Fishy Busyness

Mission (almost) Completed

2009-11-17T15:06:00.001-08:00

Operation Merry Fishtank is nearing completion. Right on schedule. Even ahead by a day or so. My favorite decoration this year is my fireplace- new and improved for those of you who followed along with the fireplace saga earlier in the year. Pictures posted later.

Here was my favorite decoration last year. I am amused to say that it is even more laden this year and is beginning to look a little ridiculous. I give The Scientist a new ornament for it every year in his stocking and last year's was a three-fer. Three matching CU football helmet ornaments. If I weren't so attached to this one, I'd say we were going to need a bigger tree!

Operation Merry Fishtank

2009-11-11T09:49:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season. I know this evokes lots of strong opinions. Some of you are horrified. "It's not even Thanksgiving yet, woman!" Others of you are seeing me as a kindred holiday spirit. Among those in the know, it is no secret that I am in the beginning stages of decorating for Christmas. The wreath isn't hung yet and we do a real tree, so that won't go up for awhile, but the groundwork is currently being laid for these things to happen. Here's how this process used to go a few years ago:

I would eagerly await the day after Thanksgiving so that I could start getting my decorations out. However, I am a social lemming, so I would never actually do this on Black Friday. I was at the malls. So, it waited until the day after the day after Thanksgiving. Which is always a huge football day, and we were too busy eating nachos and cheering or cursing, depending on the game(s). Then Sunday was here and nothing can ever get done on Sunday. Monday would come after that and the children were back in school and the official holiday maddness and Christmas countdown would officially begin. Maddness, I tell you. Pajama days at school, presents to buy. Cookie exchanges. Parties. Parties. Parties. Somewhere in there, I would start getting the decorations down from the attic. A big box would come down. I would race to get the stuff into it's appropriate place while the kids were occupied with a game or school. All the stuff that was now displaced in the house would get shoved into a closet or nook or cranny, awaiting the end of the maddness and it's return to rightful place on the mantle (or armoire, or side table or hallway wall). Invariably, this pattern would continue right up until the week of Christmas, at which point, I began hauling boxes down in a frenzy, throwing decorations up left and right and feeling guilty all the time that I hadn't done it sooner and that now we only had a short time to enjoy it and that my family didn't have a calm, cool and together mommy at the holiday helm.

None of this was joyful. It wasn't merry. It wasn't worshipful. It wasn't calm or bright.

It was crazy and frantic and all things that I never wanted my Christmas to be about.

So, Clemsongirl and I developed a plan a few weeks ago that I am eagerly and currently implementing. Here's how it works:

Today (yes, TODAY!)- the garage gets de-cluttered. I'm using this term pretty loosely because we are not un-cluttered garage type people. We are not European or South American. Therefore we don't park our cars in the garage. We store things there. So, really, it's a loose organization of the stuff we intend to be there. That loose collection of stuff has been organized (loosely, of course) and things that have been waiting in the launch-pad area to go up to the attic have been put up there. This is all in preparation for...

Friday- Christmas boxes are brought down from the attic and placed in a now cleared out area of the garage we will refer to as the "staging area." They will not be touched. Just brought down. This must be done this day because I will have the morning to myself with no children except Red Fish.

Sunday- Surface decluttering takes place and fall decorations come down. Anything that must be moved to make room for Christmas decor will be moved. Where? Not sure yet. Probably a big ol' box that will also be put in the "staging area." This is to prepare for...

Monday- The Most Wonderful Woman in the World (AKA- my cleaning lady) arrives. She cleans the now uncluttered surfaces and gives the house it's monthly thorough once over (Yes, monthly. Stop judging).

Tuesday- I teach in the morning (saying that still hasn't gotten old). In the afternoon, while Redfish sleeps and prior to school pick-up, I will begin putting up the decorations onto the clean and neat surfaces.

Wednesday- continue process from Tuesday.

Thurs- put empty-ish boxes back into attic. Boxes will have been re-packed with things that were removed to make room.

Friday- Thanksgiving feasts at both schools. Packing for...

Saturday- We leave for SC and will be gone until the Monday after Thanksgiving at which point...

We return to a schedule that will be wild until Christmas and a house that is ready to handle it! Voila! Now, won't it be fun to see how many excuses I can come up with for why this didn't happen as planned?

Trying to Reason With Hurricane Season

2009-11-09T12:10:00.001-08:00

For those of you who have enough sense not to live at the ocean, hurricane season runs from June through November. Technically. Those of us who live here know that on paper it is six months long, but the reality is that as soon as the weather starts to cool, we can breathe a sigh of relief. So, I was breathing easier as of Halloween this year. Hurricanes are "fueled" by warm water and don't do well in cooler conditions. So, the November deadline is just to be on the safe side...or so we thought.

Hurricane Ida is aiming for us and I have my Thanksgiving decorations out. It just doesn't seem right.

I am not a girl to sit around and mope about a weather system I cannot control (although, The Scientist would argue that if a weather system could be controlled, I would be the girl to do it). So, I did what every other red-blooded American does during severe weather (like a mild snow flurry) and got my tail to the grocery store.

The beer was going fast. Thank goodness I needed Woodchuck cider. The ground beef and Bunny bread were flying off the shelves. Lucky for the rednecks behind me in the pre-hurricane supermarket buggy derby, that I didn't need beef or bread. Just Fontina cheese and roasted macadamia nuts for me, thanks. I threw in a few bags of Louisiana satsumas and some organic spinach and then bypassed the battery and bottled water aisles in favor of the aisle containing the all-important pomagranate-apple cider and the feta cheese. One bag of Fritos Scoops later, I was stocked up and prepared for Ida- whatever she may bring.

Wish us luck.

Hello, Long Lost Friend!

2009-11-06T11:48:00.000-08:00

You're all right, of course. All of you who have been so kindly harrassing me via e-mail about my failure to blog. What you don't see is that this blog has become a very old friend- the one you know you need to catch up with and desperately WANT to catch up with, but the one you know will take a 3 hour phone conversation to fully catch up to. But, I'm vowing to chip away a bit at that phone conversation right now and reintroduce myself.

So, hello, old friend!

During our lapse in programming, I've been swimming with my head above water, but it hasn't necessarily been pretty. When we left off, I as headed back to work parttime. I dove back into the classroom at the end of August and have, quite frankly, felt like the luckiest girl in the world ever since. It was just like I remembered! The students are just as delightful and different from one another as they used to be. I've always loved the subject area and I think I love it even more now that I haven't been teaching it for so long. The technology has changed a bit (I was excited to have an overhead projector in my classroom the last time I taught!). Now, I lecture from Power Point slides and can post them online for any student who would like to print them. Strangely, you'd think the lazy ones would be the ones doing this. It's not. It's the on-the-ball students. The lazy ones didn't take notes back when I started teaching and they sure as hell don't print Power Point slides ahead of time now.

Here are a few of my observations since I was in the classroom 7 years ago.

1) It pains me to write this, but in the interest of full disclosure, I'll say it: I'm not as cute as I used to be. Not as young either. In a way, this is a benefit as it's easier for a 30-something to listen to me than to a 20-something for several hours a night.

2) With #1 out there, I'll also note that I have enjoyed doing what I can to maintain my street cred. New, cute shoes. Going through make-up a bit faster than I used to. No guilt about picking up some new threads when I see them. When you get right down to it, no one wants to listen to me (or anyone, for that matter) for 5 hours a week. It seems really wrong to have to listen to me if I'm ugly and fashionably challenged on top of it. So, I do what I can.

3) These modern students HUG a bit more than I think they used to and have more boundary issues in general. We've had to work on this as I do not particulary care for the assault on my personal space and have had to come up with repelling methods to avoid this at all costs. Hugs from my babies, immediate family members and friends= great! Hugs from Random Student I see at the park on a Saturday afternoon=weird! I also have had to discourage "text speak" messages being left on the class blog. "FML" is not an appropriate response to the newly posted study guide for the upcoming exam. Thank God for comment moderation.

4) What's up with the laptops in the classroom? I'm going to have to get a bit more savvy next semester. I can't tell when they're taking notes and when they're Facebooking someone. It also begs the question of whether or not I care...

5) I don't think I ever excused a grade on a test by saying I was hungover. This has been a new one for me. Not that this has never been true- I just wouldn't ever have said it out loud for heaven's sake!

6) They let ANYONE into community college. And I'll just leave that there for now.

You might be a redneck if...

2009-08-29T11:16:00.000-07:00

The Fishies are really into fake tattoos. I hate them. They have no sense of positioning and invariably choose to put them in the most conspicuous places on their bodies. Or the least conspicuous but also least appropriate. Like when Two Fish put a general's insignia tattoo on his... well, suffice it to say that The Scientist and I are still joking about the Little General and probably will for a good long while. At least until he becomes a father himself. Maybe longer.

Today, I vowed for the 100th time to banish the dang things from my house. One Fish, Red Fish and I went to a b-day party at a local splash park. It wasn't until I stripped Red Fish down to his swim trunks did I notice that he had been tattooed by his older brother. At least until he wiggled away and Two Fish was evidently forced to abort the mission.

I was the mom with the gleeful two year old with

ROCK AND R

in big red letters emblazoned across his back. They won't forget us there.

Didn't See That Coming

2009-08-18T15:32:00.000-07:00

Coming out of kindergarten open house this morning, in the pouring rain, I put my foot down on the step about 4 from the bottom and slipped. Not stumbled. Not skidded. My foot slid clear out from under me and suddenly I was on some sort of sitcom. As I hit every step on the way down I was thinking:

"Awww, crap, I can't believe I'm tripping on this step!"
"Really? Another step?"
"Why haven't I stopped yet?"
"What is this, step #3?"
Oh, geez- another one?! How many steps does this thing have, anyway?"
"OOOF! Yep, that last one'll leave a mark"
"Oh, thank God, I think I'm coming to a halt."

Red Fish, safely and securely perched on my hip, rode comfortably the whole way down. Didn't even fuss when I shlumped (heck, yes, that's a word!) him unceremoniously on the sidewalk after I confirmed that I wasn't dead yet- just surely in several pieces.

Lucky for me, my most sympathetic friend was the only one around at the moment and she raced to my rescue. Although she has an MD husband, his services were not required. We relatively quickly determined that 1) movement was a possibility and 2) that I was not going to throw up immediately.

Two Fish's comment after I finally spoke?

"He-he. Well, I didn't see THAT coming!"

The Scientist's comment when I got home?

"Were you wearing ridiculous shoes? Then I think you should see this as an opportunity for some fashion self-reflection"

He's lucky he said it with his cute smile on and that he was delivering Motrin and and and ice pack to me when he said it.

Back in the Saddle

2009-08-13T09:58:00.000-07:00

Years ago and a million miles away from here, it seems, I was a teacher.

