Head . . . throbbing

No, not from the kids playing the Wii that Santa brought.

No, not from incessant Christmas music.

No, not from the huge 40-minute line I stood in yesterday to buy cheap Bath & Body Works stuff.

I have yet another *)(&^*&^ sinus infection.

These things hit me like a freight train. I got one at Thanksgiving, and now another one is in full swing. I'm off to go take a nap with my Vaporizer running full tilt and load up on Sudafed. Even my teeth hurt.

This is one Christmas gift I could have done without.

Hopefully I'll rise from the throbbing in time to raise a glass of bubbly on New Year's Eve.

Dear Santa

In shamelessly stealing from Ms.G and C2, I'm doing this blog post in honor of a fine Maneater tradition. Although I was only a groupie, and not a staff member, I fondly recall the wacky notes that they'd use to fill out the ad columns around Christmas.

In that spirit --

Dear Santa:

I know I've been incredibly whiny this year, but I've tried to be patient and good whenever possible. Give me bonus points for not actually ripping several peoples' heads off during long meetings this year, even when they deserved it.

My list, to wit:

* A lovely new silver MacBookPro to call my own, complete with decent audio editing software (Garage Band is good, not great).

* A new freelance website. My husband says he'll build one, but he never has time.

* Clients. Lots of them. Well-paying clients.

* The Registrar's Office to not mess with my classes so that I can earn my graduate degree in Dec. 08.

* Patience. I know I ask for this every year, but I need more. A lot more.

* V.Sattui reds. Cases of them. Greg Norman Cab Sav will do as well. Preferably 2002.

* A new school board that understands the wonder and great possibilities within my kids' school. They are on the warpath again to shut it down, and I'm tired of this battle. It would be a tragedy for it to be shut down, and I need you to help them see that.

* More time for my husband.

* Better jobs for both of us. Ones that don't drive us crazy, require us to care about school closings other than the ones our kids attend, and ones that pay well.

* My husband could really use some free time. And help him to find a hobby. He needs to remember how to play.

* A Wii. And hopefully, said Wii will help us get off the couch and move more.

* Unlimited clothing and shoe money. Ann Taylor Loft and Target could really, really, really use an economic boost, don'tcha think?

* A handyman. We really need to finish a zillion projects around the house, and neither of us have time or skills to do it. At the very least, could I get someone to paint the ceilings and the living room in my house?

* Healthy kids. Thank you for that gift this year. I'd like it again next year.

Where I Stand

If John Cardinal Henry Newman doesn't sum up my ideas on truth, faith, and belief within a university setting, I don't know what does:

“a place to which a thousand schools make contributions; in which the intellect may safely range and speculate, sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its judge in the tribunal of truth.”

Where I work right now would have some disagreements with Cardinal Newman. So would some of the hierarchy within my church.

I'd noticed a few years ago that place my husband and I were married no longer referred to itself as The Newman Center. Not that the saint they now tout (St. Thomas More) is a slouch. But somehow I missed that Cardinal Newman is not only uncool, but a threat.

In National Catholic Reporter this week, there's a good analysis of how critical thinking and questioning seem to be discouraged in Catholicism lately. That is a loss. Rigidity lead us to the Reformation and the Inquisition. Do we really want to go back to that?

