids. Maybe later this week I'll post about lightning bugs, as we plan to catch some this weekend at my parents' farm.
25 May 2006
Blog shout out
Okay, so we're headed to family for the weekend, which means my chances of posting for the next week are nil.
I'll leave you with some baseball blog gems that we've found for our teams. If you have a funnier Cardinals blog, let me know, because BatGirl is hard to compete with.
The Twins best (and funniest) blogger, with a hilarious recent entry:
BatGirl
A Cards blog that is mildy entertaining:
Cardinals Diaspora
I'll leave you with some baseball blog gems that we've found for our teams. If you have a funnier Cardinals blog, let me know, because BatGirl is hard to compete with.
The Twins best (and funniest) blogger, with a hilarious recent entry:
A Cards blog that is mildy entertaining:
23 May 2006
Currently spinning
Dixie Chicks, Taking the Long Way.
Sweet.
I'm not a techie like my bud Christian, who has a running feed from last.fm (quite cool, btw). But I ran out today and bought the new CD from one of my favorite groups.
It's good. Really good. Not as bluegrassy, but it's not bad. "I Hope" has a gospel tinge to it. "Lullaby" is beautiful, and I love that since they've had children, they always include a lullaby on the album.
Oh, and they don't only call out W., they also call out Lubbock. Which, you know, those who have lived in Texas, really needed to be done. So amen, good job chicks.
Sweet.
I'm not a techie like my bud Christian, who has a running feed from last.fm (quite cool, btw). But I ran out today and bought the new CD from one of my favorite groups.
It's good. Really good. Not as bluegrassy, but it's not bad. "I Hope" has a gospel tinge to it. "Lullaby" is beautiful, and I love that since they've had children, they always include a lullaby on the album.
Oh, and they don't only call out W., they also call out Lubbock. Which, you know, those who have lived in Texas, really needed to be done. So amen, good job chicks.
11 May 2006
Death in the family
That's how it seems.
Every summer of my life as a child, my parents would pack us up in the car, drive up U.S. 63, and after seven hours of torture (first in a Nova, then in Celebrities), we'd land in Newton, Iowa, for our summer vacation visit with my dad's best friend's family.
Newton was idyllic. It was also Maytag. Maytag Park. Maytag Pool. Maytag museum. Dad's friend: engineer at Maytag.
Maytag died yesterday.
They'd been struggling for a while in the new, competitive marketplace. But they prided themselves on building and buying in America.
About three years ago, it became an annual question: Would my dad's friend be able to stay on long enough to get his pension? Layoffs abounded. For a while, it looked like he'd have to move to Chicago, when a CEO decided the way to profitability was to move the entire works to the Chi 'burbs.
Whirlpool bought them a few weeks ago, after a threat from a Chinese company. Two weeks ago, my dad's friend got a mannila envelope with an answer.
Today, the rest of Newton received an answer.
Maytag died today. Newton's in trouble.
Read about a very special place, one I spent time in every summer for 18 years.
[url]http://www.dmregister.com[/url]
Every summer of my life as a child, my parents would pack us up in the car, drive up U.S. 63, and after seven hours of torture (first in a Nova, then in Celebrities), we'd land in Newton, Iowa, for our summer vacation visit with my dad's best friend's family.
Newton was idyllic. It was also Maytag. Maytag Park. Maytag Pool. Maytag museum. Dad's friend: engineer at Maytag.
Maytag died yesterday.
They'd been struggling for a while in the new, competitive marketplace. But they prided themselves on building and buying in America.
About three years ago, it became an annual question: Would my dad's friend be able to stay on long enough to get his pension? Layoffs abounded. For a while, it looked like he'd have to move to Chicago, when a CEO decided the way to profitability was to move the entire works to the Chi 'burbs.
Whirlpool bought them a few weeks ago, after a threat from a Chinese company. Two weeks ago, my dad's friend got a mannila envelope with an answer.
Today, the rest of Newton received an answer.
Maytag died today. Newton's in trouble.
Read about a very special place, one I spent time in every summer for 18 years.
[url]http://www.dmregister.com[/url]
10 May 2006
Why I love my daughter's school
Thursday night was her school's annual talent show. As always, she did a piano piece, and did great.
But that wasn't the best part. This was:
For every performance, every other kid in the place--and parents too--cheered loudly.
Didn't matter how well they did, didn't matter if they were first graders line dancing or a fifth grader telling corny jokes or piano players at any level or a seventh grader rockin' out to licks of Motley Crue or an eighth grader so emotional at his last performance on the stage he's haunted for the past three years' worth of talent shows and Christmas plays that he
forgot some of the lyrics to his song.
Every time: Loud cheers. Wolf whistles. Claps. Pretend lighters held in the air.
That sense of community is just priceless. In so many schools today, it's just not there.
My daughter's school may be the smallest in the school system here. It may be the oldest building.
But it--hands down--has the best atmosphere, and by far the most caring student body, teachers, and parents, I've ever seen.
But that wasn't the best part. This was:
For every performance, every other kid in the place--and parents too--cheered loudly.
Didn't matter how well they did, didn't matter if they were first graders line dancing or a fifth grader telling corny jokes or piano players at any level or a seventh grader rockin' out to licks of Motley Crue or an eighth grader so emotional at his last performance on the stage he's haunted for the past three years' worth of talent shows and Christmas plays that he
forgot some of the lyrics to his song.
Every time: Loud cheers. Wolf whistles. Claps. Pretend lighters held in the air.
That sense of community is just priceless. In so many schools today, it's just not there.
My daughter's school may be the smallest in the school system here. It may be the oldest building.
But it--hands down--has the best atmosphere, and by far the most caring student body, teachers, and parents, I've ever seen.
26 April 2006
Why?
Why does it have to be so darn hard?
I knew parenting wouldn't be easy, but why did I pull the card for three strong-willed kids?
Don't get me wrong, they are great kids, but raising them to be functioning members of society instead of hedonistic cavepeople is work.
Why is it when new management comes in to work, they seem to think they know better than the people who have been there for years?
Both my husband and I are dealing with newish management. We both feel so darn frustrated sometimes, when they take off on some new path that we just know will lead to grief, and they don't listen to us?
It just ends up leaving us feeling like cogs in a wheel. Our institutional knowledge and history of place count for nothing. Oh, and apparently 10+ years in the business count for nothing if you don't have a terminal degree.
Sheesh. I can't write what I'm probably going to want to say after the next few days at work.
Why does corporate America think it owns us body and soul?
Our raises are less than inflation, they expect us to work longer hours, in my case, sometimes travel without much notice, kill our self-esteem, belittle our credentials, and oh, not listen to us (see above). I care about what I do. Deeply. I just don't want to live there, no do I want to be dictated to. Hello, I've got a degree from a major university. Nowhere on that degree does it read "Slave".
I just want to tell them to chuck it. Nothing is as important as my family, and I resent the fact that my husband and I are forced to negotiate, or worse, value work over time spent with the people most important to us.
In case you can't tell, it's been a pretty darn awful couple of weeks, and it doesn't look like it's gonna get much better soon.
I knew parenting wouldn't be easy, but why did I pull the card for three strong-willed kids?
Don't get me wrong, they are great kids, but raising them to be functioning members of society instead of hedonistic cavepeople is work.
Why is it when new management comes in to work, they seem to think they know better than the people who have been there for years?
Both my husband and I are dealing with newish management. We both feel so darn frustrated sometimes, when they take off on some new path that we just know will lead to grief, and they don't listen to us?
It just ends up leaving us feeling like cogs in a wheel. Our institutional knowledge and history of place count for nothing. Oh, and apparently 10+ years in the business count for nothing if you don't have a terminal degree.
Sheesh. I can't write what I'm probably going to want to say after the next few days at work.
Why does corporate America think it owns us body and soul?
Our raises are less than inflation, they expect us to work longer hours, in my case, sometimes travel without much notice, kill our self-esteem, belittle our credentials, and oh, not listen to us (see above). I care about what I do. Deeply. I just don't want to live there, no do I want to be dictated to. Hello, I've got a degree from a major university. Nowhere on that degree does it read "Slave".
I just want to tell them to chuck it. Nothing is as important as my family, and I resent the fact that my husband and I are forced to negotiate, or worse, value work over time spent with the people most important to us.
In case you can't tell, it's been a pretty darn awful couple of weeks, and it doesn't look like it's gonna get much better soon.
17 April 2006
Murmph
I love Easter.
I love dark chocolate.
'nough said. :)
Some funny moments:
Twice this weekend our son was up before the crack of dawn. Both times I caught him with chipmunk cheeks o'chocolate. (once from his daycare party stash, once from the Bunny basket stash).
Our youngest looked cute as a button in her frilly pink dress. (yes, I have caved with the second girl. I dress her girly. Deal.) But ten seconds after pulling it over her head, she was saying "NO. NO. NO."
Later that day, she ripped off the skorts Dad changed her into. Apparently she is rejecting the girly clothes at 19 months.
Once again, the only photos we have of our eldest during the Great Egg Hunt are of her back, in blur, because she's running around like a psycho child to snag more eggs than anyone else. This despite the fact that she's pretty sure the Bunny involves trickery with Mom and Dad and other accomplices.
I love dark chocolate.
'nough said. :)
Some funny moments:
Twice this weekend our son was up before the crack of dawn. Both times I caught him with chipmunk cheeks o'chocolate. (once from his daycare party stash, once from the Bunny basket stash).
Our youngest looked cute as a button in her frilly pink dress. (yes, I have caved with the second girl. I dress her girly. Deal.) But ten seconds after pulling it over her head, she was saying "NO. NO. NO."
Later that day, she ripped off the skorts Dad changed her into. Apparently she is rejecting the girly clothes at 19 months.
Once again, the only photos we have of our eldest during the Great Egg Hunt are of her back, in blur, because she's running around like a psycho child to snag more eggs than anyone else. This despite the fact that she's pretty sure the Bunny involves trickery with Mom and Dad and other accomplices.
13 April 2006
Bevare, the Vampire!
Also known as our nearly four-year-old son.
It is a really sad thing when you have to drop your child off at school and preface each day with this line:
Okay, you aren't going to bite anyone today, right?
He's decided that the best way to get his way at school is to chomp. Earlier this week, he was defending his friend, who was having a toy taken away by another egotistical four-year-old (they are all egotistical four-year-olds, mine included). Kid two decided the best way to help his friend was to bite the hand of the offender.
Where are the parenting manuals again? Seriously. We need them.
In other news, our little one is half-monkey. She's decided it is fun to climb on and over furniture. She's barely 29 inches tall. You just don't expect anyone that small to be able to be sitting on top of the back of the sofa.
Want to take bets on how long it is before I have a post here on her breaking her collarbone? Over/under is within a year.
It is a really sad thing when you have to drop your child off at school and preface each day with this line:
Okay, you aren't going to bite anyone today, right?
He's decided that the best way to get his way at school is to chomp. Earlier this week, he was defending his friend, who was having a toy taken away by another egotistical four-year-old (they are all egotistical four-year-olds, mine included). Kid two decided the best way to help his friend was to bite the hand of the offender.
Where are the parenting manuals again? Seriously. We need them.
In other news, our little one is half-monkey. She's decided it is fun to climb on and over furniture. She's barely 29 inches tall. You just don't expect anyone that small to be able to be sitting on top of the back of the sofa.
Want to take bets on how long it is before I have a post here on her breaking her collarbone? Over/under is within a year.