In college, I never imagined myself teaching. I was going to be a vet until it turned out that vets don't make nearly as much as their years of schooling would make you think. Then a doctor, I thought. But, I did know that I wanted a family at some point and realized that it would be really hard to be a doctor AND mom who was home with her children after school. After that, I decided that perhaps I just needed to "find myself" and applied to the Peace Corp and was accepted. I waited and waited and waited for them to decide where to send me. Finally, I decided that although I still probably needed to find myself, most likely I wasn't going to be found in either Africa or somewhere on a Pacific island.

So, I decided to go to nursing school (can you say "Identity Crisis?!"). I signed up to take some pre-req classes at the local community college that somehow I'd skated out of in college, but that would help me get into a nursing program for people who already had a four year degree. I loved anatomy and physiology and adored my professor (it didn't hurt that she was a fellow Clemson grad.) At the end of the semester, she asked me if I would be interested in teaching some labs at the college. Apparently, all you needed was a four year degree in biology in order to teach a lab.

I needed the money and it sounded new and interesting, so I filled out the paperwork, signed up for my next semester of pre-reqs and started prepping to teach my first lab.

A week later, I was hooked. Just like a junkie. While the classes I was taking were tolerable, I spent perhaps an unhealthy amount of time thinking about ways to teach my next labs. I stayed way too late. I invested way too much in the students. I researched ways to help them understand things like DNA replication. I was rediscovering my inner science geek and was loving every minute of it.

Three years later, I graduated with a Masters of Arts in Teaching Science from the university in town. Throughout grad school, I continued to teach at the community college, gaining experience and confidence and knowledge. After graduation, I focused on my full-time middle school science job.

I was good at it. I liked it and I loved the students and my coworkers. But, it wasn't the same at all as teaching at the community college. It's hard to stay passionate about your subject when the majority of your job consists of managing your classroom, going to meetings and filling out paperwork. All that stopped when we moved three states away and I finally got my dream of staying home with One Fish (and soon after, Two Fish).

This semester, I finally got my courage up and applied to teach at the local community college here. It's been a long time coming. I've spent the past few semesters wanting to apply, but wondering if they'd even want me. If I was even capable of writing a resume that wouldn't elicit giggles or eye rolls before a dump in the trashcan. Would they want someone who didn't have a masters in science, but a masters in teaching science instead? Would they like me? Did I still even "have it." Is 6 years too long to have been out of the classroom?

Turns out, that in an economy like this one, one of the few places where jobs are available is at community colleges. People out of work often go back to school and enrollment goes up and more teachers are needed. Turns out they needed me. Better, yet- they WANTED me.

I got the course notes the other day and apprehensively peeked at them, hoping I wouldn't find that everything has changed in six years. It hasn't. It's just the same and I got goosebumps just flipping through those pages, reading those familiar words and phrases that haven't changed in decades. In my mind, I am imagining my students faces already. I know which parts of which concepts and theories they will stumble on. Which chapters will make their eyes glaze over if I'm not careful and which labs have the ability to light a spark that was never there before.

There are lots of things I don't know how to do in this world. Too many that I don't even have the courage to attempt. But, I do know how to teach biology. That, I can do. And I'm so incredibly thankful that I've gotten the chance again.

Put Your Hands Together For...

2009-07-27T05:40:00.000-07:00

The Mommy Show!!! (wait for wild applause to die down)

We're T-3 hours until the Mommy Show takes the stage for a two week run. The Scientist is entering his "busy season" around here and that means that this fish tank is about to get an overhaul. He'll be gone for two, home for two and then gone for four. Stop gasping- it only makes it worse.

Seriously though, I know what I'm doing by now when it comes to producing The Mommy Show. It's sort of like exam time when I was in college. There wasn't much to do other than...well, study. Survival and study. That was it. The Mommy Show is sort of like that. Just get it done while maintaining as much sanity as possible. Simple.

As usual, I am already planning what home improvements I will be doing while The Show is running. Usually, it's just a matter of rearranging furniture. This time, though, I have bigger plans. Usually, the term "bigger plans," when used by me and when used in the context of home improvement, can only end in disaster. However, I'm so optimistic this time.

My first project? Stripping the wallpaper off a bathroom wall. No clue how it's done, but I'm about to find out. Any tips? Pointers? Suggestions? Words of wisdom or caution?

God Bless 'im

2009-07-26T14:51:00.000-07:00

The Fish Tank was hit this week. Strep throat for the third time this year. Bless his heart, The Scientist was a gem through it all (did I mention that I was the only one who got it?). Obviously, the ship sinks when Mommy goes down and someone else has to take command.

When I had to take to my bed for hours after unloading the dishwasher, he took the day off to help.

When it became obvious that I would be useless for child-activity-deliveries-and pick-up, he became the human taxi service.

When I needed my antibiotics picked up from the pharmacy, he raced out to get them.

When I moaned about the pain, he suggested and delivered Motrin.

He reminded me to drink lots of fluids and to rest more than I thought I had to.

He was rightfully proud of himself after all of this. He did seem to have a solution to everything. The man had it HANDLED. So much so, that on day 2 of antibiotics, when I lay listless on the bed, remarking that not much hurt anymore but that I just wanted to sleep for hours and wondered if I would ever have the energy to be normal again, he asked with all seriousness:

"Hmmm...do you want me to go out and get you an energy drink?"

I respectfully declined.

Mi Dojo Es Su Dojo

2009-07-08T19:32:00.000-07:00

Conversation with The Scientist today as we drove home from the last day of Two Fish's soccer camp:

TS: You know, I'd be really happy if he never played football- just soccer.

Me: Yep.

TS: I mean...he'll probably WANT to play football to get chicks. But, he's not going have any problem getting chicks. They're going to be All Over him.

Me: Huh. Well, I sort of hope not. I hope he has to try a little bit at least.

TS: Are you kidding? He's never going to have to try at all. They're just going to come to him.

Me: You think so, huh?

TS: Oh, yeah. You know why? Because he's been raised in my dojo.... Why are you looking at me like that?

Me: [Avert eyes. Close eyes. Raise eyebrows slightly. Slowly shake head while sighing dramatically]

Please Don't Call Out The Dogs

2009-07-05T14:42:00.000-07:00

After a splendid holiday yesterday, during which I did absolutely nothing I didn't want to do and quite a number of things I DID want to do, I dozed off for a one hour nap after church today. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to an empty house. No husband. No children.

The authorities have not been notified and no search party is looking.

Flip Out!

2009-07-02T11:08:00.000-07:00

Very exciting day around here! After years of hard work, One Fish is finally the proud owner of a gymastics competition leotard. Although her first competition isn't until September, I think she would gladly wear this every day until then!

Running from De-Feet

2009-07-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

It is seldom that I am forced to admit defeat. However, after six months, I am officially un-running. Six months ago, I was a beginner. Full of possibility and promise and determined to prove to myself that I could run 5K if I really, really wanted to badly enough. Now, six months later, I am confident in my ability to run 3miles if I really want to (which I still don't). And if I know I could run 3 miles, I'm darn sure I could run 5K. I can run farther than I ever have in my life. I have lost not a single pound, which doesn't really bother me because it wasn't the point to begin with, but it does seem as though loss of at least a little poundage should be a delicious by-product of all that sweat and tears, doesn't it? But, no matter.

I am somewhat horrified to admit this, but I have actually grown to enjoy running the tinsiest little bit. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a runner's high. Runner's exhaustion? Yes. Runner's pain? Yes. Runners irritation? Yes. No runner's high, though. What I have gotten out of it, is an enjoyment of being by myself with my music turned up, knowing that when I am finished, I will have done my duty to myself for the day. No little voices in my ear (not that I don't love those little voices). No dishes to wash. No phones ringing.

I even developed a purpose to running. I ran for One Fish. I even challenged her to a race one day (after I put up with a sufficient amount of trash talk and laughter from her about Mommy "running.") We determined to see who could run farther- not faster. I KILLED her little muscular gymnasts body. I was like the Energizer bunny. The tortoise to the hare. The little engine that could. It wasn't pretty and it involved lots of huffing and puffing and sweat, but I was determined to win and win big because I wanted her to remember losing an endurance race to her 36 year old mother. When she is 36 (or 26, or 16), I want her to remember that she is from a line of tough-as-nails women and that she's one too. It's not that no other mommies run. Lots and lots of the mommies I know are beating the pavements. Faster and harder and longer than I am. But, running is not something she'd seen me do before. I wanted her to know that I could. WE could. Whenever and however we wanted. I wanted her to know that I kick ARSE and I finish the job when I put my mind to something. And, I'm not about the business of raising a wimpy chick.

I have read the magazines and taken the advice of pros and seasoned runners. I run for a bit and walk for a minute to give my joints a break. I bought the really good shoes. I stopped running hills and if I happen across one, I run up it and walk down it. I run slowly and never more than 2-3 miles. I am stronger for this and am looking forward to my next physical challenge.

I have also done terrible things to my hips. For months, I have been unable to turn over in bed or rise to a standing position without hip pain. At first I thought it was just protesting muscles. But, after this much time, a consult with a doctor and a massage therapist, I am convinced it is my body's way of telling me to cut it out already. Those poor hips didn't start out with the benefit of good joint genes in the first place and have now carried babies for 27 months in utero and countless months after birth. And they're over it already.

So, while I have not yet run the 5K race I set a goal for, I am checking the box. I now know I could if I wanted to and am moving on. I will miss being able to cover as much ground in as little time. I will miss the feeling of complete exhaustion at the end of a "good" run. I will miss being able to say with confidence that I can run 2 miles. However, I will not miss the running itself. Running still sucks and it still hurts.

What's next? I'm considering a half-marathon. Would you laugh if I walked it?

Rules To Live By

2009-07-01T05:05:00.000-07:00

Note to Governor Sanford of the great state of South Carolina:

Dear Mark,
It seems that you must have missed a class that the rest of us all managed to fit into our Course Schedule For Life. So, I thought I'd give you my abridged notes from the class. They may be helpful in the future.

* Don't be a cheater. This seems to be pretty cut and dry with no detail needed.

* If you do cheat, immediate groveling is required. To avoid further humiliation, said cheating must be ceased immediately after telling one's spouse about the infraction.

* Referring to one's mistress as one's SOULMATE should never be done on television. It's creepy. And weird. And smarmy. And probably grounds for your spouse pulling a Bobbit on your stupid self.

* If a worldwide icon should happen to die while you are embroiled in a scandal, for goodness sake, take advantage of it and go underground. Way, way underground. Do not hold anymore press conferences.

* There is no TRY. Either love your spouse or don't. If you disregarded all previous life rules, then you obviously DON'T. Cut your losses, move on and spare everyone around you further pain and humiliation. You should have thought about her family money you'd be leaving behind before you found another "soulmate."