Day in the life: Weekend

7:30 a.m.: Hear youngest screaming "MOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!" Try to ignore.
7:31 a.m.: Give up. Get youngest. Bribe her with "snuggle" in bed in attempt to sleep in.
7:32 a.m.-7:47 a.m.: Have youngest thwap me with stupid bunny blankets. Stick fingers in my eye. Whap me on the chest for fun.
8 a.m. Ask second child to take sister with him and feed her breakfast. Shove husband out of bed, under pretense of concern that he needs to go to the gym.
8:15 a.m.: Youngest comes in to torture me further. Chase out.
8:30 a.m.: See above.
9 a.m.: Shout at younger two kids, who come into room to torment me while I attempt to sleep.
10 a.m.: Wake up. Consider getting up.
10:15 a.m.: Get up. Clean bathroom before taking shower.
10:39 a.m.: Take shower. Enjoy hot water, which I rarely get because our hot water heater does not work well in winter.
11 a.m.: Make coffee. Consider options for lunch. Alert husband that I am awake.
11:15 a.m.: Make peanut butter fudge.
11:30 a.m.: Start lunch.
11:50 a.m.: Call kids down for lunch.
11:53 a.m.: Yell at kids for complaining about all the food on table.
Noon: Clean up lunch. Start cleaning toilets. Discover eldest didn't really scrub one sink well, bring her back to redo.
12:30 p.m.: Throw tablecloth and rugs in the wash.
12:50 p.m.: Toss wash in dryer. Beg husband to take youngest and tuck her in nap, as youngest is whiny and annoying.
1:20 p.m.: Husband finishes work on computer, tucks youngest in nap.
1:24 p.m.: Inform elder children to find somewhere else to play, as Mom must work on research paper.
1:45 p.m.: Get really annoyed that APA style takes for-freaking-ever to do references page.
2 p.m.: Stall for bit on Fark.com.
3:36 p.m.: Decide hands are freezing, reference page almost done, go make hot chocolate.
3:47 p.m.: Praise elder two on the tent/fort they made upstairs in guest room. Ask them to come down for hot chocolate and peppermint Jo Jos from Trader Joes.
3:51 p.m.: Lick fingers from Jo Jo, take hot chocolate upstairs to re-read research paper and revise.
4:30 p.m.: Finish research paper (thank God!) and decide to start dinner.
5 p.m.: Get little one up from nap.
5:12 p.m.: Ask husband to come upstairs and pry youngest off my leg, so I can work on dinner.
5:13 p.m.: Remember stuff in dryer. Get tablecloth out and put on table.
5:14 p.m.-5:45 p.m.: Make dinners (one for tonight, one that can simmer on wood stove, should we lose power in ice storm tomorrow).
5:50 p.m.: 6:15 p.m.: Eat dinner.
6:16 p.m.: Send husband off to bathe younger kids. Tell eldest to take long shower and get a break. Clean dinner dishes.
6:20 p.m.: Discover son wet bed. Son did not tell anyone he wet bed. Strip sheets. Shove new sheets at husband and march off to laundry room to wash &*)(^%*&%^ sheets.
6:30 p.m.: Decide to make bar cookies, because I like them and they won't take long to make.
6:47 p.m.: Toss sheets in dryer.
6:55 p.m.: Slide bar cookies in oven, head off to take long hot bath while husband has kids occupied with SpongeBob.
7:30 p.m.: Shout vaguely at husband as he announces he is leaving for poker game.
7:31 p.m.: Get out of bath, dress, go fetch cookies out of oven.
7:45 p.m.: Feed kids snack, chase to bed.
8 p.m.: Help brush teeth. Tuck in bed.
8:15 p.m.: Tuck youngest in again.
8:30 p.m.: Start freelance project.
8:40 p.m.: Figure out freelance site won't let me in.
8:45 p.m.: Grumpily discover youngest is banging on her door. Ask eldest to go to bed 15 minutes early, tuck youngest in again.
9ish: Send note to freelance client that system not working.
9:17 p.m.: Tuck youngest in AGAIN!
9:20 p.m.: Decide to read Fark.com
9:24 p.m.: Blog pathetic day.

And that's it. I'm going to bed. I might read Real Simple. I can't bear to watch TV. It's weather porn right now, as every station spazzes about the ice storm that may or may not hit. If it does hit, you probably won't hear from me for days.

Stupid Sooner Saturday

It was a busy Saturday for us:

Breakfast with Santa in the morning. The eldest was rolling her eyes, because she's clued into the Jolly Old Elf. The youngest was terrified, to the point that she shrieked, and NOT with glee when Santa made his appearance. We hid out by a coworker who came in late and was seated far, far, far away from Santa.

We put up Christmas decorations during the day.

At night, we started the M-I-Z chant, but the flipping Sooners started off strong in the second half, and our defense AND offense didn't show. Bummer, baby.

Being ranked No. 1 was good while it lasted.

M-I-Z

No. 1.

I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime. Seriously.

I'm on cloud 9. Forget turkey. The best part of Thanksgiving happened Saturday night.

And to celebrate (with apologies to KU fans Allison and Kathy, and NU fan Brad):

Four football fans go rock climbing one afternoon, a Nebraska fan, an Oklahoma fan, a Kansas fan, and a Mizzou fan. They had been arguing all the way up the mountain about who among them was the most die-hard fan.

Upon reaching the top of the mountain, the Nebraska fan proclaimed to the other three, "THIS IS FOR THE HUSKERS!" and promptly threw himself off the mountain as a form of sacrifice, screaming "GO BIG RED!" as he fell to his death.


Not to be outdone, the Oklahoma fan jumped up and shouted, "THIS IS FOR THE SOONERS!" and threw himself off the mountain.

Refusing to be outdone by the Nebraska and Oklahoma fans, the Mizzou fan rose to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs, "THIS IS FOR THE MU TIGERS!" and without hesitation pushed the KU fan off the mountain.

He'll either be a brilliant lawyer

or a psychopath. Or a brilliant psychopath lawyer.

(is that redundant? --sorry my lawyer relatives and friends, couldn't resist--)

My middle son, age 5, is showing a great capacity for drawing very, very fine lines with ethics. He's also good at pushing and pushing and pushing right up until he finds where the line is.