26 March 2006
Mental mommy weekend notes
1) Sleeping in past nine a.m. is bliss. Two days in a row is heaven. No idea why they let me do that.
2) Albert Finney played Daddy Warbucks in Annie.> He also played Ed Masry in Erin Brockovich. Knowing one has now totally ruined the other for me. But my eldest loved watching Annie, even though I had to practically twist her arm to watch it.
3) Why is it that no one is selling sundresses this year? I have a wedding to attend in Texas in two weeks. No sundresses anywhere in petite. Not online, not locally, nowhere. Sheesh.
4) Work cranks up again as spring break ends. But I have no interest right now.
5) Kill Bill entertains me wayyyy more than it should. Especially the soliloquies in Vol. 2.
2) Albert Finney played Daddy Warbucks in Annie.> He also played Ed Masry in Erin Brockovich. Knowing one has now totally ruined the other for me. But my eldest loved watching Annie, even though I had to practically twist her arm to watch it.
3) Why is it that no one is selling sundresses this year? I have a wedding to attend in Texas in two weeks. No sundresses anywhere in petite. Not online, not locally, nowhere. Sheesh.
4) Work cranks up again as spring break ends. But I have no interest right now.
5) Kill Bill entertains me wayyyy more than it should. Especially the soliloquies in Vol. 2.
17 March 2006
Publishing, take me away!
Some of my blogging friends have running lists of what they read.
I don't.
I read.
A lot.
I've always read. My mother banned books from the dinner table when I was a kid (something I still struggle with today, even though I know it is impolite and a bad habit). I started reading somewhere around 3 or 4.
My first book: Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss. My dad read it to me all the time, but by an early age, I didn't have it memorized. I knew how to read from it.
I read to other kids in kindergarten. I'd read in the family car on long trips. I'd read on weekends, nice or not outside, to my parents' chagrin. My mom put a limit of 20 books on me per checkout of the library during the summer.
I still read on trips. I try to read to my kids. Right now my son's favorite is Harry the Dirty Dog (he and Harry have a lot in common). My youngest's favorite is Easter Bugs by David A. Carter. (or any of his books. She loves his pop-ups.)
My eldest isn't a reader. It baffles me. She doesn't read fiction. She's like her dad; she'll read nonfiction. If the topic interests her. Right now, she's plowing through our Calvin and Hobbes collection during spring break.
I consider that a good sign, both for her perspective on life and our parenting skills.
I haven't updated the books side in a while. I've read a lot of great books, and a lot of trash--love my romance novels, I do. But I'm a lazy wench, and editing code takes more time than I have.
But this time, I've added a few well worth reading. Take the time and read them, then let me know what you think.
I don't.
I read.
A lot.
I've always read. My mother banned books from the dinner table when I was a kid (something I still struggle with today, even though I know it is impolite and a bad habit). I started reading somewhere around 3 or 4.
My first book: Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss. My dad read it to me all the time, but by an early age, I didn't have it memorized. I knew how to read from it.
I read to other kids in kindergarten. I'd read in the family car on long trips. I'd read on weekends, nice or not outside, to my parents' chagrin. My mom put a limit of 20 books on me per checkout of the library during the summer.
I still read on trips. I try to read to my kids. Right now my son's favorite is Harry the Dirty Dog (he and Harry have a lot in common). My youngest's favorite is Easter Bugs by David A. Carter. (or any of his books. She loves his pop-ups.)
My eldest isn't a reader. It baffles me. She doesn't read fiction. She's like her dad; she'll read nonfiction. If the topic interests her. Right now, she's plowing through our Calvin and Hobbes collection during spring break.
I consider that a good sign, both for her perspective on life and our parenting skills.
I haven't updated the books side in a while. I've read a lot of great books, and a lot of trash--love my romance novels, I do. But I'm a lazy wench, and editing code takes more time than I have.
But this time, I've added a few well worth reading. Take the time and read them, then let me know what you think.
13 March 2006
Hello, tormado season
Long night . . . tormado warnings and tormados (stealing my son's pronunciation) from 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. last night. Two separate hits, one south of us by a bit, another north of us by a bit.
We're fine. We even missed the softball-sized hail, which hit a mile down the street. We only had marble-sized. Shooter marble-sized, but still.
Kids are still freaked. Husband and I have had three and four hours of sleep respectively. Check out our local paper for photos.
Night all. I'm crashing now that the tormados are gone. Just think, this will only run until September. Being a parent and reassuring scared kids when you are slightly wigging yourself is just no fun.
Sigh.
We're fine. We even missed the softball-sized hail, which hit a mile down the street. We only had marble-sized. Shooter marble-sized, but still.
Kids are still freaked. Husband and I have had three and four hours of sleep respectively. Check out our local paper for photos.
Night all. I'm crashing now that the tormados are gone. Just think, this will only run until September. Being a parent and reassuring scared kids when you are slightly wigging yourself is just no fun.
Sigh.
03 March 2006
Feh
Illness has felled us again. Like many of my blogging compatriots, the evil viruses have us down. I've burned more sick days this year covering ill kids than I want to think about.
Nor do I want to think about the amount of money in copays and medicine we've burned through since Christmas.
My CT is acting up again, so I'm in the brace for another month and the anti-inflammatories for another month. I'm going to be scarce.
To tide you over:
* Why is it that daycares are petri dishes for every bug out there?
* Why is it that my college roommate has to choose between her incredibly awesome job at a major publisher and her newborn? Why can't a valued near-vice president get cut some slack for a couple of years, maybe at 60%? Instead, they are going to train four people to replace her. How insane is that?
* Why is it that I constantly feel behind the eight ball at home and especially at work? I'm always forgetting something. Why?
* Why is it 18-month-olds have to learn how to do a high-pitched shriek just short of the range that only dogs could hear?
* Why is it 18-month-olds must try to kill themselves climbing on furniture/stairs/stacked beanbags/gates/cribs?
* Why is it that the puberty mood swings seem to hit earlier and earlier? My friends with nine-year-olds and I are watching this and wondering what the heck 15 will look like at this rate.
* Why is it my nearly four-year-old shows no interest in writing, but can tell me every minutia of SpongeBob for the last three seasons?
* Why can't I get a good night's sleep lately?
Discuss amongst yourselves. I'll be back when it doesn't hurt like blazes to type. And the kids are healthy.
Nor do I want to think about the amount of money in copays and medicine we've burned through since Christmas.
My CT is acting up again, so I'm in the brace for another month and the anti-inflammatories for another month. I'm going to be scarce.
To tide you over:
* Why is it that daycares are petri dishes for every bug out there?
* Why is it that my college roommate has to choose between her incredibly awesome job at a major publisher and her newborn? Why can't a valued near-vice president get cut some slack for a couple of years, maybe at 60%? Instead, they are going to train four people to replace her. How insane is that?
* Why is it that I constantly feel behind the eight ball at home and especially at work? I'm always forgetting something. Why?
* Why is it 18-month-olds have to learn how to do a high-pitched shriek just short of the range that only dogs could hear?
* Why is it 18-month-olds must try to kill themselves climbing on furniture/stairs/stacked beanbags/gates/cribs?
* Why is it that the puberty mood swings seem to hit earlier and earlier? My friends with nine-year-olds and I are watching this and wondering what the heck 15 will look like at this rate.
* Why is it my nearly four-year-old shows no interest in writing, but can tell me every minutia of SpongeBob for the last three seasons?
* Why can't I get a good night's sleep lately?
Discuss amongst yourselves. I'll be back when it doesn't hurt like blazes to type. And the kids are healthy.
24 February 2006
My love, my life
The days in and out of marriage, you can take each other for granted. I know I sometimes am horribly guilty of it.
You go days without a kiss. You get bogged down in the minutia of life and forget about the other person in your life. Or you are ships passing in the night (or days), chasing after kids and work and whatnot.
And then something smacks you upside the head.
This morning, it was a StoryCorps report on NPR for me.
It was a report about Danny and Annie Perasa, a couple from Brooklyn who first recorded the story of their proposal, acceptance and love two years ago in a StoryCorps booth.
Today was an update. He has terminal brain cancer, but he wanted to tell his story, his love for his wife, one last time.
It had me and my eldest in sobbing tears as I was driving her to school.
Love the ones you love, and let them know it, every day, just like Danny Perasa.
You go days without a kiss. You get bogged down in the minutia of life and forget about the other person in your life. Or you are ships passing in the night (or days), chasing after kids and work and whatnot.
And then something smacks you upside the head.
This morning, it was a StoryCorps report on NPR for me.
It was a report about Danny and Annie Perasa, a couple from Brooklyn who first recorded the story of their proposal, acceptance and love two years ago in a StoryCorps booth.
Today was an update. He has terminal brain cancer, but he wanted to tell his story, his love for his wife, one last time.
It had me and my eldest in sobbing tears as I was driving her to school.
Love the ones you love, and let them know it, every day, just like Danny Perasa.
16 February 2006
Pets. Not worth it.
Ick. We have a floater out in the pond out back.
Dh and I are trying to ignore it. We put goldfish in the pond last spring to cut down on the skeeter population in the backyard. Care has been, um, not the best since winter hit.
My son was obsessed with the floater this morning: "Mom. Mom. MOM....one of the fish is dead. it's floating. i think a squirrel got it. it's floating not squimmming any more. we need to take it out. mom. mom. MOM!"
Wonder if that bloated little sucker has sunk to the bottom yet, or if I'm going to (ew) have to fish it out and take it to the woods tonight. Ick.ick.ick.
I swear, it's dh's turn. I had to clean up the nasty baby bunny ick in des moines after the cat killed it and left it "eeping" on the unfinished basement steps. I can still here that massacre in my head. *shudder*
Dh and I are trying to ignore it. We put goldfish in the pond last spring to cut down on the skeeter population in the backyard. Care has been, um, not the best since winter hit.
My son was obsessed with the floater this morning: "Mom. Mom. MOM....one of the fish is dead. it's floating. i think a squirrel got it. it's floating not squimmming any more. we need to take it out. mom. mom. MOM!"
Wonder if that bloated little sucker has sunk to the bottom yet, or if I'm going to (ew) have to fish it out and take it to the woods tonight. Ick.ick.ick.
I swear, it's dh's turn. I had to clean up the nasty baby bunny ick in des moines after the cat killed it and left it "eeping" on the unfinished basement steps. I can still here that massacre in my head. *shudder*
13 February 2006
Meme from Britain
Foiled! Tagged again, this time from my sil.
I've been lying low, back on anti-inflammatories and brace for carpal tunnel. But this is relatively easy.
Four jobs you've had in your life:
1) A$W carhop/cashier/manager
2) Teaching assistant at journalism school
3) Editor for middle-school textbooks
4) Reporter for newspapers
Four movies you could watch over and over:
1) Pride & Prejudice (A&E/BBC version)
2) When Harry Met Sally
3) Twister
4) Any of the Monty Python ones. Well, maybe not Meaning of Life.
Four places you've lived:
1) St. Joseph, Missouri
2) Westchester County, New York
3) Altoona, Iowa
4) Plainfield, Illinois
Four tv shows you love to watch:
1) Grey's Anatomy
2) Family Guy
3) Anything PBS
4) Boston Legal
Four places you've been on vacation:
1) Grand Cayman
2) Cooperstown, New York
3) Cape Cod
4) The Great North Woods, Minnesota
Four of your favorite foods:
1) Most anything with chocolate
2) Italian dishes. Northern or southern.