* Don't cry in public. Especially if you should happen to be an elected official. No one will think you're sensitive. They'll only think you're more of a scumbag than the topic of your press conference has already shown you to be.

* Leave your cell phone on. Pay for an international plan if you have to. But, leave the phone on.

* No matter how much your mistress seems to love you, she will undoubtedly be less enamored with you after you are no longer governor, are poor and have child support to pay for all those boys.

I'm sure my readers can think of more?

It's Nice To Have A Good Tag When You Need It

2009-06-30T12:46:00.000-07:00

Monograms & Mayhem tagged me for an Awe-Summm award and I am so honored! It is nothing short of therapy to read the blogs of others who are in my "season of life" and realize that our lives are all parallel in some way. On the other hand, it is like going on vacation to read the blogs of people who have lives so different from mine. Besides, I do love having a ready-made blog entry.

As the newly crowned Queen, I am obligated to do the following:
1. List 7 things that make me Awesome.
2. Pass this on to some other Queens of Awesome bloggers.
3. Let those bloggers know that they have been tagged.
4. Link to Her Majesty who tagged me.
5. Copy the picture onto my sidebar to let the world know I am the Queen!

Seven things that make me a Queen of Awesome:

1. The Scientist picked ME. All those other girls out there and he picked ME.

2. I actually have a functional family. This is not due to any action on my part, but growing up with the people I did does add to my overall awesomeness.

3. I think that I am hilarious and because of this, never run out of things to laugh at.

4. I am taking my children to the splash park this afternoon. I hate the splash park. Thus, I am AWESOME.

5. My BFFs picked ME. All those other girls out there and they picked ME.

6. I cook.

7. I read to my children every. single. day.

Now that I've reminded myself of my virtuousness, I am directed to tag some other Queens of Awesome. Later, we will discuss my strong dislike of purposeful misspellings. In the meantime, I tag:

1. Clemsongirl- See #5. She picked me. I tag her. I know she'll appreciate the ready-made post. And, she is the original AWESOME.

2. Just What I Always Wanted- Because she reminds me daily to treasure my fishies, inspires me, and makes me laugh.

3. Shanny- Because she's making me laugh again after a 20-something year hiatus. For whatever reason, I cannot get a linky to attach to Shanny, but her address is: http://shanny.wordpress.com

The End of Holiday Road

2009-06-29T05:10:00.000-07:00

We've returned from an 11 day trip to Orlando. Six adults, six children, three bedrooms, three bathrooms. The stuff memories (and therapy sessions) are made of.

The best line of the week? From Two Fish as we were getting on the Magic Kingdom shuttle. The 20-something couple sitting behind us were dressed as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell (what the heck would inspire a man to spend a 100 degree day in green tights and a mini-dress?). Another family walking toward us was clearly Middle Eastern and happy as anything to be heading to Disney World. The woman was wearing black from head to foot and only had her eyes showing. My thought? "Wow, that must be freakin' HOT."

Two Fish's thought (which he expressed loudly and exuberantly while pointing his finger)?

"HEY LOOK!! THAT GUY'S DRESSED UP LIKE A NINJA!"

Summertime So Far

2009-06-13T04:56:00.000-07:00

Summer is here and we have been struggling to find a routine. The fishies are showing some wear and tear because of it.

We have been traveling, which doesn't help. Not the happy travel either. My grandmother passed away last week, which extended our weekend lake visit to a weeklong lake visit (complete with the requisite memorial service and family gathering) . It also required my children to process and endure loads of crying and a mild bit of hysteria on my part which I think was taxing on them. The sleeping arrangements also left a little to be desired as the "routine" involved 10PM bedtimes and camp-out style sleeping. This threw my sweet little 7:30-to-bed fishies for a loop that is not easily recovered from.

We are truly sideways around here and are T-minus 5 days until we depart for a 10 day Orlando vaca. My survival plan is forming. So far it involves:

1) Multiple, prioritized to-do lists. Color coded when appropriate.

2) Liberal use of the label maker. Not for anything in particular, but using a label maker does make anything seem more manageable.

3) Margaritas. Nightly.

4) Lots of outside activity and exercise. Not for me, obviously, but the fishies. These are preferably activites that take place in our backyard so that they can be relatively unsupervised while I get my to-do lists color coded.

5) Chores. Lots of them. Far from being so virtous that my children do these regularly and willingly, let me also say that I am paying for them. It also keeps them busy. Basically I am paying them to babysit themselves while they fold laundry and take out the trash. Again, so I can color code the to-do lists or perhaps label something.

So far, that's all I've got. My survival plan for the 10 days in Orlando isn't even in the development stage yet. Luckily, I adore every last one of my in-laws so much that I am even looking forward to 10 days of a cranky toddler if it means I can spend it with them.

Time's a tickin' and these fishies are up, at 'em and demanding to be fed and watered. Here are some pictures of our recent trip.

Life is Short. Eat the Lasagna.

2009-05-27T08:41:00.001-07:00

Back in the day, way back when I met The Scientist, he was a vegan. For those who aren't sure, vegan is a diet that restricts any animal products of any kind. None of the no-brainers, like chicken, beef, fish, pork or seafood of any kind. No dairy at all, including milk, eggs and caseine, which, as I discovered, is found in dang near everything. No honey. The list continues.

Since my mother prefers to eat mostly vegetarian, I had some tricks up my sleeve and quickly fixed the problem that was his 130 lb. frame. I combed recipe books and health food stores for vegan recipes and products that would allow me to adapt recipes to be vegan. He quickly stopped looking like a refugee, was introduced to tofu, and stopped considering french fries and Biggie Cokes two of the basic food groups. I cooked "normal" meals but adapted some of the dish for him. Leave out the cheese, do a mushroom burger instead of a hamburger, etc. I got very used to it.

To jump ahead about 6 years, it turns out that if you eat this way for enough years and pay absolutely no attention to taking a daily vitamin, you can (will?) develop some vitamin deficiencies. Like B-12. Apparently, not having enough of it makes you feel like crap. Enter weekly B-12 injections and hello scrambled eggs. I didn't know what to do with myself once I didn't have to cook one meal and then modify it for him. I would have done it forever because I respected his reasons for eating this way, but boy howdy was I happy when he stopped.

During the time that he WAS vegan, my sister and I had many discussions about how...unique (for lack of a better term) most vegan recipes were. We started compiling recipes we'd created ourselves that resembled "real" food. We dreamed of publishing a cookbook of vegan comfort foods that were different from the other books out there. In other words, a book filled with recipes that didn't mostly taste like crap. We would sometimes pour over vegan cookbooks with the express purpose of howling with laughter at some of the recipe titles. Who the heck would possibly eat that?! Certainly not my vegan (who is actually a meat-and-potatoes sort of boy at heart).

Recently, and in an effort to introduce some new and healthier dishes into our now completely non-vegan diet (although he still doesn't eat the Big Three - pork, chicken and beef), I checked out a vegan cookbook from the library. It was sort of for old-times sake. It ended up being comic relief.

Here are some of the recipe titles:

Ginger-Lime Tofu "Cream" (really? I think any recipe that has to put the word "cream" in quotation marks is something I want no part of)

Tofu Tamale Pie (I couldn't make that up, could I?)

Curried Chickpea Tart with Fennel-Cauliflower Sauce

Shepherd's Pie (Just like the classic, except with zucchini substituted for the usual yummo seasoned meat. So, it's just like the original, except... not.)

Tofu-Leek Tart with Pine Nut Crust (what is it with messing up the tarts?)

Hijiki "Caviar" (you're confused. I can tell. Turns out that hijiki is a "thin, black twiglike sea vegetable." You are supposed to mix it with sake, shoyu (who knows what the heck that is), sesame oil and garlic and presto-chango, you've got a great substitute for Beluga on your hands. Riiiiiiggghhhht...)

Summer Lasagna with Tofu, Capers and Walnuts (Clemsongirl's Coach would consider this heresy)

Hominy, Tomatillo and Squash Stew

I'm returning the book and checking out the Paula Dean cookbook instead. Life is too short to eat fake lasagna.

Revocation

2009-05-25T15:59:00.000-07:00

Conversation tonight with Two Fish:

TF: Ew. Are we having THAT for dinner. I don't like red beans and rice!

Me: Well...sorry.

TF: Do I have to eat it? Daddy doesn't like it either!

Me: Well, he's not here and I'm not making anything else. Besides, your daddy was born in SC. He doesn't have to like red beans and rice, only shrimp and grits and Frogmore stew. You were born in MS, so you do. If they hear you say you don't like red beans and rice, they're likely to revoke your birth certificate. So, you just watch it mister...

Me? I scarf them both down. Especially if I'm not the one who originally made them. Which I did not tonight. So, d-lish-us.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2009-05-15T08:06:00.000-07:00

I have blogged before about young women's body image issues and how those changed for me as I got older. But, during a discussion with a friend the other day, we agreed that we didn't know a single solitary woman who didn't have some sort of issue with her body. Either in the form of food "issues" or body image "issues" or some sort of obsessive combo of both. We didn't know a single one.

We agreed that our issues had changed as we got older and mine have certainly lessened. Due in no small part, I'm sure, to having a husband who loves every inch of this somewhat...ummm..."softer" version of the woman he married and to having three children who were born from this body and seem to have turned out pretty spectacularly for it. But, really? Do you know a single woman who has not a care in the world when it comes to food or her body? We also discussed how hard we try to emphasize strength and inner beauty to our daughters. I have never referred to myself as "fat" or "big" when there is any chance of my children hearing it. When they ask me why I exercise or make a particularly healthy food choice, I always say that it is because I want to be stronger. Or less tired. Or have more energy. Never that I want to lose weight. I have a daughter who is influenced by her peers and is involved in competitive gymnastics. The last thing we need to start around here is an emphasis on body weight or size.

For my Mother's Day Sunday School lesson, I had the children make cards for their mother and fill in blanks to finish sentences. My mom makes the best______. I love it when my mom________. Some of them were hilarious! My mom has the prettiest_______. One little girl wrote "children." I love it when my mom wears _______. One little boy wrote "pajamas." Another little boy wrote that his mom "has the prettiest...shoes." He has obviously been trained well.

But the best one for me was One Fish's for "My mom has the prettiest..." She wrote, "body."

I got all teary. I choked up. I reported it to all my friends.

I haven't worked up the courage to ask her what she meant yet, and I probably won't. Because she might say that she meant that she loves my...arms. Or the way my rings look on my fingers. Or how I look in high heels (which she loves me to wear and which I hate). I am choosing to believe that she meant that I am her mom and because of that, she loves how I look and that she thinks it's just perfect. Soft size 12 and all.

And since I am convinced that she is one of the three most fascinating, brilliant, beautiful, impressive people to ever walk the earth, perhaps it would behoove me to sit up and pay attention when she passes judgement on something that she might actually know something about.