Point No. 1:

Amazingly, he does nothing wrong. It's always his younger sister. Or some kid at school.


Point No. 2:

When he stole a magnet from school yesterday, he informed my spouse that "The guardian angel on my shoulder must have been looking away for a minute."

Point No. 3:

He informed me early in the school year that he could get into some trouble at school every day, but not a lot of trouble.

How is this possible, you ask?

His teacher does the green-yellow-orange-red system. You get in trouble, you lose your green popsicle stick and get a yellow, and so on.

But to get to yellow, you get three strikes.

So my son, Lord love him, has been getting two strikes, knowing that he can.

I informed his kindergarten teacher of this at parent-teacher conferences a month ago. She was, um, a bit surprised he figured that one out so fast. So she's been keeping a hawk's eye on him to nip him in the bud.

Yet, he managed to steal a magnet from school yesterday. My poor spouse got to lower the boom on him, because I was in grad school last night. When I got home, the boy was chastened (sort of).

We sent him to school with the magnet, a note, and the requirement that he apologize to his teacher and fess up to what he did.

I'm going to pick him up from aftercare in 20 minutes. I'm really hoping that he had a good day, but yet, still learned a lesson.

This parenting thing is HARD, y'all.

AAUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

People at work are driving me nuts.

Others are being supportive.

It really is a toss-up some days on who outnumbers whom.

New Crockpot Recipe

I tried a new one tonight. It went over so-so, but I suspect it is because I live with picky people.

Chicken Burritos

1 14 oz. can of corn
1 14 oz. can of black beans
1 package of taco seasoning
1 package of ranch dressing mix
4 chicken breasts
1 16 oz. jar of salsa.

Mix the undrained corn and beans into crockpot with spices. Add chicken on top. Pour salsa over all. Cook in crockpot on high for 4-5 hours.

Heat up tortillas when you get home. Shred chicken, and add your favorite toppings w/bean and corn mix.

I like it. The chicken went over well with the picky. Most of my crew hates beans (black, pinto or kidney), so that part was a hard sell.

Warning: This is very filling.

Note the (small) changes

I still haven't gotten around to doing the template the way I want it, but I did edit the left bar.

Note the new books we at Mommy-Tracked are reading, as well as the link to the Amazon.com gift list. It is under my name, but it reflects the wants of our entire Mommy-Tracked family for the upcoming holidays (and in the case of the eldest, Turkey-day birthdays).

That latter change is for family only. For those in the friend/outside unknown reader loop, you can browse to see what we are up to, but do not buy us anything. : )

21 Deer

Imagine that old Johnny Carson Carnac sketch:

Answer:
21 deer, one skunk, one possum.

Question:
What are the potential animal ping-pong balls aiming for your new car as you drive up Hwy. 5 in Arkansas at midnight on the way to visit the grandparents for a long weekend?


Yeah, that was fun. I'm never driving that curvy, nasty stretch of road late at night ever again.

On the upside, kids had great time with grandparents, and we didn't actually hit any of the targets. Or have the targets jump into us.

The Wisdom of Anne

Anne-with-an-E, Anne of Green Gables.

Whenever I get downright depressed, demoralized, and discouraged, I pull out my Anne of Green Gables novels. In this latest re-reading, I'm amazed at how true so much of what L.M. Montgomery wrote a century ago is.

When I was 12, I was the red-headed misfit who daydreamed too much. I never read the other novels at that time (and just as well, because I wasn't emotionally ready or mature enough for them). But Anne spoke to me. I was a "kindred spirit."

When I was in high school, I discovered the other novels. One of my college roommates and I read those books again and again. We sobbed when Ruby Gillis died a horrid death. We felt Anne's agony of knowing Gilbert cared too much, and then died a death with her when she learned that she really did love him.

When I lost my first child to miscarriage, I wept when I re-read the chapter where Anne and Gilbert lost their little Joyce.

Now, re-reading again (and sobbing again when Ruby Gillis died, which convinced my eldest that her mom really is nuts), I'm amazed at how well Montgomery knew human nature and how well she portrayed love and marriage. In Anne of Ingleside, the final chapters are focused on an Anne my age, who is feeling neglected, overworked, and unloved.

Everything ends up all right between Anne and Gilbert, but the overall message -- that we mustn't become so self-centered that we forget our loved ones have weighy things on their shoulders, too, and that we should care for ourselves, and not just our houses, our children, and our careers -- just brought tears to my eyes.

That passage spoke to my heart. I feel that way now. And the fact that women a century ago had those same feelings just makes me realize it is natural. We must take a break to feed our souls.

I've been doing that this weekend. Fall break is this week. Two of my grad classes are cancelled. I put things (like housework and writing) on hold, to take time for me, for my children, and for my husband.

Anne (and L.M.M.) is wise. I'm taking a century's worth of wisdom to heart.