3) Meatloaf
4) Chicken, roasted.
4 sites you visit (most days):
1) wonkette.com
2) The New York Times
3) PNM
4) televisionwithoutpity.com
I've been lying low, back on anti-inflammatories and brace for carpal tunnel. But this is relatively easy.
Four jobs you've had in your life:
1) A$W carhop/cashier/manager
2) Teaching assistant at journalism school
3) Editor for middle-school textbooks
4) Reporter for newspapers
Four movies you could watch over and over:
1) Pride & Prejudice (A&E/BBC version)
2) When Harry Met Sally
3) Twister
4) Any of the Monty Python ones. Well, maybe not Meaning of Life.
Four places you've lived:
1) St. Joseph, Missouri
2) Westchester County, New York
3) Altoona, Iowa
4) Plainfield, Illinois
Four tv shows you love to watch:
1) Grey's Anatomy
2) Family Guy
3) Anything PBS
4) Boston Legal
Four places you've been on vacation:
1) Grand Cayman
2) Cooperstown, New York
3) Cape Cod
4) The Great North Woods, Minnesota
Four of your favorite foods:
1) Most anything with chocolate
2) Italian dishes. Northern or southern.
3) Meatloaf
4) Chicken, roasted.
4 sites you visit (most days):
1) wonkette.com
2) The New York Times
3) PNM
4) televisionwithoutpity.com
07 February 2006
Some things aren't meant for kids
Especially real shortbread cookies from Scotland.
Thanks B. & A.
Super-yummy. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Thanks B. & A.
Super-yummy. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
31 January 2006
Meme
To get back into the blogging swing, I'm shamelessly stealing from Ms. Gina.
Ten Things You Might Not Know About Me
1. I grew up on a farm. Two, actually, because I had the run of my mother's parents' farm as well. And I liked it.
(That last part's the bigger secret. I complain about it alot, but I did enjoy it as a kid, for the most part.)
2. I was a speech and debate geek in high school. Extemp. I competed against John Ashcroft Jr. and 11 others at state. As I had laryngitis that day, it wasn't much of a competition on my part.
3. My hair was bone-straight and mostly blonde until puberty.
4. I was in College Republicans. No. Really. Stop LAUGHING! Ask Paula R. She joined with me.
5. Three labors: No pain meds.
6. #5 = not by choice. All kids born in under 5 hours from water breaking/first contraction.
7. I had five miscarriages. So, eight pregnancies, only three kids, one with the help of fertility drugs.
8. The little (and last one) = totally not planned. Ooops. But she's cute, so we'll keep her.
9. I obsessively read trashy romances. No, not Harlequin. The good ones, that Mira and similar publishing houses put out. Julia Quinn, Celeste Bradley, Jo Beverly, Stephanie Laurens. Good stuff.
10. I like bluegrass and NASCAR.
Ten Things You Might Not Know About Me
1. I grew up on a farm. Two, actually, because I had the run of my mother's parents' farm as well. And I liked it.
(That last part's the bigger secret. I complain about it alot, but I did enjoy it as a kid, for the most part.)
2. I was a speech and debate geek in high school. Extemp. I competed against John Ashcroft Jr. and 11 others at state. As I had laryngitis that day, it wasn't much of a competition on my part.
3. My hair was bone-straight and mostly blonde until puberty.
4. I was in College Republicans. No. Really. Stop LAUGHING! Ask Paula R. She joined with me.
5. Three labors: No pain meds.
6. #5 = not by choice. All kids born in under 5 hours from water breaking/first contraction.
7. I had five miscarriages. So, eight pregnancies, only three kids, one with the help of fertility drugs.
8. The little (and last one) = totally not planned. Ooops. But she's cute, so we'll keep her.
9. I obsessively read trashy romances. No, not Harlequin. The good ones, that Mira and similar publishing houses put out. Julia Quinn, Celeste Bradley, Jo Beverly, Stephanie Laurens. Good stuff.
10. I like bluegrass and NASCAR.
Technical difficulties
Sorry folks. We've had server troubles and DNS switches.
It's all good now though, so I'm back.
More blogging later, with the latest Meme from Gina.
It's all good now though, so I'm back.
More blogging later, with the latest Meme from Gina.
13 January 2006
Hilarious
Our son, putting his pajamas in the dining room:
"I can't talk now Dad, I'm naked."
This is even funnier, knowing that a mere three minutes before, he'd been bouncing around the dining room, which has windows on three sides, totally nude and shakin' his thang.
"I can't talk now Dad, I'm naked."
This is even funnier, knowing that a mere three minutes before, he'd been bouncing around the dining room, which has windows on three sides, totally nude and shakin' his thang.
The other side
While at the wake for my friend's mom, I connected with a few folks from college who I hadn't seen in four or five years.
It was great to see them again, if the venue left something to be desired.
Talking, catching up, it dawned on me how the grass really is always greener.
One of my college friends has been trying to have children for years. She and her husband are getting ready to adopt. I know the pain of infertility; we fought it for almost three years. It can be heartwrenching, seeing your friends with babies and you can't have them yourself.
She wanted to hear about my kids; I wanted to hear about what she and her hubby were able to do without them. She's earned two master's degrees; I'd love to have the money and time to do that.
She'd love to have three kids, even though they might drive her insane.
The entire experience made me realize I should appreciate my kids more.
It was great to see them again, if the venue left something to be desired.
Talking, catching up, it dawned on me how the grass really is always greener.
One of my college friends has been trying to have children for years. She and her husband are getting ready to adopt. I know the pain of infertility; we fought it for almost three years. It can be heartwrenching, seeing your friends with babies and you can't have them yourself.
She wanted to hear about my kids; I wanted to hear about what she and her hubby were able to do without them. She's earned two master's degrees; I'd love to have the money and time to do that.
She'd love to have three kids, even though they might drive her insane.
The entire experience made me realize I should appreciate my kids more.
08 January 2006
Ashes to ashes
After the weekend I've had, I probably have enough to blog for months.
My friend's mom is at rest. She chose to die (I firmly believe this, and so does her daughter) on her wedding anniversary.
How fitting: Her husband died years ago, while we were in college. I know she missed him; I know she loved him. But she knew her kids needed her. She grieved. She also moved on. She was there to help her youngest graduate from high school.
She helped her daughters get started in careers, support them when they found spouses. She did the same for her son when he was of an age to do the same.
She hung on, after a bleak diagnosis. She saw not two, but three grandbabies born; I had no idea the little boy I remembered had a child of his own, but at the wake, there he was, a precious new baby who his grandmother was able to hold before she died.
She held onto her children, their lives, until she was sure they didn't need her any longer.
Then she let go.
In life, she was a great example. In death, she was the same. She lived with her illness with dignity. She died on a day to follow her lifelong love into eternity.
May God grant us the same grace.
More blogging on this in the days to come. Truly, I learned a lot this weekend, about death, yes; but also about life.
My friend's mom is at rest. She chose to die (I firmly believe this, and so does her daughter) on her wedding anniversary.
How fitting: Her husband died years ago, while we were in college. I know she missed him; I know she loved him. But she knew her kids needed her. She grieved. She also moved on. She was there to help her youngest graduate from high school.
She helped her daughters get started in careers, support them when they found spouses. She did the same for her son when he was of an age to do the same.
She hung on, after a bleak diagnosis. She saw not two, but three grandbabies born; I had no idea the little boy I remembered had a child of his own, but at the wake, there he was, a precious new baby who his grandmother was able to hold before she died.
She held onto her children, their lives, until she was sure they didn't need her any longer.
Then she let go.
In life, she was a great example. In death, she was the same. She lived with her illness with dignity. She died on a day to follow her lifelong love into eternity.
May God grant us the same grace.
More blogging on this in the days to come. Truly, I learned a lot this weekend, about death, yes; but also about life.
03 January 2006
2006, I expected better
We're not three days into this year, and already I'm wondering if it will be a repeat of 2005.
In 2005, we were all ill. My son broke his collarbone. My job was frustrating. We were stuck here.
So far in 2006: I'm sick. Youngest just got over ear infection. Son rebroke (sigh) his collarbone. My job is getting more frustrating to me. We're still stuck here with no sign of getting out.
And a good woman lost her fight with cancer today. One of my best friends ever is now an orphan, technically. Her dad died years ago.
Life is too short to dwell on the negative, so I'm trying to think of all the good things my friend's mom taught me:
Being a mom does not mean you have to be a jerk.
You can be quiet and still make a loud impact on life.
Wilton cake decorating/baking stuff is worth the money.
Wedding cakes can be constructed in an hour if you have to do it. (That's what she did for ours. She drove it three and a half hours to our reception, gladly, even though we told her it would be okay not to. She insisted on making our cake.)
Life is too short to not enjoy every moment, or at least try to.
Redheads are the best women ever. :)
I knew this was coming, but man, it still hurts.
In 2005, we were all ill. My son broke his collarbone. My job was frustrating. We were stuck here.
So far in 2006: I'm sick. Youngest just got over ear infection. Son rebroke (sigh) his collarbone. My job is getting more frustrating to me. We're still stuck here with no sign of getting out.
And a good woman lost her fight with cancer today. One of my best friends ever is now an orphan, technically. Her dad died years ago.
Life is too short to dwell on the negative, so I'm trying to think of all the good things my friend's mom taught me:
Being a mom does not mean you have to be a jerk.
You can be quiet and still make a loud impact on life.
Wilton cake decorating/baking stuff is worth the money.
Wedding cakes can be constructed in an hour if you have to do it. (That's what she did for ours. She drove it three and a half hours to our reception, gladly, even though we told her it would be okay not to. She insisted on making our cake.)
Life is too short to not enjoy every moment, or at least try to.
Redheads are the best women ever. :)
I knew this was coming, but man, it still hurts.
23 December 2005
Shhhh . . .elf at work . . . .
Why is it that I don't realize how much I've bought until I sit down and wrap?
Oy.
Gonna need more wine. It's gonna be a long night.
If I don't get back on tomorrow: Merry Christmas. Or Chrismakwanzakuh. Or Festivus. Or Solstice. Or whatever.
:)
Oy.
Gonna need more wine. It's gonna be a long night.
If I don't get back on tomorrow: Merry Christmas. Or Chrismakwanzakuh. Or Festivus. Or Solstice. Or whatever.
:)
20 December 2005
Dear Santa
Stealing an idea shamelessly from my friend Christian, who stole it from his friend Jenny is probably not in my best interests this season, but Santa, I've been busy.
My requests are few. I've tried to be good. It's hard, you know, with three kids who veer from the naughty and nice lists so frequently. Not to mention that work has been hard on me. And my husband's job has been hard on him, and consequently hard on me.
This year, I'd like:
Some good bottles of wine to share with friends.
More time to spend with my friends.
More time. Period. I'm tired of being tired, and feeling guilty because I don't spend enough time with family, friends, exercising, scrapbooking, cleaning.
Maybe freedom from guilt would be good, but I doubt you can overrule the Catholic genes.
The uncertainty hanging over our heads to dissapate into clarity of where we are going and what we might do in 2006.
Harry Potter VII to be finished early (hey, a girl can dream!)
Healthy, happy kids. And for them to stay safe. Always.
My requests are few. I've tried to be good. It's hard, you know, with three kids who veer from the naughty and nice lists so frequently. Not to mention that work has been hard on me. And my husband's job has been hard on him, and consequently hard on me.
This year, I'd like:
Some good bottles of wine to share with friends.
More time to spend with my friends.
