Eulogy

Last night, I lost the woman who most made me who I am today.

My grandmother's been slipping away from us for a while. She lost herself to dementia last summer, and it has been hit or miss whether we would see her lucid or see her in some decade long past when we'd visit.

We had a complicated relationship. She had very traditional views on what a girl or a woman should be. I fought against those at nearly every turn. While she and my mom were in the kitchen, cooking supper, I'd try to sneak out and go hang in the living room and talk politics with my grandpa.

She attempted to instill the "womanly" arts on my fellow female cousins and me. We were given embroidery kits for Christmas, and we were expected to learn how to do it. We were taught to quilt. We were taught to cook and how to maintain a garden during our week-long visits with her each summer.

Looking back, I loved the gardening and the cooking, heck, even the cleaning, but that embroidery still makes my fingers hurt. She'd make me pick out numerous stitches and insist I do it right.

She was very focused on what was right and proper. There was a *right* way to do things. That's part of why I think I'm so obsessive compulsive about things (especially cleaning) today. She taught me the *right* way; to me, that's the only way.

And yet . . .

I fought back against her ideas of how to be a woman at every turn. I didn't want to be relegated to the kitchen. I didn't want to sew. Heaven knows I hated every embroidery stitch.

It took me years to learn that in her world, the gossip with her friends over coffee that I so disdained was her way of consolidating power and keeping control of her world. My grandmother was a bit Machiavellian, honestly.

I love her, and yet . . . I rejected her at every turn, because what she wanted me to be I just couldn't be. I had to get away. I was stifled by living in a place where everyone not only knew everyone else but also knew every family scandal going back five generations, back to freaking Prussia, and carrying those grudges and stereotypes and misperceptions through the generations. I turned my back on that, and opened up to other people from other places, other backgrounds.

When I married someone who wasn't Catholic, you would have thought I'd completely rocked their worlds. Maybe, in a way, I had.

I was the first to go away to college.

I was the first to marry (and no, none of us saw that coming). The fact that I married a Methodist took them some getting used to.

I was the first to keep working outside the home once my kids were born.

She made me that way. As much as she tried to force me into her mold, I'd fight back so hard to do the exact opposite.

Neither of us were right. There are different ways for different people. That's a lesson I've learned, and she was the one who, inadvertently perhaps, taught it.

For a minute, I was in Chi

It was an illusion, but a nice one.

A stiff, warm gale was blowing -- the kind that will knock you over when you turn a building's corner -- as I walked along a main thoroughfare downtown. Two city buses rushed by me, and I watched a window washer ply his trade on the second story while he dripped on first-floor retail/restaurant customers passing on the sidewalk below.

Just for a minute, I felt like I was back in Chicago. The wind. The buses. The window washer. The retail/mixed use configuration of the buildings. It all took me right back. I just felt at peace.

I love big cities. I love being anonymous and melting into the crowd on city streets as I walk by first-floor retail and gaze in windows as I rush home.

I had that feeling again . . .and then, when I crossed the street, and the buses were gone and the window washer behind me, it was gone.

I really need to move. This place, as one of my grad school professors aptly put it, is the biggest small town you'll ever live in. I can't go anywhere and not see someone I know. Some people like it, but I find it stifling.

I need more Chi moments around here.

Super Tuesday, here I come!

This was fun. Confirmed what I already suspected, but fun all the same:

88% Barack Obama
86% Mike Gravel
85% Chris Dodd
85% Dennis Kucinich
85% John Edwards
84% Hillary Clinton
83% Joe Biden
74% Bill Richardson
41% Rudy Giuliani
32% John McCain
23% Ron Paul
23% Mitt Romney
22% Mike Huckabee
21% Tom Tancredo
11% Fred Thompson

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Oh, happy day

The youngest decided to do No. 2 on the potty last night.

We praised her and gave her tons of Skittles.

If she does it again, we're going to Mr. Bulky for a mass jellybean purchase.

The days of not needing diapers and PullUps are at hand, folks. When that happens, I'm throwing a party.

So. Very. Serious. about the party.

I *so* rock

I just found out that I won an award for my Bob B. press packet.

Oh, and my designer and I won something for the Cindy S. stuff, too.

Oh, and our team won a sweepstakes award (most points).

I really, really, really needed that news today. My ego is back where it should be (not too big, but not three sizes too small, either).

Look, redesigned Mommy-Tracked!

I finally took a few hours to update the site. It's a bit more like my real-life personality now.

I've been tired of the green bubbles for a while. I started playing around this summer while I was in grad school, but I never had the time to do what I wanted.

With a little assistance from Mr. Mommy-Tracked in deciphering Blogger's style sheets, I now have it set up the way I want it. Almost. I still can't get the news feed to work.

But I have a few new features besides the new color scheme and layout.

Note on the right that you can now go to my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles. Connect with me!

I've also officially put on the legalese to copyright my work. Note the button at the bottom from Creative Commons. That's the fine print, folks. You can link to me, but if you want to use my stuff in publishing, you have to credit me when you quote my stuff in fair use, or contact me for details on how to publish my work.

Want to use me in an anthology or journal article? Awesome.

Pay me.

I'm a writer. I live by my words. So sorry, you can read for free, but if you want to publish me in print, you have to talk to Mommy-Tracked. Or Mommy-Tracked's cousin--the lawyer--if I catch you busting my copyright.

We're fine

Our worst damage is a large tree branch down in the yard. But we had two that came really close (as in, within a mile).

There's a Home Depot/Expo kind of place across the expressway from our university, and its roof was obliterated. I had to pick my way around sheet metal and lining to get the kids to school.

It was a long night. To quote child three: "Tomadoes freak me out."

No kidding. And I like stuff like that. But that was too close for me.

I like warm January weather

because it means I can Rollerblade in short sleeves.

I dislike warm January weather because it means we have a chance for tornadoes tonight as the cold front blasts through.

Relentless

There is nothing more determined than my youngest at 8:30 a.m. when she's convinced that her mom should get up, vacation or no vacation.

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.