And I will start paying attention. And trying to see myself more as she does than how I do. I figure I only have about four or five more years before even my little toenail offends her, so I should probably start now. Or maybe right after bathing suit season...

It's On... Like Donkey Kong

2009-05-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

Let's see. What have I done today?

Went to Sams, made food for supper swap, did 12,000 loads of laundry, vacuumed the garden, returned a few phone calls...

What's that? You don't know what vacuuming the garden is?

This, dear readers, is what one does when one slaves and obsesses over tomato plants, only to have all Roma fruits and an increasing number of grape tomato fruits "rot" and look all soft and gross before they completely ripen. After one finds out that this is because of a stink bug infestation, one usually does the required research to discover that the methods of dealing with these demons of the insect world are: 1) Sevin dust 2) hand picking off and then squishing by hand and 3) vacuuming off the plants.

There are also some organic products out there, which, according to online reviews, work about as well as spritzing them with water. Sevin dust would certainly get rid of them, but we might all die in the process. Seems a little extreme for some tomatoes. And I am all about killing these things, but squishing them between my organic fingers seems a little...earthy...for me. So, vroom, freakin' vroom. The wet/dry vac has been parked outside by my plot all day. I periodically go outside and do a little shake down (literally) and up they go. I'll leave the fun of emptying the cannister to The Scientist. No sense leaving him completely out of the extermination fun.

I will win this. I may secure my place as the neighborhood crazy lady. But, I will win.

James Bond Would Be So Proud

2009-05-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was an exhausting day for the boys. We had multiple playdates over here, which involved lots of racing through the house shouting things like, "Go to the front yard! I'll meet you in your laboratory by the tree!" and, "Quick! Here she comes! Go to the Super Secret Spy Hideout!" Red Fish was busy all afternoon just toddling after them and being entertained by big boy antics. Which can be exhausting. I should know.

This morning, both boys slept waaay late. Which meant that they slept past 6:30. At 7, I had to take One Fish and a neighbor child to school. Never one to wake a sleeping child, I did what any of you would do and went next door to ask the visiting aunt of said neighbor child if she would pretty, pretty please, come over and sit in my living room for five minutes. The school is literally around the corner. Bless her heart, she did. Red PJ pants, untied tennies and all, she hustled right over and camped out in my chair for the 6 minutes it took me to run them over and run back. I timed it.

When I returned, she said that "one of them" had woken up and poked his head out the door, but popped right back into his room again when he saw her. Given that Red Fish sleeps in a crib and his room wasn't visible from her chair, the "awake one" had to be Two Fish. After saying goodbye to her and thanking her for the pinch hit, I mosied on in to the bedroom to find...

Two Fish all tucked in, under his covers but fully dressed in polo shirt, shorts and shoes.

WTH?!

The story that comes out is this:
He poked his head out, saw that an unknown person was in his house and so ducked back into his room. The fact that she was relaxing in our living room and playing with our dogs in no way stifled his concern. He ever so quietly got himself dressed. He then opened the window in his room (we taught them to do this during fire safety week), climbed out into the backyard (the windows are very low) and ran the length of the house to the fence by our driveway. He scaled the 6 foot privacy fence and determined that my van was not in the driveway. So, as he put it, he knew "that I was gone but wouldn't do anything bad to him." He ran back to his bedroom (while unsuspecting neighbor aunt lady innocently played with my puppies a few yards away). He climbed back in the window, shut it quietly and slid back under his covers, determined to wait in silence until I returned or something else definitive happened to let him know what was going on. His room door was slightly cracked the whole time.

I returned moments later.

Does the CIA have an early admission program?

Livin' On The Edge

2009-05-05T17:17:00.000-07:00

Here's what I did today.

Got up and got One Fish out the door and then got about the business of getting myself ready to take Two Fish to school and Red Fish and myself to a PTO breakfast dealy. With The Scientist out of town (does he exist in any other state of being?), morning child-care is scarce (read: nonexistent). This required a shower and something other than running pants and a t-shirt. It required grown-up clothes. The kind that, when put together, look like "an outfit." Preferably with accessories and cute shoes.

Once the shower was completed, the hair dried, and make-up on (these were easy parts), it dawned on me that I had the perfect pair of pants (white cotton capris from Banana Republic, hereafter referred to as BR). Love them. Notsomuch the shirt. Exibit A was a multicolored striped v-neck sleeveless sweater that I think used to have a cardigan to go with it. Exibit B was a patterned sleeveless v-neck shirt from Target. A little, uhhh, low-cut. Exibit C was a turtleneck (you did read that correctly) seagreen sleeveless sweater, again from BR.

After trying each one on, I discovered/realized that: Exibit A was purchased 7 years ago when I was still teaching and was a good 20 lbs. lighter. Which would explain why it didn't look nearly as cute as I remembered. Exibit B was indeed the shirt that The Scientist has reminded me repeatedly (and I seem to forget) introduces everyone I meet to...uh...The Twins any time I bend at the waist. Exibit C...well, Exibit C is a turtleneck sleeveless sweater and that's probably all that needs to be said about that, considering that it was purchased when my sister still lived in NYC, which was three jobs, a marriage and two children ago. I stopped shopping for myself when Two Fish was born. Before that, I had a job and a career and a daycare to watch One Fish if I wanted to stop at the mall on my way home. That all ended with our decision for me to stay at home and anything dry-clean only got shoved to the back of the closet and eventually out the door. Now, I purchase on the fly without trying on and don't do it nearly often enough.

Solution: Throw on the only new thing in my closet in the past umpteen months, Exibit D, a pink and white striped baby doll shirt, some flip flops (they were cute at least), and some silver accessories. Cut out of the PTO dealy ASAP. Mentally cancel the scheduled cleaning day at The Fish Tank (time enough for that tomorrow after I no longer look like a homeless person from 1998). Get to the outlet mall just after opening (I am nothing if not a woman of action) and resolved not to leave until this unfortunate fashion situation that I seemed to have gotten myself into was resolved.

Three hours and trips to Ann Taylor, BR, Gap, and J.Crew later, I seemed to have things much more under control. I will publish no dollar signs and I looked at no pricetags. We'll just suffice it to say that we live on an outlet mall budget (if not the Walmart clothing aisle at times), but I am lucky to have a husband who breathes a sigh of relief when I purchase something for myself. A sad state of affairs, to be sure, when your husband begs you to get some new things.

Collect all Fishies after school. Head to gymnastics for what felt like 17 hours. Mentally cancel the scheduled dinner at The Fish Tank. Take the children out to eat for the second night in a row and in doing, break a cardinal Absent Scientist house rule. I don't dine out with them when I'm solo. Except today. And yesterday.

The poor Scientist is going to come home to a woman he doesn't recognize. I'm living on the edge...

Who Could Have Guessed?

2009-05-03T04:51:00.000-07:00

For inquiring minds, I didn't win squat at the party yesterday. Although the horse I picked probably had as good a shot going in as Mine That Bird. I picked Advice. The others in my family all picked other names and One Fish and The Scientist even looked at the odds before placing their bets. Wusses.

None of us won a single solitary thing. But, I did have a few bourbon slushes and got to hang out with friends while The Scientist drank beer kept a loose watch over the Fishies. Satisfaction all around.

Bourbon for my Horses (but only the ones with the cool names)

2009-05-02T11:27:00.000-07:00

Activities in the fish tank today include, some mild straightening, a nap for me (can I get an "Amen?"), and a Derby party. The last part is fun because it required a wardrobe purchase (straw hat) and just saying that we are headed for a Derby party makes me feel as though I have a glamorous life. Who cares how much evidence is to the contrary...

I'm headed out now to get some cash and go shoe shopping with One Fish (can I get another "Amen!"). Needing the cash because I am assuming there will be activities requiring cash and gambling at this shindig. I will pick horses the same way I pick wine: based solely on who has the coolest name. Amen.

Squash Wars

2009-04-28T14:58:00.000-07:00

I had a sudden thought today: are my yellow squash, white squash, and cucumbers going to have the same problem my zucchini will? Or is their pollination a little different and not so...discriminating?

So, I researched and this is what I read about the yellow squash in answer to someone's question about why they don't get any fruit on their plant:

There are several possible reasons why you get all vine and no fruit on your squash: too much fertilizer, not enough sunlight, too much heat or too cool weather, rainy weather at bloom time, no pollinating insect activity, improper pollination or pest problems.Pollination needs to be made to all segments of the female flower. This has to be done by 10 a.m. because pollination carried out later than the end of the morning during warm weather has very little chance of success because the pollen will have heated up and fermented and will no longer be viable. You can help pollinate the squash. You should see the squash enlarge the day or two after pollination & the squash should be ready to pick in 3-4 days... unless the squash bug intefers with the process by sucking the juices out of the developing squash... If the plants are watered from overhead early in the day, that may prevent all further pollination for that day. Everything gets washed off of the short-lived male flowers.

There can be other reasons why blossoms don't set fruit & fall off. Sometimes, even if they were pollinated... the blossoms can abort from the stress of high day and night time temperatures. Extreme temperatures during flowering... below 55 degrees or above 85 degrees... can reduce fruit set. Sometimes there are only female flowers & not any male flowers, so the female flower can't get pollinated. Too much shade or not enough light, plant disease, & even too much nitrogen can also cause poor fruit set.

WHAAAAAT?! Juice sucking squash bugs? Fermenting pollen? Abortions from temperature stress? To say nothing of the fact that these little gems of God's creation apparently also require pollination prior to 10 AM. Nothing later will do. And, for heaven's sake, please watch the overhead watering of the male flowers. They are sensitive.

I'm starting to feel a little vendetta-ish about this entire family of plants. However, I am standing by my promise of waiting until June 1 before I take this personally. They are plants, after all. Not newborns.

But, after June 1, it is ON. Unless you see pictures posted here of me enjoying fresh squash casserole. In that case, you can assume that a truce has been declared.

No Playdates Are Currently Being Arranged

2009-04-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

I'm just going to throw this out there on the off chance that you agree with me-

If you want your children to exude confidence and command respect and appreciation from their teachers and classmates, then you should NOT send them to school dressed in a T-shirt that says:

I Pass More Gas Than Tests

And He May or May Not Know All the Words to "No Sleep Till Brooklyn"

2009-04-24T11:03:00.000-07:00

Two Fish just told me that he knew what "head bagging" was. According to him, it is when rock stars "do their head back and forth like they are putting it in a bag and taking it out again. But REAL fast."

That sort of knowledge only comes from caving and letting Guitar Hero into the house. Against one's better judgement. And under lots of duress. That's all I'm saying...

Hot and Dirty Zucchini Love

2009-04-23T07:46:00.000-07:00

Well, if that post title doesn't catch your eye, I don't know what will.