More time. Period. I'm tired of being tired, and feeling guilty because I don't spend enough time with family, friends, exercising, scrapbooking, cleaning.
Maybe freedom from guilt would be good, but I doubt you can overrule the Catholic genes.
The uncertainty hanging over our heads to dissapate into clarity of where we are going and what we might do in 2006.
Harry Potter VII to be finished early (hey, a girl can dream!)
Healthy, happy kids. And for them to stay safe. Always.
14 December 2005
As if Tina Fey weren't cool enough
From Salon.com:
Tina Fey began her acceptance speech by telling the audience that, as the mother of a three-month-old, "it's an honor to be anywhere, actually, and a deep, deep privilege to be wearing a bra and shoes."
Fey talked more about the rigors of new motherhood, including how every event -- like running out of cereal, for instance -- can feel like a disaster. "We're out of cereal?" she whispered with weary panic. "What are we going to do?
Been there. Done that. Heck, still do that.
Tina Fey began her acceptance speech by telling the audience that, as the mother of a three-month-old, "it's an honor to be anywhere, actually, and a deep, deep privilege to be wearing a bra and shoes."
Fey talked more about the rigors of new motherhood, including how every event -- like running out of cereal, for instance -- can feel like a disaster. "We're out of cereal?" she whispered with weary panic. "What are we going to do?
Been there. Done that. Heck, still do that.
10 December 2005
I am so weird
I've been baking Christmas cookies off and on all day.
At about 9 tonight, I thought, "Hey, I'm starving."
So what do I eat?
Not cookies.
I'm noshing on a tuna salad sandwich, some bbq chips, and a glass of pinot.
Hey, most of it is healthy, at least.
By the way, if you want some Picassoesque sugar cookies, I'll send my son to you. He had a blast with the little tubes of squirt icing I bought this year. Some of them are quite abstract. And not bad artistically, either.
At about 9 tonight, I thought, "Hey, I'm starving."
So what do I eat?
Not cookies.
I'm noshing on a tuna salad sandwich, some bbq chips, and a glass of pinot.
Hey, most of it is healthy, at least.
By the way, if you want some Picassoesque sugar cookies, I'll send my son to you. He had a blast with the little tubes of squirt icing I bought this year. Some of them are quite abstract. And not bad artistically, either.
06 December 2005
Some things always make me cry
I'm not usually the teary type. But there are some things that always make me cry, no matter what:
When Charlotte dies after deeming Wilbur "Some Pig!"
When Scout is told to stand as the balcony watchers rise for Atticus Finch after the trial in To Kill a Mockingbird. "Miss Jean Louise, stand up, your daddy's passin'" gets me every time.
When one of my kids shows how caring they are in an extraordinary way.
The final lyric of "For Good" in Wicked. Would that we all changed each other for good.
When Anne's archenemy dies of consumption in the Green Gables series, and again when her sensitive son, Walter, is killed in France during World War II in Rilla of Ingleside.
When one of my kids hits a major life milestone, and I realize, really realize, that I only have them for a short time.
I sobbed silently when my eldest made her First Communion two years ago. I sobbed loudly when I packed my son's baby clothes away. And as I watch my youngest hit milestones, I'm happy for her, but there are moments when it just breaks my heart.
I'm not the weepy type, honest.
When Charlotte dies after deeming Wilbur "Some Pig!"
When Scout is told to stand as the balcony watchers rise for Atticus Finch after the trial in To Kill a Mockingbird. "Miss Jean Louise, stand up, your daddy's passin'" gets me every time.
When one of my kids shows how caring they are in an extraordinary way.
The final lyric of "For Good" in Wicked. Would that we all changed each other for good.
When Anne's archenemy dies of consumption in the Green Gables series, and again when her sensitive son, Walter, is killed in France during World War II in Rilla of Ingleside.
When one of my kids hits a major life milestone, and I realize, really realize, that I only have them for a short time.
I sobbed silently when my eldest made her First Communion two years ago. I sobbed loudly when I packed my son's baby clothes away. And as I watch my youngest hit milestones, I'm happy for her, but there are moments when it just breaks my heart.
I'm not the weepy type, honest.
02 December 2005
I am certifiable
We're going to Breakfast with Santa tomorrow.
At my place of work.
After I've worked a long night babysitting a building during a neighborhood Christmas homes tour. I just got home an hour ago.
Is it too early for medicinal Shiraz before noon?
At my place of work.
After I've worked a long night babysitting a building during a neighborhood Christmas homes tour. I just got home an hour ago.
Is it too early for medicinal Shiraz before noon?
28 November 2005
Snicker
For my money, there is nothing funnier right now than watching a toddler lurch around the living room like a drunken sailor in her fuzzy pink pjs while carrying a plastic Easter bucket loaded down with Thomas trains.
Trust me.
Trust me.
27 November 2005
Thanksgiving family vacation
Three kids.
One car.
Six well-meaning inlaws (hubby's parents, bil, sil, grandparents in law).
Whiny, clingy kids.
Kids complaining about food.
Hubby dealing with work part of weekend.
Kids fighting in car on way home.
Glass of cab sav after kids in bed early after five days of torturing Mom:
Priceless.
One car.
Six well-meaning inlaws (hubby's parents, bil, sil, grandparents in law).
Whiny, clingy kids.
Kids complaining about food.
Hubby dealing with work part of weekend.
Kids fighting in car on way home.
Glass of cab sav after kids in bed early after five days of torturing Mom:
Priceless.
21 November 2005
Gah! Bad scale! Bad, bad, BAD scale!
Oy. That was a bad idea.
I've been complaining that nothing fits for a few weeks. Usually in the morning, as I'm rushing to get ready.
I've been avoiding the scale, too.
That ends as of tonight. So does my soda habit, my fast-food habit, and my sitting on my tail all day at work habit.
I was 117 before my last pregnancy. I won't admit where I topped out at, but as recently as July I was at 120. And happy. Outfits fit.
Not anymore. I'm at 136, which I know to many of you sounds like heaven, but is about 20 pounds over where my ob and I agreed I should end up.
Eeep. Happy Thanksgiving. Pass the veggies. Hold the mashed potatoes and stuffing. Hello Weight Watchers.
I've been complaining that nothing fits for a few weeks. Usually in the morning, as I'm rushing to get ready.
I've been avoiding the scale, too.
That ends as of tonight. So does my soda habit, my fast-food habit, and my sitting on my tail all day at work habit.
I was 117 before my last pregnancy. I won't admit where I topped out at, but as recently as July I was at 120. And happy. Outfits fit.
Not anymore. I'm at 136, which I know to many of you sounds like heaven, but is about 20 pounds over where my ob and I agreed I should end up.
Eeep. Happy Thanksgiving. Pass the veggies. Hold the mashed potatoes and stuffing. Hello Weight Watchers.
18 November 2005
Chickie pox
When I was 12, my little sister came down with the chicken pox. My mother swore I had them when I was in kindergarten, so she had me help care for my sister.
I distinctly recall, as I was cleaning out the bathtub after yet another oatmeal bath, that I was doomed to catch the darn things. With all the skepticism of the best pre-teen filled with angst, I just was sure she was wrong.
I was right.
Two weeks later, I broke out in one of the all-time worst cases. I had them EVERYWHERE. I mean EVERYWHERE. If you've heard of it, I had them there.
To add to my pain, my then-two-year-old brother, who had one of the mildest cases ever, pranced around the house, lifting up his shirt and proclaiming: See my chickie pox! Come see my chickie pox!!
It is truly amazing that he's alive today.
Two weeks ago today, we had the younger two vaccinated for chicken pox. They've changed the shot formulation, and after this year, I wouldn't be able to get it as a stand-alone. I caved. I'd rather they got it naturally, like our eldest did. But the pharmaceutical companies thwarted me.
Tonight, after our son's bath, my husband called me in. Look at this, he says.
Chickie pox. UGH.
Thank goodness everyone we're supposed to visit over Thanksgiving has already had the darn things.
I distinctly recall, as I was cleaning out the bathtub after yet another oatmeal bath, that I was doomed to catch the darn things. With all the skepticism of the best pre-teen filled with angst, I just was sure she was wrong.
I was right.
Two weeks later, I broke out in one of the all-time worst cases. I had them EVERYWHERE. I mean EVERYWHERE. If you've heard of it, I had them there.
To add to my pain, my then-two-year-old brother, who had one of the mildest cases ever, pranced around the house, lifting up his shirt and proclaiming: See my chickie pox! Come see my chickie pox!!
It is truly amazing that he's alive today.
Two weeks ago today, we had the younger two vaccinated for chicken pox. They've changed the shot formulation, and after this year, I wouldn't be able to get it as a stand-alone. I caved. I'd rather they got it naturally, like our eldest did. But the pharmaceutical companies thwarted me.
Tonight, after our son's bath, my husband called me in. Look at this, he says.
Chickie pox. UGH.
Thank goodness everyone we're supposed to visit over Thanksgiving has already had the darn things.
17 November 2005
Tormados
I've been fighting colds for a month now. Hence my lack of posting. By the time I'd get them to bed, I'd be too tired to even concieve of going downstairs, turning on the computer, and being creative.
Saturday night, I thought I'd post after I lusted over Colin Firth in "Pride & Prejudice."
Never got that far. I was finishing up a glass of Reisling and wallowing in period literature when I heard something.
No way. Can NOT be. It's freakin' November.
But I turned off the tape, turned on the one reliable weathercaster in this town, and sure enough: tornado sirens.
Damn.
I was alone with the younger two kids; dh and kid one were off at the annual daddy-daughter dance at her school. The other two were asleep.
Okay, did I really need to wake them up? Once the weathercaster started listing off landmarks and intersections in my neighborhood, I caved.
Woke up the kids. Kid two was handed a flashlight and told to be brave.
"I'm scared, Mommy."
Guess what, I was too. Because if it came, I knew there was no way I could hold on to both him and his 14-month-old sister. My plan was to lay on top of them and hold onto them for all I was worth.
In the end, we just had some hail. It was dicey there for a bit, though. There was an F1 in the next county over. Nothing like what they had in Iowa, though.
Kid two can't stop talking about the "tormado" now. It's a topic every night. I'm proud of him, because he was brave, despite being scared. He listened, despite being the same 3-year-old pest who was sent to bed early for not listening. He was an angel.
But, please God, could we hold off on the tormados until next season?
Thanks.
Saturday night, I thought I'd post after I lusted over Colin Firth in "Pride & Prejudice."
Never got that far. I was finishing up a glass of Reisling and wallowing in period literature when I heard something.
No way. Can NOT be. It's freakin' November.
But I turned off the tape, turned on the one reliable weathercaster in this town, and sure enough: tornado sirens.
Damn.
I was alone with the younger two kids; dh and kid one were off at the annual daddy-daughter dance at her school. The other two were asleep.
Okay, did I really need to wake them up? Once the weathercaster started listing off landmarks and intersections in my neighborhood, I caved.
Woke up the kids. Kid two was handed a flashlight and told to be brave.
"I'm scared, Mommy."
Guess what, I was too. Because if it came, I knew there was no way I could hold on to both him and his 14-month-old sister. My plan was to lay on top of them and hold onto them for all I was worth.
In the end, we just had some hail. It was dicey there for a bit, though. There was an F1 in the next county over. Nothing like what they had in Iowa, though.
Kid two can't stop talking about the "tormado" now. It's a topic every night. I'm proud of him, because he was brave, despite being scared. He listened, despite being the same 3-year-old pest who was sent to bed early for not listening. He was an angel.