Resolution

Remember last winter' when a child was kidnapped from one of the stops on my bus route?

The guy who did it pleaded guilty today. He'll be in jail for life. Good.

In a message he passed on through his lawyer, he says he feels at peace with his decision.

You know what, NO. I want him to have no peace. What he did to those two families, those two boys, was horrific. I want him to be remorseful, guilty, and agonize over what he did for the rest of his confined days.

Story is here

Mr. Goodbear visits

We had a furry visitor last night. He was about three feet tall, caramel-colored fur, and very polite.

Mr. Goodbear only visits kindergarteners who are good for an entire month. "Good" is determined by keeping your popsicle stick green. If you act up after three warnings, you go to yellow. Then orange. Then red.

My little guy, suprisingly, kept his popsicle stick green an entire month. He was the first kindergartener to have Mr. Goodbear visit. So Mr. Goodbear hung out at aftercare with my little guy. He rode home in our van. He ate dinner with us, he watched SpongeBob with us, he ate a snack, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.

My little guy, who can be the rowdiest, goofiest, silliest five-year-old boy you've ever met, was just glowing the entire visit.

Oh, for the love of Riley

Guess what?

Latest Thomas recall . . .

Yup. We have Toad. And I'm pretty sure it was the one they sent to us as a freebie for turning all the other lead-coated stuff earlier this summer.

You have got to be kidding me. This is a farce at this point. We are checking the Consumer Product Safety Commission website almost every other week and then searching through the piles of toys in our house.

I don't care if it would cost more for toys if they were produced in the U.S. Move the manufacturing back here. This is ridiculous.

In honor of my husband

Because without him, there is no way I could stay even semi-sane after all the stress of the past 18 months:

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Too many great-grandmothers

We were at a family wedding this weekend. My family.

With 16 cousins on one side and 14 on the other, we go to a LOT of weddings.

At any rate, I'm herding the younger two out to gather more food from the snack line at the reception. I'm leading them out, my grandmother (my kids' great-grandmother) is being wheeled in.

Now, keep in mind, my grandmother has been slipping in and out of reality for months. You never know what you'll get.

She sees my son, calls him over, and asks, "Are you the little boy I used to watch?"

Oh, Lord, thinks I. I have NO clue what she's talking about, or who she thinks my son is. Could be anyone over a 60-year span of time. So I whisper to my five-year-old guy, "Play along."

So he does, he nods, he smiles. Then he says:

"I thought you were dead!"

Oh God. Save me now.

Keep in mind, one of his great-grandmothers did die recently.

"Other great-grandma," I hiss. "Other great-grandma." And I shuttle them away. Thankfully, no one but me heard him.

Kids: You never know what will come out of their mouths. Be warned.

Nary a bubble skirt to be seen

Thank goodness!

Being sick means I've missed the NY fall fashion shows. But NY magazine has a good wrap up, with photos.

No bubble skirts. Normal, cute slip dresses. Suits I'd wear.

The insanity is over, thank God.

Cough, hack, wheeze

I have been down and out with one of the worst illnesses I've ever had.

Seven days of hacking, wheezing, fevers that come and go, lack of appetite, and utter exhaustion. I finally dragged myself to the doctor yesterday and now have a lovely stash of antibiotics and other drugs.

I've never taken five sick days in a row. Never. Not even with morning sickness at its worst. But this totally kicked my tuckus.

Let's just hope the kids don't get it. If they do, we're toast.

Death in our family

My husband's grandmother passed away last week.

We had just visited her during our vacation, as a part of the trip we stopped at a family reunion, planned partly to celebrate the 65 years she and his grandfather had been married.

She was a wonderful woman. She welcomed me to the family with open arms. Literally. She swallowed me in a bear hug after our college commencement ceremonies. This was the first time I had met most of my husband's extended family, a mere two weeks before our wedding. His grandmother made me feel comfortable within their family.

She called herself the weather witch, and she took responsibility for any and all weather. She apologized for the drizzle on our wedding day, and then reminded me that rain on anyone's wedding day is a sign of good luck.

I loved her like my own grandmother. In fact, she felt like my grandmother. When we lived in New York, we'd drive up to their house for holidays and sleep in the cramped back bedroom, and eat from a groaning table filled with food fixed by my husband's grandfather.

My only fault, as far as she was concerned, is that I hated playing cards. Oh, I often did, but I am a miserable card player (I really do hate playing card games). Right now, I'm treasuring those memories of her attempting to teach me how to play hand and foot.

She loved my kids dearly, and always e-mailed to ask for pictures.

I miss her dearly, and she hasn't even been gone a week. It seems slightly unreal, because I was just talking to her three weeks ago.

I'm not sure who would be designated the new family weather witch, but I'd like to apply for the position, in honor of her.