This year's garden is planted. I learned a tremendous amount last year, during my maiden gardening voyage that can sort of be boiled down to this: I didn't know dirt about gardening. I thought I did. But, it turns out, I planted the plants too late, didn't orient my rows the right way and didn't fertilize often enough. I also didn't test my soil first and didn't plant enough beans (apparently the nitrogen they give off makes some other plants loooove them).

I mean, really? People planted things for thousands of years before Miracle Grow was even invented and they managed to eat just fine. So, why is this so difficult?

Don't get me wrong. We were swimming in okra and tomatoes last summer. This past winter we ate kale and collards for months. But, for the space I have, I really had higher expectations.
For instance, I remember my grandfather joking during the summer that if we got bored, we could go out and watch the zucchini grow. That's just how fast that stuff is supposed to go. You can actually watch it. So, why did my little garden and I fail to produce a single, solitary squash or zuccinini last summer?!

I have gone to the experts. First, the guy down the street who is a retired farmer and has a completely ADD inducing garden set up in paint buckets all over his yard. It is hidden from the street, thank God. Impressive "garden," but not something you'd want the next potential new neighbors to see before their real estate closing. He is an expert, though, and had some insight. I planted too late and it was too hot for pollination by the time my plants were big enough. Seems a little unfair since I expected some perks to living in one of the most hot and humid places on God's green creation. You should at least be able to grow some food even if it feels like you're living in a sauna. Notsomuch, apparently. At least not after July.

So, this year, I planted earlier. Much earlier. I'm nothing if not teachable. However, because I am a nerd and slightly obsessive about the garden, I felt the need to protect myself further against the disappointment that comes from being the only person I've ever heard of who couldn't grow a dang zucchini. I went to the internet.

What I discovered has disturbed me. It turns out that it is very, very possible that I will have to learn zucchini in-vitro fertilization in order to be successful. That's right, my friends. Zucchini sex. Due to the lack of bees in my garden (and elsewhere, it seems), I might actually have to sentence myself to eternal dork-dome and get out there and help my zucchini get it on.

There are lots of websites that explain how this is done, if you have a need-to-know. Basically, you get your basic paintset paintbrush (think of it as the turkey baster), find a good, open "male" flower, swipe-swipe with your brush, find a compatible looking female flower with a baby squash on the end of it (the websites didn't say "compatible," but I'm guessing if you're going to force procreation here it would pay off to be discriminating), wait until it is open and "ready" and then swipe the precious pollen onto it's little female parts.

You. Must. Be. Kidding.

The websites say that if no pollination takes place, a fruit will develop, but with no seeds inside it, the plant will let the fruit rot before it reaches maturity. Who knew?

I can only assume with the plethora of information out there on this topic, that there must be gardeners the world over heading out to their little plots right now, paintbrushes in hand, labeled flower diagrams in their back pockets. I'm giving my plants until June 1 to figure it out and/or for some bees to show up around here to get the job done the normal way. After that, I'm taking matters (and pollen) into my own hands (and onto my own paintbrush).

If some dirty knees and a few soiled paintbrushes are what it takes to get my gardening pride back, well then, it's a small price to pay.

TGFO

2009-04-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

Thank God for Oprah. She is getting me all straightened out. Twenty Six min. into the show and I'm thinking that Twitter is a mix between FB status updates and blogging. With a character limit. For those of us who are brevity challenged, of course.

Drinking the Kool Aid

2009-04-17T10:11:00.000-07:00

It's been a real kool aide drinking week around here. I finally decided to read Twilight. Purchased it for my own Easter basket, actually, which is it's own blog worthy story. Nothing says resurrection like vampire love, you know. I'm through book number two and my recommendation for all those who haven't read them yet is to go ahead and do it, but don't read a page before pg. 300 in either of the first two books. Just skip on over. You won't miss anything except some spectacularly poor writing and you'll save yourself pages of irritation. Start at pg. 301, or even 290, if you're feeling brave. You'll pick right up with the story line. The plot is great, but it could be easily summed up in about 100 pages instead of the 600 she devotes to each book. It's like a soap opera. You can really just jump in anywhere and feel pretty caught up within the first several minutes (or paragraphs, as it were).

Next, my mother of all people has shamed me into signing on to Twitter. Someone is going to have to help me out here. I don't get it.

I also didn't "get" FB at first, which is a sure sign that I'm getting old. Just like my grandmother who cannot be convinced that cell phones actually work. I fought FB like the plague, but finally drank that kool aid too and am not addicted. But, Twitter? I signed on and saw a looooooong list of random sentences from people picked from my yahoo list. Why is this different from FB status updates?

Is it just so we can do something else with our phones? I don't text (which makes me old, I know). I don't even have a camera on my phone and I certainly don't have any internet capabilities. When I get a new cell phone, I actually request the largest phone they have (they don't get lost in pocketbooks) and always ask hopefully if the "Bag Phone" has made a comeback yet. I would love an iphone (mostly because I hear tell that they can find you a Starbucks just about anywhere), but it seems a little hypocritical to ask The Scientist to cut down on his hot water use in the mornings so I can afford a better cell phone plan, don't you think? I also lose my cell phone several times a year, which makes me another candidate for a "budget" phone. I just need it to connect me. Not sing to me, take pictures of me or conduct a corporate merger for me. I am not so popular at the phone store, as you might imagine. The phones I buy aren't even on display. Needless to say, they are not set up to "Twitter" anything.

So, someone tell me why I need Twitter. I am easily influenced.

There's Some(thing?)one For Everyone

2009-04-12T16:54:00.001-07:00

I realize this is an unconventional Easter post. But, really? Could one wait even one more day to air this to the blogging public? I think not.

http://www.independent.co.uk/extras/sunday-review/living/i-married-the-eiffel-tower-832519.html

Super Saturday

2009-04-11T07:18:00.000-07:00

Got up this morning, picked a bunch of basil from the garden and made fresh pesto with it (if you beg, I'll give you my Sicilian aunt's recipe). If you like pasta for breakfast, this is the house to live in.

Then I boiled way more eggs than any family need dye for one Easter Sunday. But, I found camoflage egg dye for Two Fish, in addition to the regular dye. So we needed some extra eggs. We'll just be eating egg salad for awhile.

I've decided to take the children to see Monsters Vs. Aliens today. By myself. Because I've lost my mind.

Dressers, Bookshelves and Big, Fat Armoires

2009-04-07T07:39:00.000-07:00

Dang. I was really hoping that the requirement that something be drastically changed every time The Scientist returns home was going to be satisfied by the puppies being neutered. This is evidently not so. Starting yesterday, I have been overcome with the mad desire to rearrange everything in our home. This leads me to one of two conclusions. Either The Scientist is on his way home, or I am pregnant and a few weeks from delivery. My current figure aside, the second option is not possible. It must be the former.

Dressers have been emptied and moved to the living room. The treadmill has been moved from the garage to the bedroom and back to the garage (don't know what I was thinking on that one). An old-ish armoire that has been living in our garage for the past 5 years has been emptied and ritualistically cleaned with enough cleaning products to give one a spontaneous case of something ending in "-oma." It has been moved to our bedroom. Yes, I did it by myself. I moved it to the garage five years ago by myself too. When I was 8.5 months pregnant. I figured if I could do that, I could definitely get it back in again not pregnant.

Our lone bookshelf has moved rooms (bone of contention between The Scientist and myself- he hates them and thinks they look cluttered. I think bookshelves lined with books are signs of interesting people. I'm right.). It is going to be getting a friend here soon. We have those books double and triple stacked in there and just looking at it is making me jittery.

Random things are now serving as bedside tables and may not stay there. Our garage has a new, sensible (read, CHEAP) storage piece which has not been filled and it's soon-to-be contents are all over the place. You don't even want to know the state of our clothing, what with all the dresser shifting going on around here.

I have about 36 hours to put it all back together. Start the timer...NOW.

A Plan B for Madonna

2009-04-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

Poor Madonna is having a rough week. Turns out the Malawian (is that a word?) judges don't put quite the stock in celebrities we do and has denied her request to adopt a(nother) child. While I do think this is a crying shame as this child has the opportunity to grow up in privilege instead of poverty, I don't know that there's much any of us can do about it. So, I've come up with a plan B for her.

I think she should strongly consider adopting any or all of The Real Housewives of NYC. In my constant quest to keep abreast of all trashy reality TV, I tried this one on for size a few nights ago and decided that it didn't at all meet the criteria I look for in trash TV. For one, I don't like my reality personalities to be hopeless or devoid of human decency. If Madonna is just looking to adopt someone to whom she could give a better life, these gals are just her ticket. They don't so much need the life of privilege as much as they need some good old fashioned tough love, but that's a part of the parenting game, right? In fact, I'm suggesting them to anyone looking for a mission project. Forget the starving orphans in Malawi. I've never met anyone who needs savin' more than Kelly and Jill. And, the good news is that, should they be picked for anyone's next mission project (or Madonna's next charitable and/or maternal venture), unlike most children, they don't eat. At all. So, they're really, really cheap to keep around.

It's just something to think about.

April Fool!

2009-04-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

The Mommy Show is not without its lighter moments.

This was the children's dinner tonight (totally stolen from Family Fun Magazine).
The "homemade chicken tenders" were actually sugar wafers coated in peanut butter and rolled in crushed cereal.
The "cupcakes" were actually meatloaf (a Paula Dean recipe I would highly recommend) with tinted mashed potatoes piped on top. You can think of me as sort of an evil Martha.

You can see One Fish's face when she tasted her "chicken, " but the meatloaf cupcake was the best. She looked down at her plate and was quiet while she chewed. Then politely excused herself for a drink of water. I started to laugh and couldn't stop. She finally looked up and said quietly, "Mom. This tastes like crap." I think it was the first time I've ever heard her use that word! It was hilarious and I couldn't stop laughing!!!

I tried to pass the jelly off as ketchup but Two Fish asked me why there was jelly on his plate. I told him it was a "new organic ketchup." That satisfied him and he didn't ask again, even after he was eating his "chicken" dipped in the new "ketchup." He was highly complimentary of how I'd fixed the "chicken" and said that it tasted like granola bar chicken. If it hadn't actually had a big ol' sugar wafer inside it I would have been making a mental note to make it again.

When I came clean (which was much quicker than planned since I couldn't stop laughing after One Fish made her "crap" pronouncement), they were suitably shocked and impressed. After spending about five lamenting how horrid meatloaf is, Two Fish allowed that this particular dish was actually pretty decent- given that it was not, after all, a fluffy, pink frosting covered baked good.

One Fish never did come around on the meatloaf and continued to mourn her lost cupcake through the rest of the meal. But, even she had to admit that she had not been aware what deceptive skill I had to fool them all day into believing they were having cupcakes for dinner. "How do you lie so well?!" she wanted to know. Oh, someday, little bear...someday...you, too, will learn...

If laughing at your children's expense doesn't say "family fun" I don't know what does.