But, please God, could we hold off on the tormados until next season?
Thanks.
02 November 2005
There's no "fun" in fundraising
I hate fundraising. I've hated it since my parents made me trek around our rural route to sell overpriced candy bars and raffle tickets for my elementary school.
Let's just say that by fifth grade, I knew that sales would never be my vocation.
Just because I've grown up doesn't mean I've escaped. I get calls at home for donations--We only give through our church, thanks. I get the annual arm-twisting from United Way at work. I do the Walk for Life, because my mom's best friend died of breast cancer when I was in high school. I've never seen my mom so devastated.
Right now, my daughter is selling cookie dough for her talented and gifted program. That, at least, is usable, unlike the wrapping paper, candy, candles, entertainment books, you name the latest stupid thing we have to sell.
In January, it will be Girl Scout cookies. Place your orders now.
Right now, I've been roped into the Muscular Dystrophy Assocation (think Jerry's Kids) fundraiser by one of the Greek organizations at work. They blindsided me, and like a fool, I said yes. My mom's boss's daughter was a Jerry's Kid about 20 years ago; she now is a teacher, I believe. She has spina bifida. Hey, at least I have a connection.
If you'd like to donate to a good cause (and what among them isn't these days) and get me out of jail early, follow the link below. If you want to let me rot in jail for an hour, hey, that's fine too.
Get Sherrie Outta MDA Jail
Let's just say that by fifth grade, I knew that sales would never be my vocation.
Just because I've grown up doesn't mean I've escaped. I get calls at home for donations--We only give through our church, thanks. I get the annual arm-twisting from United Way at work. I do the Walk for Life, because my mom's best friend died of breast cancer when I was in high school. I've never seen my mom so devastated.
Right now, my daughter is selling cookie dough for her talented and gifted program. That, at least, is usable, unlike the wrapping paper, candy, candles, entertainment books, you name the latest stupid thing we have to sell.
In January, it will be Girl Scout cookies. Place your orders now.
Right now, I've been roped into the Muscular Dystrophy Assocation (think Jerry's Kids) fundraiser by one of the Greek organizations at work. They blindsided me, and like a fool, I said yes. My mom's boss's daughter was a Jerry's Kid about 20 years ago; she now is a teacher, I believe. She has spina bifida. Hey, at least I have a connection.
If you'd like to donate to a good cause (and what among them isn't these days) and get me out of jail early, follow the link below. If you want to let me rot in jail for an hour, hey, that's fine too.
Get Sherrie Outta MDA Jail
18 October 2005
Chronic pain and the Cardinals
My carpal tunnel is acting up again, so I'm taking a break from posting. I'll be back in a few days, I hope. Brace is on, but I need to take a rest from typing.
To see my feelings about the Cards-'Stros series (last night not withstanding), read my friend Christian's blog.
To see my feelings about the Cards-'Stros series (last night not withstanding), read my friend Christian's blog.
15 October 2005
Frenetic
Drat . . . my post was eaten.
Quick recap:
Toronto: Fun, except for work. Very glad Gina served as tour guide. Food good. Indigo bad for checkbook. Tim Horton's divine.
Little one: terrified of Picture People photographer. Try again next week. Took steps, walked about five feet, then decided crawling faster.
Eldest: face planted in wood chips. Friend landed on her head. Lots of scratches on gums, tried to get to dentist yesterday, no go. Try again on Monday.
Middle child: becoming sane. Slowly. Still a Thomas train addict.
Toys R Us: enabled us to get 1/2 Christmas shopping done today. End is in sight. Off to eBay. :)
Quick recap:
Toronto: Fun, except for work. Very glad Gina served as tour guide. Food good. Indigo bad for checkbook. Tim Horton's divine.
Little one: terrified of Picture People photographer. Try again next week. Took steps, walked about five feet, then decided crawling faster.
Eldest: face planted in wood chips. Friend landed on her head. Lots of scratches on gums, tried to get to dentist yesterday, no go. Try again on Monday.
Middle child: becoming sane. Slowly. Still a Thomas train addict.
Toys R Us: enabled us to get 1/2 Christmas shopping done today. End is in sight. Off to eBay. :)
29 September 2005
Ears . . . hurting . . .
Fourth grade.
That should strike fear in any heart.
The homework gets harder. The projects get loopier. The textbooks are written poorly (or at least the science book our daughter uses was written by morons who don't have a good grasp of language).
Oh, and the recorders.
Now, our daughter actually can carry a tune. The recorder, not so much.
Our eldest has had piano lessons since she was 4. She begged for them. She's been reading music about as long as she could read English.
No matter. The recorder she happily brought home today thwarts that. It's not that it sounds bad. It's just shrill.
Like Rita Crosby Live and Direct. On high. With nails going across the blackboard in the background.
It's painful. Fourth grade means recorders for lessons in music reading and basic instrument playing across the nation.
Buy stock in Excederin, folks. I'm gonna be using a lot of it.
That should strike fear in any heart.
The homework gets harder. The projects get loopier. The textbooks are written poorly (or at least the science book our daughter uses was written by morons who don't have a good grasp of language).
Oh, and the recorders.
Now, our daughter actually can carry a tune. The recorder, not so much.
Our eldest has had piano lessons since she was 4. She begged for them. She's been reading music about as long as she could read English.
No matter. The recorder she happily brought home today thwarts that. It's not that it sounds bad. It's just shrill.
Like Rita Crosby Live and Direct. On high. With nails going across the blackboard in the background.
It's painful. Fourth grade means recorders for lessons in music reading and basic instrument playing across the nation.
Buy stock in Excederin, folks. I'm gonna be using a lot of it.
12 September 2005
Tagged
This game has been floating around, but I thought I'd avoid being tagged. I'm a low-profile blogger. Sadly, my friend Gina has now made me IT. So here goes:
10 years ago - 1995. I was starting to figure out that I had by far the most psychotic beat at the newspaper in Westchester/Putnam County, N.Y. I had sources stalking me by phone. Threats. And an unlisted number. I was also feeling my way through the first few months of marriage. You can date as long as you like, being married is much different. Not bad, but there's an adjustment. We hung out in Cooperstown, visited our shrine, drank apple cider. Figured each other out. Sort of.
Our friend Gina moved in with us while she hunted for an apartment, and helped abate some of the worst homesickness I've ever had in my entire life.
5 years ago - 2000. I was doing my darnedest to not get fired from my telecommuting job, while hunting for a way out from a boss who felt the need to wield the hatchet every six months. I'd already watched her drive out two other editors, so I knew my number was up. Thankfully, Sylvia came along with a job that melded my editing with my love of planning and development, and my Chicago years started in full swing. We'd just moved into our new house in Ill., and Cathy had started preschool. Oh, and the years of angst over infertility started, too.
1 year ago - 2004. I was still braindead from giving birth on 9/5. No sleep. Sore nipples. And my mil and mom helping me out. The rest is a blur, sorry. I do remember cuddling my baby a lot, and I think I was actually more coherent this time around, but that's probably a hallucination from the pain medication I was on at the time.
Yesterday - I hurdled a childproof gate to rescue my son, who decided it would be a great idea to leap off of a moving glider on the swing. Before that, I was sitting on my porch, reading "Family History". Great book, btw.
5 snacks I enjoy - Chocolate. Dark chocolate. Doritos. Lay's Salt & Vinegar chips. Carrots/black olives/anything on a relish tray.
5 songs I know all the words to - The Itsy Bitsy Spider. World on Fire, Sarah McLachlan. Green Eyes, Coldplay. Pink Houses, John Cougar Mellencamp. I Hope You Dance, LeeAnn Womack
5 things I would do with $100 million - Donate a chunk to charity. Buy a house that works better for us. Pay off my siblings' loans, and set up trusts for our kids. Start a PAC to lobby for better rights for working (and not working) parents, one that would lobby for tax credits to companies who offer flextime, job shares, onsite daycare, and generous family leave policies.
5 places I would run away to - Grand Cayman, Mackinac Island, Mich., Napa, Calif., Austin, Texas, Chicago.
5 things I would never wear - A muu muu. Big, gigantic prints. Most shades of pink (red hair + pink = hideous). Tube tops. Anything yellow.
5 favorite tv shows - Sports Night. M*A*S*H. Mad About You. The Simpsons. Cheers.
5 biggest joys - The birth of my kids. My husband and our honeymoon. Our trip to Mackinac. Our trip to the Caribbean. Walking my family's farm alone, just to think and sort things out.
5 favorite toys - iTunes. Legos. Thomas Trains. Any trivia game. Frogger.
10 years ago - 1995. I was starting to figure out that I had by far the most psychotic beat at the newspaper in Westchester/Putnam County, N.Y. I had sources stalking me by phone. Threats. And an unlisted number. I was also feeling my way through the first few months of marriage. You can date as long as you like, being married is much different. Not bad, but there's an adjustment. We hung out in Cooperstown, visited our shrine, drank apple cider. Figured each other out. Sort of.
Our friend Gina moved in with us while she hunted for an apartment, and helped abate some of the worst homesickness I've ever had in my entire life.
5 years ago - 2000. I was doing my darnedest to not get fired from my telecommuting job, while hunting for a way out from a boss who felt the need to wield the hatchet every six months. I'd already watched her drive out two other editors, so I knew my number was up. Thankfully, Sylvia came along with a job that melded my editing with my love of planning and development, and my Chicago years started in full swing. We'd just moved into our new house in Ill., and Cathy had started preschool. Oh, and the years of angst over infertility started, too.
1 year ago - 2004. I was still braindead from giving birth on 9/5. No sleep. Sore nipples. And my mil and mom helping me out. The rest is a blur, sorry. I do remember cuddling my baby a lot, and I think I was actually more coherent this time around, but that's probably a hallucination from the pain medication I was on at the time.
Yesterday - I hurdled a childproof gate to rescue my son, who decided it would be a great idea to leap off of a moving glider on the swing. Before that, I was sitting on my porch, reading "Family History". Great book, btw.
5 snacks I enjoy - Chocolate. Dark chocolate. Doritos. Lay's Salt & Vinegar chips. Carrots/black olives/anything on a relish tray.
5 songs I know all the words to - The Itsy Bitsy Spider. World on Fire, Sarah McLachlan. Green Eyes, Coldplay. Pink Houses, John Cougar Mellencamp. I Hope You Dance, LeeAnn Womack
5 things I would do with $100 million - Donate a chunk to charity. Buy a house that works better for us. Pay off my siblings' loans, and set up trusts for our kids. Start a PAC to lobby for better rights for working (and not working) parents, one that would lobby for tax credits to companies who offer flextime, job shares, onsite daycare, and generous family leave policies.
5 places I would run away to - Grand Cayman, Mackinac Island, Mich., Napa, Calif., Austin, Texas, Chicago.
5 things I would never wear - A muu muu. Big, gigantic prints. Most shades of pink (red hair + pink = hideous). Tube tops. Anything yellow.
5 favorite tv shows - Sports Night. M*A*S*H. Mad About You. The Simpsons. Cheers.
5 biggest joys - The birth of my kids. My husband and our honeymoon. Our trip to Mackinac. Our trip to the Caribbean. Walking my family's farm alone, just to think and sort things out.
5 favorite toys - iTunes. Legos. Thomas Trains. Any trivia game. Frogger.
06 September 2005
Heart-heavy over reality
I just spent most of this past weekend sick as a dog with some stomach bug the kids brought home.