Martinimobile

2009-03-30T05:45:00.001-07:00

I have a proposal I've been mulling over for quite awhile. Ever since I became a stay-at-home mommy (slave), actually. This latest recession has really brought it to a head. BTW, are we calling it a depression now, or are we sticking with recession? I can't seem to keep up. Anywho, think about this and tell me if I have not had a stroke of genius: What do people do when times are tough? If you answer "look for a job and drink, you are getting a ding, ding, ding! You got it right! So, my little business should cater to both. I can start franchises (to employ the out of work realtors, don't you know), AND provide a much needed service. If I were really smart, my new business venture would be...

The Martinimobile

These little busses would look suspiciously similar to the ice cream trucks we all grew up with and loved. With maybe a little Mardi Gras float feel to them too. Naturally, we would market to the mommies for starters. No one I know needs a martini at the end of a long day of legos and carpool like my favorite mommies. I can also think of quite a few childless girlfriends who would be digging in their change drawers for this too. I think we should carry a very limited selection- just to make it easy. And, really? If someone is running down the street chasing a Martinimobile, do they really care what the heck is being served as long as it has the word PROOF on the side of the bottle? I think not.

I'm really not much of a drinker. Not because I'm against it. On the contrary, I'm all in favor of a cocktail (or three) at the end of the day. I just don't have the time and have lost all tolerance and so one drink makes me sleepy and renders me unable to morph into the drill sargeant I need to be to get everyone into bed before 9PM. But, I can't help but think often of my grandparents and how they had a drink every single solitary night when my grandfather got home from work. He mixed the drinks and they drank them together while they discussed their days and relaxed. They just had one each and I can remember exactly the glasses they drank them from. I think they were onto something. Just one. To help one relax. And how convenient would it be if you didn't even have to mix it yourself? If it just came to you?

I really think there is lots of room for expansion with my Martinimobile idea. I could rent out for playgroups (is that wrong?), block parties and of course, church preschool holiday parties. Stop it with the raised eyebrows- I'm kidding! Kind of...

On a more serious note, I would definitely have a very, very strict policy against selling to anyone who didn't look somewhat haggard, over the age of at least 30 or who looked remotely like a nanny or babysitter (Not that I would have any clue what either looked like. I don't see many around this fishtank). It is one thing to have a cocktail ourselves at the end of a long day- just to get us through the 4-7 Angry Hour, as we call it. It is a whole 'nother story to pay someone to keep your precious children, only to find that they were using your daughter's school milk money for Long Island ice teas.

I would also have pretty stringent hiring requirements for my "bus drivers." All my drivers would have to be over the age of 30, have vibrant senses of humor and wear yoga pants.

I haven't even drawn up a business plan yet and already I am envisioning my successful business. Women across the Gulf Coast, hearing the tinkling of my merry bus, throwing couch cushions to the ground in their haste to scrounge up the change necessary to get a Screwdriver. Racing down the street, baby on the hip, toddler being dragged by one hand, change clutched in the other, screaming, "Wait for me! Wait for me!"

See, I told you I'm a genius. Now, don't you want a franchise?

Just wait until she has kids

2009-03-27T08:18:00.000-07:00

Do you think Kelly Clarkson could have figured out a way to make the same catchy song without using the word "SUCK?" There is just something offputting about an 8 year old belting out "my life would SUCK without yooooooouuuu!" from the backseat of my car. Which is why I change it when it comes on, unless they aren't in the car. In which case I sing along at the top of my lungs.

I'm considering telling them that she is saying "My life's a muck without you" so I can continue to listen to it, but I'm not sure they'll buy it. Any suggestions?

Miscommunication

2009-03-26T12:54:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I was not clear about why/how we end up eating in every night when The Scientist is away. Contrary to Kelly Bee's thought, it is not lack of guts. Nor is it virtue, as I fear Kristen may believe. It is laziness and a firm commitment to #5 on the list. When one chooses to dine out with children, it is customary to eat at the same table with them, is it not? Dining out solo with children is not pleasurable for me. If it is a buffet (don't get me started on my hatred of buffets...), I spend the entire time jumping up and down to fetch things for various people and by the time I actually sit down to eat, they are all finished. It's not dinner, it's aerobics. If it's not a buffet, I have to figure out how to occupy three children spanning 7 years and keep them from giving everyone around us acid reflux. By the time their dinner arrives, I just want us all to wolf it down as fast as possible and get the heck out of Dodge. Not. Relaxing. Did I mention that Red Fish is going through a SpiderMan phase? Not that he knows who SpiderMan is, but he has a burning desire to climb on anything and everything. Tables are perfect and every one must be conquered. Sitting in a high chair and NOT being allowed to climb out of it and onto the nearest level surface is torture.

For some reason, all these issues are much, much more managable with another adult. In the meantime, however, a dinner out that I didn't have to prepare (or clean up) takes a backseat every time to reaching the end of a long day and sitting down to enjoy a meal by myself, in my jammies, in perfect silence with a great book. You can appreciate? There is no virtue here. I'm the one they make the public service announcements about. "The family that eats together..." There's just plenty of time for that one we return to our regularly scheduled programming.

No tickets to Sundance required

2009-03-26T05:39:00.001-07:00

This is the conversation my children and I just had:

Two Fish: Mickey and Jesse are really into Star Wars.

Me: Really?

One Fish: Yeah! Mom, they talk about it all the time and Jesse has a light saber and everything!

Two Fish: Can I have a light saber?

Me: Why do you want a light saber?

Two Fish: Can I watch Star Wars and THEN get a light saber?

One Fish: Why can't we watch Star Wars?

Me: Well, I don't know that you can't watch Star Wars. Let me think about it.

One Fish: Ok, Mom. How about this. You read the book to us first, but skip any scary parts.

Two Fish: Yeah! Have you already read the book? Is it just like the movie?

Me: Guys, Star Wars isn't a book. It's just the movie.

(silence....)

Two Fish: (laughing) Well, then how did they know what to put in the movie?

One Fish: Mom! Of course it's a book! It has to be a book before it's a movie! Just check it out from the library and then tell us if it's OK for little kids!

(insert giggling from my children directed at their most ridiculous and evidently clueless mother)

It doesn't appear that we have any budding film careers here.

The Mommy Show

2009-03-25T18:51:00.000-07:00

On April 8th, we will resume our regularly scheduled programming. That is, The Scientist will return home. Until then, we are in survival mode and have been for several weeks. Here is how The Mommy Show differs from our regular programming:

1) We eat in every single night and eat whatever the heck we feel like it. I like to cook, so sometimes we eat really, really well (ie- I make something delicious that the children won't touch with a 10 ft. pole). Other times we eat sandwiches. Regardless, there's no way in hades I'm taking three children to a restaurant by myself.

2) We go to bed really early. It's 8:54. They've been asleep for over an hour. I have been in my jammies for at least that long.

3) We. Have.A.Schedule. It is not to be deviated from. Unless there is a diaper blowout just as we are leaving the house, in which case all schedules for the next 12 hours can be thrown out the window.

4) We read A LOT. Out loud. The Scientist, philistine as he is, enjoys neither being read to nor reading out loud. He is also a terrible out-loud reader. So, when he's gone, we read out loud at breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner, bedtime and during any hurry-up-and-wait activity. They love it. I love it. He'd hate it.

5) I try to never, ever eat with them. Sit with them while they eat? Yes. Actually break bread with them? Not if I can help it. There. Put that on my "Worst Mother of the Year" application. I know it's wrong, but I'm not medicated and do deserve a vice or two. Count "eating in peace and quiet" as one of them.

6) Counter-intuitively, I am much more calm during the Mommy Show. Not that The Scientist stressed me out. But, what's the point in getting all worked up when there is no back-up coming and I am plans A, B,C,D and E? It will just make things worse.

7) There is always some big change while The Scientist is gone. Rooms get completely rearranged. Major purchases are made. Hair gets drastically cut. Nothing so dramatic has happened so far this trip. I was starting to worry that I was due to pull a Brittney Spears haircut or something like it. So, I went ahead and scheduled the puppies to be neutered in hopes that this would satisfy the seeming requirement that something be dramatically different upon The Scientist's return. We've told them they are going to the spa for the day. Because it's sort of like a haircut...but different.

Gradeschoolers and Grosgrain

2009-03-18T17:52:00.000-07:00

WARNING! The following passages contain shameless bragging by me on my (absolutely adorable) child. This also contains a fair amount of mock shallowness and thinly veiled competitive nature. If you are offended by such, prefer not to read such or take me or yourself too seriously, you are strongly encouraged not to read this or at least to proceed with caution. You have been warned.

We spent today at the regional science fair. I am a self professed dork and loooooove me some science fair. Reading fair ranks pretty low on my list, but we still play along and do it. I can't make it mean much more to me than any other glorified book report, but I understand the language arts teachers love it. So be it. But, science fair? Please... We're in it to win it. With that said, I am a witch when it comes to making One Fish do it herself. I'll teach her anything scienc-y that needs to be taught ahead of time, but when it comes to actually doing the experiment, I'm hands off. She writes it up. She researches it. I won't even type it for her. I taught her to use spellcheck and any other errors that a second grader wouldn't reasonably be able to catch, we leave in there. On the school science fair level, I do look each year to see which categories get the fewest entries so that she can do a project in one of those and have less competition and get to regionals, but that's an embarassing fact that I'd prefer you don't repeat. People might start thinking I'm That Mom (or steal my great strategy, don't you know).

With The Scientist out of town for the month (please stop gasping- it only makes it worse...), I was running the three ring circus solo this morning. All four of us were to be in attendance today and so we had to have things dialed in last night. The doors opened for this shindig at 7AM this morning. (the gasping thing again- stop it.). So, like any of you would, I had everyone lay out their clothes last night.

One Fish chose a most adorable baby blue, brown and pink polka dot skirt with a matching shirt with grosgrain ribbon bow trim. Brown wedge sandals. Then she came walking in with her hair accessory choice. A BIG OL' chocolate brown bow with her monogram on it. She says to me, "I haven't been going for bows lately, but I'm going to go with this one for tomorrow because from what I can tell, judges like a big hair bow."

And you know what? She got second place.

Because really, who can resist a smart pants science girl with a big monogrammed hair bow? Not me.

Today's Stellar Parenting Moment is Sponsored By...Me

2009-03-17T13:04:00.001-07:00

One Fish's class has been reading the book Charlotte's Web. Their spelling words have come from it, they've studied vocabulary from it, they've watched the movie. They've had spider snacks and pig themed snacks and have done all sorts of diagrams analyzing the book. They've done in -class projects and out of class projects and have generally eaten, breathed and slept CHARLOTTE. The book is now over and we have sadly discovered that...

One Fish has misplaced her book.