At 3 a.m. Saturday, bowed over the toilet and retching up bile, I had one thought: Thank God I'm here, and not in New Orleans or Mississippi's Gulf Coast, or else I'd be dead.
I took today off because I needed to recharge my soul. We went to visit my family on Sunday once I felt somewhat better and celebrated my little one's first birthday. Wow, where did that year go?
It also forced me away from CNN. My parents, you see, live in a part of the country that can't get cable and a dish won't work because of topography. They get six channels: NBC, CBS, ABC (fuzzy), FOX, PBS and UPN.
I needed that. I broke down in tears before we left our house on Sunday morning, while I was sorting through the kids' clothes, blankets, and shoes to pack off and send to Houston and Baton Rouge.
"We have so much," I wailed to my husband, as I was literally surrounded by kid clothes and blankets a foot deep in any direction. That was the stuff we don't even use.
I'm still crying, so I've spent much of today at home, sorting, shipping, and cleaning our house.
I'll go back to work tomorrow, but my heart will still be incredibly heavy.
Give. Give until it hurts, then give more.
At 3 a.m. Saturday, bowed over the toilet and retching up bile, I had one thought: Thank God I'm here, and not in New Orleans or Mississippi's Gulf Coast, or else I'd be dead.
I took today off because I needed to recharge my soul. We went to visit my family on Sunday once I felt somewhat better and celebrated my little one's first birthday. Wow, where did that year go?
It also forced me away from CNN. My parents, you see, live in a part of the country that can't get cable and a dish won't work because of topography. They get six channels: NBC, CBS, ABC (fuzzy), FOX, PBS and UPN.
I needed that. I broke down in tears before we left our house on Sunday morning, while I was sorting through the kids' clothes, blankets, and shoes to pack off and send to Houston and Baton Rouge.
"We have so much," I wailed to my husband, as I was literally surrounded by kid clothes and blankets a foot deep in any direction. That was the stuff we don't even use.
I'm still crying, so I've spent much of today at home, sorting, shipping, and cleaning our house.
I'll go back to work tomorrow, but my heart will still be incredibly heavy.
Give. Give until it hurts, then give more.
02 September 2005
Speechless
As those who know me, I'm rarely at a loss for words.
I've been watching CNN at work and at home. I can't believe what is going in New Orleans. We have an entire military, a Department of Homeland Security, heck, FEMA's job is dealing with stuff like this.
And there are people dying. Babies dying. And our illustrious leader of Homeland Security was on NPR bloody arguing with the anchor over whether or not there were thousands of people at the Morial Convention Center.
"Just rumors," Michael Chertoff had the gall to say.
My God.
Go to snarlingmarmot.typepad.com. Her rage is my rage.
Donate to your reliable charity. Find someone to ship your extra clothing to in Houston, Baton Rouge, Shreveport, San Antonio, et al.
Those poor people.
My God.
I've been watching CNN at work and at home. I can't believe what is going in New Orleans. We have an entire military, a Department of Homeland Security, heck, FEMA's job is dealing with stuff like this.
And there are people dying. Babies dying. And our illustrious leader of Homeland Security was on NPR bloody arguing with the anchor over whether or not there were thousands of people at the Morial Convention Center.
"Just rumors," Michael Chertoff had the gall to say.
My God.
Go to snarlingmarmot.typepad.com. Her rage is my rage.
Donate to your reliable charity. Find someone to ship your extra clothing to in Houston, Baton Rouge, Shreveport, San Antonio, et al.
Those poor people.
My God.
30 August 2005
Lucky
Any time you think life is bad . . . just remember: It's not.
Prayers to anyone affected by Katrina. Especially those in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast. Really wishing I'd forced us to take our vacation there a couple of years ago instead of going elsewhere.
It won't be the same. It will come back, but now the area is haunted by hundreds of new souls.
Read the Times-Picayune. The anguish and pain and devastation are palapable in the blogs.
http://www.nola.com/hurricane/t-p/katrina.ssf?/hurricane/katrina/stories/083005catastrophic.html
Prayers to anyone affected by Katrina. Especially those in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast. Really wishing I'd forced us to take our vacation there a couple of years ago instead of going elsewhere.
It won't be the same. It will come back, but now the area is haunted by hundreds of new souls.
Read the Times-Picayune. The anguish and pain and devastation are palapable in the blogs.
http://www.nola.com/hurricane/t-p/katrina.ssf?/hurricane/katrina/stories/083005catastrophic.html
21 August 2005
We're back
Vacation was good. Won't try it again, anytime soon. Three kids under 10 in a car, or in a teeny hotel room in downtown Chicago = not a good idea.
The kids had a blast at Shedd's. We stopped at the LegoLand store. The new Dementors in the Harry Potter series are way cool.
The Iowa State Fair is a great state fair. My son loved the pigs, the horses, the cows, the sheep, the chickens. My eldest loved the rides. The youngest was just along for the stroller ride.
We saw a few old friends. We went past both of our old houses. The trees are bigger, the places seem smaller. We've really outgrown them, I guess.
The return came too soon, and school started with a bang. Work will be hectic during the next six weeks, so forgive me if I don't post much.
The kids had a blast at Shedd's. We stopped at the LegoLand store. The new Dementors in the Harry Potter series are way cool.
The Iowa State Fair is a great state fair. My son loved the pigs, the horses, the cows, the sheep, the chickens. My eldest loved the rides. The youngest was just along for the stroller ride.
We saw a few old friends. We went past both of our old houses. The trees are bigger, the places seem smaller. We've really outgrown them, I guess.
The return came too soon, and school started with a bang. Work will be hectic during the next six weeks, so forgive me if I don't post much.
07 August 2005
Packing mania
We're about to head out on vacation.
I feel like a supply-line coordinator for the Army, because "going on vacation" means that I have to pack three kids, all of their gear, and myself.
That means:
One baby suitcase, packed with triple outfits for possible eating destruction.
One preschooler suitcase, packed with double outfits for possible general destruction.
One eight-year-old's suitcase, because I don't trust her to pack herself with appropriate gear.
A bag of toys for each kid.
A bag of food for the baby.
A bag of food for snacks in the car.
Sippy cups, bowls, baby spoons, bibs.
Diapers.
Wet wipes.
Sunscreen.
Pullups for preschooler to sleep in.
Baby's lovey.
Baby's toys for her bed.
Preschooler's lovey, pillow, blanket, frog and diosaurs to sleep with.
Tell eight-year-old she can only bring one pillow and one stuffed animal.
Stroller.
Sling.
Travel crib.
Two sleeping bags.
My clothes.
Books to read in the car.
I'm sure I'm forgetting something.
I need a vacation to rest from prepping for the vacation.
I feel like a supply-line coordinator for the Army, because "going on vacation" means that I have to pack three kids, all of their gear, and myself.
That means:
One baby suitcase, packed with triple outfits for possible eating destruction.
One preschooler suitcase, packed with double outfits for possible general destruction.
One eight-year-old's suitcase, because I don't trust her to pack herself with appropriate gear.
A bag of toys for each kid.
A bag of food for the baby.
A bag of food for snacks in the car.
Sippy cups, bowls, baby spoons, bibs.
Diapers.
Wet wipes.
Sunscreen.
Pullups for preschooler to sleep in.
Baby's lovey.
Baby's toys for her bed.
Preschooler's lovey, pillow, blanket, frog and diosaurs to sleep with.
Tell eight-year-old she can only bring one pillow and one stuffed animal.
Stroller.
Sling.
Travel crib.
Two sleeping bags.
My clothes.
Books to read in the car.
I'm sure I'm forgetting something.
I need a vacation to rest from prepping for the vacation.
29 July 2005
When Momma ain't happy . . .
I've been trying to get in a better frame of mind before posting again.
It hasn't happened. This year has just been so hard. The kids have been sicker than ever. The collarbone incident hasn't helped.
Family members dying. Newspaper acquaintances dying.
Yard all torn up for massive city project. Entire 15-foot swath of trees gone out of our backyard, creating a road to the neighbors'. The entire neighborhood has taken to walking through our yard, and we can't take it much more.
Kids can't play outside because of constant construction and constant presence of backhoes and bulldozers.
Work isn't fun. It is just hard. I'm finding it very hard to stay motivated day in and day out. Not sure I like the direction my job has lurched into because of new leadership, either. But no real options for escape.
Husband's job responsibilities are changing. He's stressed. I'm stressed.
I've been morose and cranky for about two weeks. If you can think of a way to cheer me up, post away.
It hasn't happened. This year has just been so hard. The kids have been sicker than ever. The collarbone incident hasn't helped.
Family members dying. Newspaper acquaintances dying.
Yard all torn up for massive city project. Entire 15-foot swath of trees gone out of our backyard, creating a road to the neighbors'. The entire neighborhood has taken to walking through our yard, and we can't take it much more.
Kids can't play outside because of constant construction and constant presence of backhoes and bulldozers.
Work isn't fun. It is just hard. I'm finding it very hard to stay motivated day in and day out. Not sure I like the direction my job has lurched into because of new leadership, either. But no real options for escape.
Husband's job responsibilities are changing. He's stressed. I'm stressed.
I've been morose and cranky for about two weeks. If you can think of a way to cheer me up, post away.
18 July 2005
On Madame Pomfrey
Like every other geek in the land, I spent my weekend reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. I started at 12:30 a.m. Sunday, slept for about four hours, went to church, then finished around 7 p.m. Sunday night.
By 7:30 p.m. Sunday, I was wishing I had Hogwart's doctor Madame Pomfrey's magical powers to heal any injury.
Especially broken bones.
My son was goofing off, like he always does. I was nursing my youngest. My older daughter was zoned out on the couch by me, watching some show on TV.
My son loves to sit on the coffeetable. He's been all over it since he was one. I've long since given up trying to keep him off of it.
He was sitting on it. He moved to scoot back. He scooted diagonally. Lost his balance. Fell. I watched in horror. Tried to unlatch my little one and toss her at her sister to catch him.
He landed right on his left collarbone.
I just knew, watching, that he'd broken it.
My son has a high tolerance for pain. It's one of the reasons we can't keep him out of daredevil trouble. Normal bumps and bruise never faze him.
This was no normal bump.
He cried for almost 30 minutes. We gave him Motrin right away. My husband made banana milkshakes to calm everyone down. We called our pediatrican.
By the time we reached her, we decided the best thing to do would be to put him in a sling, give him more Motrin, and try and get some rest. First thing in the morning, he'd go to the doctor.
That's what we did, and the doctor confirmed it: Broken left collarbone. We have the films to prove it. He snapped that sucker in two.
So, now he looks like a little linebacker with his brace (because you can't put a cast on a collarbone). I bought out Target's collection of 4T button-down shirts a mere two hours ago.
All in all, he's fine. He's even bonded with Dad, who managed to break his left collarbone no fewer than three times as a kid.
And yes, the genetic jokes and like father, like son jokes have been running rampant around here.
Doesn't change the fact that if I had any magical powers at this very moment, the ones I most envy are Madame Pomfrey's.
By 7:30 p.m. Sunday, I was wishing I had Hogwart's doctor Madame Pomfrey's magical powers to heal any injury.
Especially broken bones.
My son was goofing off, like he always does. I was nursing my youngest. My older daughter was zoned out on the couch by me, watching some show on TV.
My son loves to sit on the coffeetable. He's been all over it since he was one. I've long since given up trying to keep him off of it.
He was sitting on it. He moved to scoot back. He scooted diagonally. Lost his balance. Fell. I watched in horror. Tried to unlatch my little one and toss her at her sister to catch him.
He landed right on his left collarbone.
I just knew, watching, that he'd broken it.
My son has a high tolerance for pain. It's one of the reasons we can't keep him out of daredevil trouble. Normal bumps and bruise never faze him.
This was no normal bump.
He cried for almost 30 minutes. We gave him Motrin right away. My husband made banana milkshakes to calm everyone down. We called our pediatrican.
By the time we reached her, we decided the best thing to do would be to put him in a sling, give him more Motrin, and try and get some rest. First thing in the morning, he'd go to the doctor.
That's what we did, and the doctor confirmed it: Broken left collarbone. We have the films to prove it. He snapped that sucker in two.
So, now he looks like a little linebacker with his brace (because you can't put a cast on a collarbone). I bought out Target's collection of 4T button-down shirts a mere two hours ago.
All in all, he's fine. He's even bonded with Dad, who managed to break his left collarbone no fewer than three times as a kid.
And yes, the genetic jokes and like father, like son jokes have been running rampant around here.
Doesn't change the fact that if I had any magical powers at this very moment, the ones I most envy are Madame Pomfrey's.
15 July 2005
Blind as a . . .
Criminy, this has been a bad week. I went to my opthomologist, and it was confirmed that I need bifocals. Joy. At 32, that's not what you want to hear.
He informed me that the best thing to do for my eyes would be to quit my job. Editing puts too much strain on them, and I have a family history of macular degeneration. So my chosen profession is probably among the worst for my genes.
So, that's just great. Find a new job, or be blind as a bat someday.
Having watched my grandmother slide into almost full blindness over the past three years, I'm pretty sure I don't want that.
But all in all, as bad as that news was (and devastating to me), at least I have the option of getting a second opinion. And I will. And if the news is still bad, well, then we'll figure it out, I suppose.
I'll take my news over the news that my sister-in-law's brother got recently. He was in Iraq once, now he's back. Check out Gabe's blog (My Beautiful Vacation), and find out what it is really like over there.
He informed me that the best thing to do for my eyes would be to quit my job. Editing puts too much strain on them, and I have a family history of macular degeneration. So my chosen profession is probably among the worst for my genes.
So, that's just great. Find a new job, or be blind as a bat someday.
Having watched my grandmother slide into almost full blindness over the past three years, I'm pretty sure I don't want that.
But all in all, as bad as that news was (and devastating to me), at least I have the option of getting a second opinion. And I will. And if the news is still bad, well, then we'll figure it out, I suppose.
I'll take my news over the news that my sister-in-law's brother got recently. He was in Iraq once, now he's back. Check out Gabe's blog (My Beautiful Vacation), and find out what it is really like over there.
08 July 2005
Worldwide Mommy
I hear about the London attacks on NPR as I was driving to work Thursday morning. In order, here are my thoughts:
1) Dear Lord.
2) What sort of world have I brought children into?
3) Oh, please, please, please let my bil/sil not have taken a jaunt down to London without telling us.
4) Oh cr@p, do we have students in London this semester? Where the hell is that uni that they study at in relationship to this mess?
Much, much later, once I've confirmed that we don't have any students in London this semester, I find out that a good friend's brother was in London that day, headed to a professional conference. I don't find out until Friday that he's okay, albeit in the general area at the time of the attacks.
Mommies worry. It's what we do best. Thursday, I spent a good portion of my day worrying about people I'm not even a mommy to.
1) Dear Lord.
2) What sort of world have I brought children into?
3) Oh, please, please, please let my bil/sil not have taken a jaunt down to London without telling us.
4) Oh cr@p, do we have students in London this semester? Where the hell is that uni that they study at in relationship to this mess?
Much, much later, once I've confirmed that we don't have any students in London this semester, I find out that a good friend's brother was in London that day, headed to a professional conference. I don't find out until Friday that he's okay, albeit in the general area at the time of the attacks.
Mommies worry. It's what we do best. Thursday, I spent a good portion of my day worrying about people I'm not even a mommy to.
01 July 2005
If you haven't been there, you can't know
Like most of the nation, I've watched the Tom Cruise public meltdown into brainwashed Scientology lunacy.
I wish our news were focused on something important, like say the stalled nomination of John Bolton for U.N. Ambassador or the seemingly deliberate move to undermine public broadcasting, but there you go.
So Tom's been amusing, at least. But his attack of Matt Lauer on the Today show was disturbing, and his derision of postpartum depression was disturbing. I mean, the man adopted two children, he's never seen what can happen on a hormonal roller coaster ride after childbirth.
I've never been diagnosed with PPD. I might have had a mild case of it after my first was born, but we moved, and the old ob didn't pick up on it, the new pediatrican wasn't watching for it, and hey, eight years ago, no one really took the baby blues as seriously as they do today.
I had suicidal thoughts at moments, though, and I really never connected with my older daughter until she was a toddler. Those are two huge red flags now that every ob and pediatrican we've had since has asked about after the other two were born. Thank God we muddled through okay.
I have had friends who were diagnosed. It isn't pretty. Vitamins, as Cruise so cheerfully offered up, won't fix it. It's a dark, dark, dark place to be.
So I'm glad Brooke Shields called him out today in The New York Times.
Take a read here
I wish our news were focused on something important, like say the stalled nomination of John Bolton for U.N. Ambassador or the seemingly deliberate move to undermine public broadcasting, but there you go.
So Tom's been amusing, at least. But his attack of Matt Lauer on the Today show was disturbing, and his derision of postpartum depression was disturbing. I mean, the man adopted two children, he's never seen what can happen on a hormonal roller coaster ride after childbirth.
I've never been diagnosed with PPD. I might have had a mild case of it after my first was born, but we moved, and the old ob didn't pick up on it, the new pediatrican wasn't watching for it, and hey, eight years ago, no one really took the baby blues as seriously as they do today.
I had suicidal thoughts at moments, though, and I really never connected with my older daughter until she was a toddler. Those are two huge red flags now that every ob and pediatrican we've had since has asked about after the other two were born. Thank God we muddled through okay.
I have had friends who were diagnosed. It isn't pretty. Vitamins, as Cruise so cheerfully offered up, won't fix it. It's a dark, dark, dark place to be.
So I'm glad Brooke Shields called him out today in The New York Times.
21 June 2005
Monkey torture
"Mom, I gots monkeys in my ears!"
I'm really starting to hate the monkeys. That's code in our house for an ear infection, started by one of the pediatricans in our group. He asked to look at my son's ears, under the pretense of finding "monkeys."
Today, heck, this week, is NOT good for monkeys.
My husband and I played "Whose meeting is less important?" this afternoon. I won: I went to my meeting.
Tomorrow is worse. Neither of us can miss. We both have filled days. We are in positions that have considerable responsibility, and face time is required.
I'm trusting one of my teenager sitters on her recommendation, and having a friend of hers sit. Not ideal, but we really have no choice.
We have no family within a three hours' drive. All of them work, anyway.
My husband's mom would make the five-hour-plus trip if we asked, but she's just gotten back from an out-of-state funeral. We aren't asking.
I know my neighbors, but not well enough to trust them with a rambunctious three-year-old. He's not THAT sick.
I can't dump a sick kid on my friends and make their kids sick.
Daycare won't take him, because he's had a fever (low-grade) all day. We need 24 hours without fever. The policy was just redistributed yesterday, as a gentle reminder to folks like my husband who really try to push that rule.
Anyone who thinks being a working parent is easy really needs to spend some time in our shoes. Juggling work and family is hard enough. Toss in illness or a family crisis, or a work crisis, and it inches toward impossible.
Darn stupid monkeys.
I'm really starting to hate the monkeys. That's code in our house for an ear infection, started by one of the pediatricans in our group. He asked to look at my son's ears, under the pretense of finding "monkeys."
Today, heck, this week, is NOT good for monkeys.
My husband and I played "Whose meeting is less important?" this afternoon. I won: I went to my meeting.
Tomorrow is worse. Neither of us can miss. We both have filled days. We are in positions that have considerable responsibility, and face time is required.
I'm trusting one of my teenager sitters on her recommendation, and having a friend of hers sit. Not ideal, but we really have no choice.
We have no family within a three hours' drive. All of them work, anyway.
My husband's mom would make the five-hour-plus trip if we asked, but she's just gotten back from an out-of-state funeral. We aren't asking.
I know my neighbors, but not well enough to trust them with a rambunctious three-year-old. He's not THAT sick.
I can't dump a sick kid on my friends and make their kids sick.
Daycare won't take him, because he's had a fever (low-grade) all day. We need 24 hours without fever. The policy was just redistributed yesterday, as a gentle reminder to folks like my husband who really try to push that rule.
Anyone who thinks being a working parent is easy really needs to spend some time in our shoes. Juggling work and family is hard enough. Toss in illness or a family crisis, or a work crisis, and it inches toward impossible.
Darn stupid monkeys.
20 June 2005
"We're on a mission from Gawt."
I didn't realize what day today was until NPR blared the music.
Then they did a tiny schtick: Twenty-five years ago today,
The Blues Brothers mixed an early Saturday Night Live sketch with some classic gospel and soul singers, and one of the finest pileups in movie crash history.
Wow. Who knew? I find it sad, though, that the only other place that honored a classic was on Nickelodeon.
You read that right. Nickelodeon. My oldest daughter's favorite show, Drake & Josh, managed to honor John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd with a sketch that mimicked the Soul Man act.
Directed by Fred Savage. Yes, that Fred Savage.
Go pull out the tape or DVD, groove to the tunes, watch Jake and Elwood travel through the Chi-town, and see the beauty that is Lower Wacker Drive.
Then they did a tiny schtick: Twenty-five years ago today,
The Blues Brothers mixed an early Saturday Night Live sketch with some classic gospel and soul singers, and one of the finest pileups in movie crash history.
Wow. Who knew? I find it sad, though, that the only other place that honored a classic was on Nickelodeon.
You read that right. Nickelodeon. My oldest daughter's favorite show, Drake & Josh, managed to honor John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd with a sketch that mimicked the Soul Man act.
Directed by Fred Savage. Yes, that Fred Savage.
Go pull out the tape or DVD, groove to the tunes, watch Jake and Elwood travel through the Chi-town, and see the beauty that is Lower Wacker Drive.
06 June 2005
Ten years, no time at all
My husband and I have been married ten years.
In that time we've:
Had three children, two girls and a boy.
Lived and loved in Missouri, New York, Iowa, Illinois, and Missouri again.
Bought and sold three houses.
Suffered through five miscarriages.
Suffered through three pregnancies and incredibly scary labor and delivery.
Watched two grandparents (both mine) die.
Come to the breaking point and fight our way back.
Live through a few job crises.
Watch Seinfeld, Law & Order, Mad About You, Star Trek, Star Wars, The Practice, Sports Night, Twister, Desperate Housewives and Saturday Night Live together, even though the other person might not have wanted too.
Suffered through several Yankees World Series, listen or watch the Yankees stab the Twins through the heart, and watch my face crumple in resignation as the BoSox destroyed the Cardinals last year in the Series.
Enjoyed each other's company in Mackinac Island, Michigan, a few Caribbean islands, around Cape Cod and Boston, skiing (or in my case, falling and whining) on the slopes in Massachusetts, and worshipped at the Baseball Hall of Fame several times.