Actually, now I think we can safely say she has LOST it. Not just misplaced. It is nowhere to be found. I e-mailed the teacher (while plugging my ears against the wailing and keening from my daughters room) to ask her if what One Fish suspects is indeed true. Will the world actually stop spinning if she never finds the book or is there some sort of simple fine associated with this transgression?

Sure enough, a simple five dollars blood money is all that is required to atone for this sin.

I e-mail the teacher back. I explain that since I am The Meanest White Woman In The County, my daughter will be earning the five dollars to pay for the book ("But, Moooooommmmmm!"). So, do I need to send the $5 in immediately, or can I draw this little teachable moment out a bit longer and make her earn the five dollars slowly, looking at the money accumulate in her bank, knowing that it has already been spent in a moment of carelessness? I have already explained to One Fish that Mommy and Daddy have made lots and lots of bad choices in their time that have led to something having to be repaired or replaced and I want her to know how to work to make up for something when a bad choice has been made. And perhaps to think twice before a bad choice is repeated. Life lessons don't come cheap, ladies and gents.

I have to be honest with you, dear readers. I was pretty pleased with my parenting at this point. I knew I was making a difficult, but practical and just decision. I was teaching my child how to make up for careless choices. I was leading her. I was, by God, being a GOOD MOM. My hearing would be forever damaged because of the reaction of my darling daughter to the sad news that it was HER five bucks that would be sacrificed, but this was a small price to pay, I thought piously. Of course, the teacher was going to recognize this and think all the better for me of it. Not that I didn't think she thought just wonderfully of me already. After all, I smugly told myself, I used to be a teacher, don't you know. If anyone knows how to be an involved, responsible parent that is the dream of any teacher, it is me! Right?

So, the teacher e-mails back that we should just send in the money as soon as possible (not exactly sure what that meant). She also put a PS on the end which read:

"Could you also please clean out [One Fish's] communication folder?"

I stared at the screen for several minutes trying to process what I had just read. I was shocked. Horrified. My heart actually started to beat faster.

'Cause, ummmm...

I didn't even know she HAD a communications folder.

She does, as it turns out. Has ever since school started, actually. And no, it hasn't been "cleaned out" since...well, ever. The past 27 weeks of school, I guess. Luckily, she is a responsible little person (except for losing things, it seems) and had shown me some of the most critical pieces. And, there is a weekly folder that comes home with graded papers and newsletters and bulletins and of this folder I have been well aware and ultra diligent about "cleaning out." So, why is this other communication folder necessary? Well, your guess is as good as mine, but the teacher obviously thinks it is important and has certainly been wondering why I have neglected to take a single thing out of it for 27 weeks.

Its a good questions, isn't it?

We have a winner!

2009-03-06T09:48:00.001-08:00

For those of you who thought I might be the biggest dork ever for my HP obsession, allow me to assure you that I have been beaten. My sister just sent me this link. She wins.

http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/

And, whether you love, like or just tolerate the HP series, you will be envious that you will not be attending the kick tail HP movie party I am preparing for the fishies. I'm currently on a quest to find Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Wish me luck...

Nerd Alert

2009-03-05T03:55:00.000-08:00

The Fishies and I have been quite busy this week. My in-laws left on Monday (love them!) and my mother comes on Saturday (love you too, Mom!). The Scientist was supposed to leave for month at sea two days ago. But, as is typical, he's still here. The feds move slowly in just about everything and boat preparation is no exception. A problem with this and a glitch in that. They've assured him that he is really, really leaving today. We'll see.

At the rate we're going this week, my mother will be lucky if she has clean sheets on the bed when she gets here. The Fishies and I have been completely consumed by HARRY POTTER this week! They have been begging me to read it to them for awhile and I have resisted only because after the first book or two, things get pretty dark and scary pretty quickly and I didn't want to "go there." But, one of my favorite things ever is reading a favorite book of mine aloud to them and I finally caved. We'll just do the first one. And maybe the second...

They are obsessed. We have decided that we would surely all be in Gryffindor. And Two Fish would definitely play Quidditch. I'm a bit of a Hermione, myself, and can't see loving the flying thing. One Fish has a vision issue that would probably keep her sidelined. They both, of course, know exactly what Harry should do in each situation ("get Snape fired!") and gasp at the appropriate times and laugh uproariously a the antics of Peeves the Poltergeist.

The Scientist is trying to hide how horrified he really is. He's not much of a fiction reader himself and equates HP to Dungeons and Dragons. He doesn't get it at all. But, he knew this about me when we met. When I was 8 months pregnant with One Fish, I did stand outside the bookstore at midnight with all the other middle school students to get the new book when it came out. It should not come as a surprise to him that he married a nerd (in this respect only, of course).

As soon as The Scientis is out of here and we've finished the book (should happen tomorrow or Saturday), we're going to snuggle up in the bed with some Bertie Bots Every Flavor Beans and some Chocolate Frogs (heehee- the fishies don't even know you can buy them- they're going to DIE!) and watch the movie.

We'll see who the fun mommy is now.

Pinkwins

2009-02-22T18:52:00.001-08:00

Now Two Fish is puking. I'm starting to think we're one of those families that seems particularly prone to such things.

However disgusting that little face covered in puke may seem to be, it's not. He knows how to work it. In his camoflage shorts, pirate skull t-shirt and pretend dog tags, he looked up with his icky face and said in his most pitiful, quavering voice,

"Mommy, will you get me my 'pinkwin' jammies?"

That would be PENGUIN jammies for those of you who don't speak five-year-old. The bright blue fuzzy ones with snow skiing penguins on them. Not the favorite camo ones. Not the almost-favorite glow in the dark boxers with a t-shirt. Just his "pinkwin" jammies, please. The ones Santa's elves brought him Christmas Eve. The ones that he may or may not secretly think are too babyish for him but are so warm and fuzzy he just can't resist sometimes.

I guess nothing makes you feel better when you're sick than your momma and some pinkwin jammies.

Scratch That...

2009-02-20T13:58:00.000-08:00

Well, forget everything I said in the last post about things not looking so good in the Fishtank. Because, as of about five minutes ago, things are looking up. Seriously, how can things not be when a big ol' box of cute is on it's way to my house?! Preppy Paper Girl had a Lilly giveaway this past week (I know, I know, I should have told you, but you Clemsongirl readers did have ample notification). You guessed it and I won it.

Go check out the cuteness and plan your next birthday list or your next "I survived a weekend alone with the children" treat. All new stuff. 100% adorable. 100% preppy. 100% mine. If you think her stuff is adorable, you'll fall on the floor when you see the packaging. Trust me.

WTH?!?!

2009-02-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

Let me preface this by saying that I do not choose sides politically. You'll never get me to tell who I voted for in the last election and I swing back and forth like a pendulum depending on the issue. I actually think Obama is smart, savvy, and seems to be a pretty good guy. Ditto about McCain, not that it matters a wit anymore. With that said...

Things not looking so good in the Fish Tank today. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that The Scientist has a job and works hard. We decided years ago that a reliable job was worth the pay cut if the alternative was less stability and higher pay. We have decided several times NOT to sell our house and upgrade to a larger one. Because of this, we can afford our mortgage and are current on it. Cramped, but current. We both took out student loans to get graduate degrees with and will be paying off said student loans until after our own children's college is paid for, most likely. But, we decided that education and being marketable in our fields was worth it (not that this fishy is using said graduate degree, but that's a minor detail, right?). We have tried to take advantage of wise retirement options when they have been offered (you can guess how that worked out for us in 2008).

You can see why things are not so sunny. Turns out that a wiser move may have been to go corporate instead of the public servant-type route, buy a bajillion dollar house, get underwater with and behind on the mortgage, lose the job when the market tanked, and then go on vacation with the severance package while we wait for our bailout money to come in to fix our mortgage issue. Do we have money issues? You betcha. Do we wish every night that the money fairy would move in while we sleep? Uhhh- yeah! But, for the most part, our issues have nothing to do with excessive greed or blatently irresponsible spending. And they're no more serious than the concerns of most other middle class families I know.

I guess I should just thank goodness the spending bill covers changing paper medical records over to electronic ones. Because that's really been weighing heavily on my mind. I can go to bed relieved tonight...

Discount Diva to Bargain Basement Betty

2009-02-16T19:04:00.001-08:00

The Scientist's cousin's wife (complicated, I know), just sent me the link to an awesome deal. Too good to pass up, actually. The e-mail explains that a particular cosmetic company has been bought out by Nordstrom's and is trying to reduce all it's inventory because their products are going to be repackaged with the Nordstrom's label on them. Awesome, right? I go to the company's website and browse. Yowza! Everything is a dollar!!! One Dollar! Cute website, looks professional enough and even has the PETA label in the corner. Looks like some great make-up and who doesn't need another tube of dept. store lipgloss? One cannot have too many colors, right? To sweeten the deal, every order up to $15 can be reduced by half if one only puts in a certain coupon code.

I have a grand time and order a basket full of stuff- lip gloss, nail polish, brushes, eye makeup and mascara (always on a quest for the perfect one). I get my half-off and gladly pay the 6.95 in shipping because, as I am exclaiming to The Scientist, I have probably just gotten about $150 in make up for $12. I push "complete order" soooo very, very happily.

Then I get to wondering... is this brand CURRENTLY being sold at Nordstroms and did they buy out a brand they are already selling or have they pulled it from stores completely? I go back to the website and click on the "store finder" icon on the top. I type in my MIL's zip code since they have plenty of Nordstroms near them and I just knew one of them would be referenced. And, as it turns out, there are plenty of stores near my MIL that sell this brand of makeup. She'll be pleased to know that if she needs to buy any of this stuff, all she has to do is go to one of the two places that currently sells it...

Big K or Big Lots.
Awesome. Just awesome. I'm expecting my large box of crap in the mail in a week or so.

Man Cave Art

2009-02-15T12:11:00.000-08:00

This is what The Scientist painted on the wall of his man cave (the garage) yesterday. He freehanded it because under his retrosexual facade he is actually a renaissance man. Yes, I said FREEHANDED it. You will either be insanely jealous or horrified.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

2009-02-14T10:28:00.000-08:00

The good:
I pried my big arse out of the house and ran two freakin' miles. It still sucks, but I think The Scientist is becoming convinced that I do indeed have superpowers. He is impressed (and I love his cute self for it). He might be starting to be afraid of me and I'm not entirely sure that is a bad thing.

The bad:
Even with Justin bringing Sexy Back and all, I was forced to stop twice. Both times I walked a few houses worth and then picked the pace back up. So, I have reached a limit for my body and it's name is Two Miles. I hate Two Miles.

The ugly:
One Fish was puking when I got home. Too much king cake and V-day candy and sleepover food OR a virus that is lying in wait just for me? Only time will tell...

Internal Monologue While Running This Morning

2009-02-13T12:51:00.000-08:00

Start: This sucks. I could just go back to bed and take the day off. My knees hurt.