It all went by in a blink of an eye. There's no one I'd rather spend time with, and I hope our years are many yet to come, even with the inevitable ups and downs.
Palanca, hon.
In that time we've:
Had three children, two girls and a boy.
Lived and loved in Missouri, New York, Iowa, Illinois, and Missouri again.
Bought and sold three houses.
Suffered through five miscarriages.
Suffered through three pregnancies and incredibly scary labor and delivery.
Watched two grandparents (both mine) die.
Come to the breaking point and fight our way back.
Live through a few job crises.
Watch Seinfeld, Law & Order, Mad About You, Star Trek, Star Wars, The Practice, Sports Night, Twister, Desperate Housewives and Saturday Night Live together, even though the other person might not have wanted too.
Suffered through several Yankees World Series, listen or watch the Yankees stab the Twins through the heart, and watch my face crumple in resignation as the BoSox destroyed the Cardinals last year in the Series.
Enjoyed each other's company in Mackinac Island, Michigan, a few Caribbean islands, around Cape Cod and Boston, skiing (or in my case, falling and whining) on the slopes in Massachusetts, and worshipped at the Baseball Hall of Fame several times.
It all went by in a blink of an eye. There's no one I'd rather spend time with, and I hope our years are many yet to come, even with the inevitable ups and downs.
Palanca, hon.
03 June 2005
The Month That Never Ended
I've been busy. Can't you tell?
Work was nonstop in May. I think I had a total of four days off, which would explain why this is the first post in 30 days.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maximus culpa.
In the last month, I've survived the publication of my first magazine at the new job, a media fiasco, a trip to Kansas City where I found out how awful the Internet connections are at Bartle Hall. Hey, KC, wanna know why you are losing convention business? It's because all you have is pathetic dial-up. Put in wireless. Soon.
In the last month, my son really came into his own. He's 3 now. He's full of questions. Driving home is like driving with Socrates in the back seat.
In the last month, my youngest has gotten very fast at crawling. She's learned how to pull up to her knees, and is really frustrated with herself about not being able to pull up to her two little feet. She's so petite (yup, all my genes), she's like a tiny doll (yes, smaller than her Cabbage Patch still) trying to walk.
In the last month, my eldest became a fourth grader. Yes, now all of you who read this and remember cuddling her as an infant in N.Y. can feel old with me. She's also stayed away from home for a full week and counting. She's living the good life with Grandma and Grandpa at their house on the lake. I have promises from Grandma that they will return her. They just don't say when. : )
In the last month, my husband and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. That's going to lead into another entry soon. I promise.
Work was nonstop in May. I think I had a total of four days off, which would explain why this is the first post in 30 days.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maximus culpa.
In the last month, I've survived the publication of my first magazine at the new job, a media fiasco, a trip to Kansas City where I found out how awful the Internet connections are at Bartle Hall. Hey, KC, wanna know why you are losing convention business? It's because all you have is pathetic dial-up. Put in wireless. Soon.
In the last month, my son really came into his own. He's 3 now. He's full of questions. Driving home is like driving with Socrates in the back seat.
In the last month, my youngest has gotten very fast at crawling. She's learned how to pull up to her knees, and is really frustrated with herself about not being able to pull up to her two little feet. She's so petite (yup, all my genes), she's like a tiny doll (yes, smaller than her Cabbage Patch still) trying to walk.
In the last month, my eldest became a fourth grader. Yes, now all of you who read this and remember cuddling her as an infant in N.Y. can feel old with me. She's also stayed away from home for a full week and counting. She's living the good life with Grandma and Grandpa at their house on the lake. I have promises from Grandma that they will return her. They just don't say when. : )
In the last month, my husband and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. That's going to lead into another entry soon. I promise.
04 May 2005
Forgiveness
Ten years ago, I was a teaching assistant at journalism school.
The person I was a TA for was, um, challenging. She drove me crazy, especially at a time in my life when I was teaching, carrying a full load of my own journalism coursework, planning a wedding and trying to find a job.
There were times I was reduced to tears in someone else's office, venting and trying to figure out how to politically cope with someone who seemed to make it her life's purpose to be difficult.
A month ago, she popped back into my life.
She sent a query letter to me, in my current job as a magazine editor. The story had merit, but I'll be honest, I had a hard time thinking rationally about the whole idea at first.
I'm putting it in the "maybe" file though. The next two issues are planned, but maybe the one after.
I chatted with her, but didn't really get her wheels clicking on who I really was (I don't always use my full name--I got tired trying to explain why anyone would have three names to my daughter's friends).
Today, she figured it out.
And apologized. And thanked me for not holding her actions 10 years ago against her.
Even though it happened a decade ago, I suddenly feel a lot better.
Strange. Good, but strange.
The person I was a TA for was, um, challenging. She drove me crazy, especially at a time in my life when I was teaching, carrying a full load of my own journalism coursework, planning a wedding and trying to find a job.
There were times I was reduced to tears in someone else's office, venting and trying to figure out how to politically cope with someone who seemed to make it her life's purpose to be difficult.
A month ago, she popped back into my life.
She sent a query letter to me, in my current job as a magazine editor. The story had merit, but I'll be honest, I had a hard time thinking rationally about the whole idea at first.
I'm putting it in the "maybe" file though. The next two issues are planned, but maybe the one after.
I chatted with her, but didn't really get her wheels clicking on who I really was (I don't always use my full name--I got tired trying to explain why anyone would have three names to my daughter's friends).
Today, she figured it out.
And apologized. And thanked me for not holding her actions 10 years ago against her.
Even though it happened a decade ago, I suddenly feel a lot better.
Strange. Good, but strange.
28 April 2005
C'mon, do the locomotion
My baby, she's a movin'.
It actually started two weeks ago. My husband had to leave town for a business trip in Virginia, so of course, that's when our seven-month-old daughter thought it would be great to crawl.
She started at daycare at noon. By evening when I picked her up, she was mobile. Not fast, but mobile.
Tonight, we learned she's mobile and fast.
She was across our living room (no small room) in under two minutes.
Time for the gates to go back up. Or as I call them, the Mommy torture hurdles. My knees are shot from running distance in high school and college. I'm paying for it now, each time I climb steps, or worse, hurdle a gate with a kid in arms.
Not to mention time to worry about Lincoln Logs, Matchbox cars, and Thomas trains. Oh, and Polly Pocket accessories, Barbie crud, and the various junk rings and necklaces my eldest treasures from birthday parties and Incredible Pizza (think Chuck E Cheese, with a 1950s theme). All choking hazards. All items we have in abundance.
A cautionary tale to all of you sans kids: When you get them, treasure every moment. They grow much too fast on you.
It actually started two weeks ago. My husband had to leave town for a business trip in Virginia, so of course, that's when our seven-month-old daughter thought it would be great to crawl.
She started at daycare at noon. By evening when I picked her up, she was mobile. Not fast, but mobile.
Tonight, we learned she's mobile and fast.
She was across our living room (no small room) in under two minutes.
Time for the gates to go back up. Or as I call them, the Mommy torture hurdles. My knees are shot from running distance in high school and college. I'm paying for it now, each time I climb steps, or worse, hurdle a gate with a kid in arms.
Not to mention time to worry about Lincoln Logs, Matchbox cars, and Thomas trains. Oh, and Polly Pocket accessories, Barbie crud, and the various junk rings and necklaces my eldest treasures from birthday parties and Incredible Pizza (think Chuck E Cheese, with a 1950s theme). All choking hazards. All items we have in abundance.
A cautionary tale to all of you sans kids: When you get them, treasure every moment. They grow much too fast on you.
19 April 2005
Habemus Papam
May the Holy Spirit know what She is doing.
Pray for Benedict XVI, that he might have the wisdom to deal with the Church and its upcoming crises.
Pray for Benedict XVI, that he might have the wisdom to deal with the Church and its upcoming crises.
18 April 2005
Alexander's Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day
I love that book. Judith Viorst did a wonderful job when she wrote it, years ago.
A little boy has a bad day. Nothing goes right, at school, at the dentist, at his father's office. Nothing.
But at night, something goes right, and there's always tomorrow.
It's a classic in our house. It's also shorthand: If you are having an Alexander's Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day, you are having a bad day, indeed.
Dh and I are both having our separate Very Bad Days. For very different reasons. In very different states. His involves airplanes and TSA officers, mine involves being overinvolved, a crummy day at work, and three overly needy kids.
So I think I'll go up, go to bed, and start over tomorrow. Heaven knows, it can't get much worse.
A little boy has a bad day. Nothing goes right, at school, at the dentist, at his father's office. Nothing.
But at night, something goes right, and there's always tomorrow.
It's a classic in our house. It's also shorthand: If you are having an Alexander's Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day, you are having a bad day, indeed.
Dh and I are both having our separate Very Bad Days. For very different reasons. In very different states. His involves airplanes and TSA officers, mine involves being overinvolved, a crummy day at work, and three overly needy kids.
So I think I'll go up, go to bed, and start over tomorrow. Heaven knows, it can't get much worse.
10 April 2005
Snake attack
Well, not really. But after lifting a rock in one of our flower beds to go after a dandelion, my eldest and I found a garter snake.
I think we scared each other equally.
I flew about three feet, I think, and I like snakes.
The snake jumped up (it was probably 2 feet long) and made for the shrubby undergrowth that we were trying to remove.
My eldest gave of a shriek loud enough to make you think she found a dead body. Hysteria doesn't quite describe it.
After taking a good five minutes to calm her down, we cautiously approached the rock again. I showed her where he was, then we went inside and looked him up in our nature book.
I proved that garter snakes don't eat small girls, or their fingers, but rather bugs and small rodents. So, hey, he can take down the squirrel population here, that would be okay.
After the hysterics passed, she was more than happy to show off the snake to her younger brother, who was duly impressed: "Wow, wook, Mom, a snake! We don't touch snake."
No, we don't.
I think we scared each other equally.
I flew about three feet, I think, and I like snakes.
The snake jumped up (it was probably 2 feet long) and made for the shrubby undergrowth that we were trying to remove.
My eldest gave of a shriek loud enough to make you think she found a dead body. Hysteria doesn't quite describe it.
After taking a good five minutes to calm her down, we cautiously approached the rock again. I showed her where he was, then we went inside and looked him up in our nature book.
I proved that garter snakes don't eat small girls, or their fingers, but rather bugs and small rodents. So, hey, he can take down the squirrel population here, that would be okay.
After the hysterics passed, she was more than happy to show off the snake to her younger brother, who was duly impressed: "Wow, wook, Mom, a snake! We don't touch snake."
No, we don't.
01 April 2005
Prayer, today and for the Church
I don't normally speak of faith here. I usually speak of parenting.
But Pope John Paul II has almost left us, and I'm left attempting to explain to my eldest not only death (because this is the first person she feels she knows to die), but also how we Roman Catholics are graced with a new pope.
God grant me the wisdom to explain both concepts to her.
And God grant the College of Cardinals the wisdom to select a man who can do the difficult job as well, with as much grace. May they be truly guided by the Holy Spirit, and not by their own whims.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. Amen.
But Pope John Paul II has almost left us, and I'm left attempting to explain to my eldest not only death (because this is the first person she feels she knows to die), but also how we Roman Catholics are graced with a new pope.
God grant me the wisdom to explain both concepts to her.
And God grant the College of Cardinals the wisdom to select a man who can do the difficult job as well, with as much grace. May they be truly guided by the Holy Spirit, and not by their own whims.
Eternal rest grant unto him, O, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. Amen.
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