Mile 0.2: This song is awful. It's the anti-running song. I bet that's why this hurts so much. I'm changing it.

Mile 0.5: I'm going to die. This has never been so hard. I'm a wuss.

Mile 0.6: I bet this is so miserable because my hair is in a ponytail. I should have put it in a clip and I bet it would have made this bearable.

Mile 0.7: Finally, a song that is worth a damn...

Mile 0.8: I'm quitting this tomorrow. It sucks. Hmmm...I think the things that used to hurt are now just numb. I bet I hate this because of my shoes. Maybe I need new shoes...

Mile 1.0: HOW THE HELL DID HILLARY DUFF GET ON MY iPOD?!

Mile 1.2: I'm so pissed I'm just going to keep going so I can get this horror movie over with. If they would please put more street lights on this God foresaken street, I know I would be less miserable...

Mile 1.3: Endorphins my butt. Why do my arms hurt? OMG- seriously? Am I seriously jogging in rhythm to "Bop to the Top" as sung by "Sharpey" and "Ryan"?

Mile 1.4: Another anti-jogging song. If I was a rock star I sure as hell wouldn't be running down this street like an idiot. I'd be running in my personal gym with a personal trainer after the nanny gets here.

I stopped at Mile 1.6 because I was home again. You girls have to be The Best Ever. I seriously thought I was going to come out of the closet as a "hater" and get all sorts of comments that would cause me to screen comments before they are posted. Instead, you agree with me! You're a bunch of haters too! And Jennifer, I forgive you for the 3 miles because you convinced me that you might hate it as much as I do.

So, all you haters...what songs do I need to replace the anti-running songs with on the ipod? Hillary has got to go (still not sure how she got on there but I know One Fish is involved somehow). Jimmy inspires me to have a drink, but nosomuch to jog, so he's not going to be making the playlist. Sexy Back has made the list, as has Crazy in Love, and about 20 others. Help!

Running with the Devil

2009-02-11T11:52:00.000-08:00

Awhile back, I began to notice a disturbing trend among my friends. Friends I'd known for years- decades, in fact- began...running. It wasn't so much that I was shocked that they were exercising. Although shocked I was at some of them. Granted, I'd seen a few of them actually sprint in college when they were afraid the convenience store was going to close before they could get more beer. But in general most of my friends have the same view of running I do. This is one of the reasons I like these girls. If we are running, you better fall in line behind us because you can be assured that there is something we are running FROM.

So, seriously? Running? There are girls I know didn't even know where the athletic center WAS at Clemson who are now posting snarky little jogging updates on their Facebook page. If you're one of them, you know exactly what I'm talking about. And you can vouch for me when I say that we weren't fat girls. We kept our weight down the old fashioned way- with lots of Diet Cokes and fat free cheese.

Even in my adult life there are people I am questioning my relationship with. A latte and a bagel after preschool drop off is a totally different thing when you suspect that the chick sitting across from you has already jogged off all that plus some during her virtuous little morning 5K. Who can I trust?!

I'd started writing people off. I was ticked, quite frankly. Running is my least favorite thing in the entire world. The dentist is actually worse, but running is right directly behind a root canal on my list. So, the exodus of friends who were leaving me to take up my least favorite activity ever was maddening.

Here are my issues with running (I'll try to just hit the highlights):
1) People who do it lie and say it's fun. I can only assume that running turns people into liars.
I can count twice in my life when I ran on a regular basis. It. Is. Not. Fun. That's why I stopped the first time. I got suckered into trying it again and it was still terrible. I know an honest few who say that they do it, but only because they need to get 3 lbs. off and they can't wait to stop.

2) It's a busy woman's nightmare. Running down the street (or worse, a treadmill, going nowhere) heading to no place in particular and nothing to do except think about all the crap your not at home getting done because you're running down the street instead. Night. Mare.

3) It is really messy business and requires a time commitment in addition to the time actually spent doing the activity. Sweat. Lots of it. Usually leaving one smelling like a goat.

4) I can't run for anything. The most I've ever worked up to in my life was two miles. It took a whole dang summer and at the end of every run I felt like I had done a marathon. I have never in my life run more than 2 miles. I could swim 2 miles right this minute, I swear, but running those two miles would be an impossibility. At the end of that miserable summer, I got pregnant with Two Fish. I suspect that subconsciously it was because my body was willing to do anything to get to stop running.

5) It hurts like hell. My ankles and knees pray are praying for mercy by mile 0.1.

But, here's the real reason I'm bitter. It has lately occurred to me that all these people running (and lying like dogs about liking it) might be planning for the future. I've started thinking that perhaps they are just raising all their little children and running their fool heads off now so that they can all have the energy and strength go on some fabulous cruise when they are 70 and play tennis and stay up too late. Or move into the same retirement home together when they're 80 and play shuffleboard all day until it's time for cocktails at 4. If there's one thing I hate more than running (and the dentist), it's being left out of a party. And I really, really, really don't want to embarrass myself by being the one laid up with some heinous ailment I could have prevented when everyone else is romping off to the swingin' seniors dance with their Prince CDs in their hands. You'll all talk about me and how I scoffed all those years about your dang running and say "now look at her." Bitches.

So, I'm running. Swimming takes too long (and I don't have a pool). Taking a class requires one to drive somewhere which ups the annoyance factor even more and walking really, really takes too long. I hate every single step and I'm bitter, bitter, bitter about it and don't plan to do it much longer. It still sucks and I still can't run for anything. I ran .6 of a mile today and when I was done I looked around to see if anyone noticed. I seriously expected a cheering crowd. It was 6:05 AM, but surely someone came out to take note? My ankles hurt. My legs hurt. My back even hurts. A friend asked if we should run together. I told her we could, but that it would be the end of our friendship. I certainly don't want to ruin a perfectly good friendship by vowing to consistently share the most miserable 20 minutes of my day with her.

If this is how much I complain now, I should be an absolute terror as an 80 year old. And I'm going to request a room right next to yours...

NB

2009-02-02T08:44:00.000-08:00

Nota bene:
I am having some grammar and punctuation issues if recent posts are any indication. My apologies to any English teachers out there (Dad). I'm sure your eyes are burning out of your head. Really, I should go back and correct them when I find them, but I just don't care that much. There are also way too many errors to handle. I'll try to be more careful, but I can't make any promises. I've always sucked at proofreading.

A Mathematic Impossibility

2009-02-02T08:39:00.000-08:00

I've called in the genius guy from Numb3rs for a consult. He has done the mathematical calculations and has determined that it is indeed mathematically impossible for a family of 5 to generate this much laundry. Which means that someone is sneaking in and dropping their nasty things in our laundry room. Fess up. Who is it?!

Supermarket for the Superbowl

2009-02-01T12:09:00.000-08:00

As much as I dislike Saturdays (that's a whole 'nother post), I do love me a good Sunday. Today, we're going to go as a family to the grocery store. That sounds like the opposite of fun, but really, it's not. The Scientist doesn't know how to behave in grocery stores and as a result is a great deal of fun. So much fun, in fact that he once popped a wheely with a cart and shattered the bones in the tips of two fingers on his left hand in what has come to be known as "The Shopping Cart Accident." You can't make this stuff up. Lots of stitches (peeled those suckers like little bananas, is what happened) and morphine. I'd tell you how old he was when he popped the wheely with the shopping cart and almost ruined his promising career as a rock star, but you'd be horrified (he was 34). So, I don't mind going to the grocery store with him- especially now that he has learned how to have a little discretion with heavy equipment.

So, we're off to the grocery, where we will all pick out an appetizer or ingredients for an appetizer. We each get to pick one. I want nachos, I think. The children will choose something horrifying, like beef jerky. The Scientist and I will cheat and pick two or three of our favorites instead of our alloted one.

Then home to get into our comfiest clothes and park ourselves around the TV. We're ditching the two parties we were invited to. Our way sounded like more fun and definitely more child-friendly.

Then, we'll spend the evening cheering, eating, laughing at the commercials and hoping for another wardrobe malfunction so we'll have something to talk about tomorrow. I might even drag all my scrapbook stuff out . All in our jammies! How genius is that? Ooooohhh- how I do love the Superbowl. Now, does anyone know who's playing?

Planes, Cabs and Revolving Doors

2009-01-27T07:31:00.000-08:00

I'm a little tempted to write about how Republican I'm feeling today (and for me it could go either way on any given day). Or about how Nancy Pelosi needs to go to a collegiate sorority rush workshop to learn how to stop talking at the appropriate time in a conversation. But, that would potentially upset us.

So, instead, I will discuss my most embarrasing moment/worst travel story. January 1998 and I am on a plane coming back from spending Christmas in Japan with my father. That in and of itself is a long story which I will sum up by saying that he was teaching there and yes, my parents are and always have been, married. I was a bit...emotional...when I boarded the plane. Truth be told, I couldn't see for the tears and missed that there were two entrances to the plane and if you went in the wrong one, you were basically screwed. Of course I went in the wrong one and had to wait with a very patient Japanese stewardess until everyone in the entire plane was seated and I could walk around the plane and scootch past knees and apologize for my big American self and finally get my seat. Which was, of course, approximately 4 millimeters from the bathroom and 6 centimeters from the galley. And was directly beside an older (and very stoic looking) Japanese woman who was obviously taken aback by my snorts, sobs and gasps of saddness over not being able to see my father for months to come. Obviously, she did not come from a very "emotive" family.

Shortly before take-off, an American stewardess comes flying out of the galley with a big ol' pitcher of OJ for the first class passengers (which I was definitely NOT) and runs into a toddler in the aisle and spills the entire pitcher all over me. It's in my hair. It's on my clothes. It's in my shoes. I'm stuck on the plane for however many God-awful hours it takes to get oneself from Japan to New York. Not. Good.

Somewhere over some ocean, I fall asleep (smelling like a long night of screwdrivers). It's freakin' freezing on the plane. I was wearing my Clemson class ring on my ring finger. It's already loose and the below freezing temperature only shrinks my finger further. I wake to find the ring gone. It is never recovered and the b^@tch of a stewardess refuses to make an announcement, insisting that I will find it in my things. I don't.

Upon our arrival in Detroit, I am stopped by security. I am carrying a symbolic New Years arrow (no point on it- just a feather thing on the end of a stick). I am a security risk and must not be let on an airplane without relinquishing the "weapon" and being questioned. I blame the OJ for making me look "unstable."

Finally, I arrive in New York City. I am spending the night there and will catch a flight to SC the next day. I am starving. I am exhausted. I am lonely. I look like a homeless person. I stink.

I catch a cab to my hotel. When we arrive (at 1AM), the cabbie unloads my bags onto the curb but, understandably does not care to leave his cab on the street while he helps me into the hotel. I had not yet learned the virtue of "packing light" and had souveneirs and gifts and Christmas presents to boot. I had some bags. Lots and lots of bags.

I schlep myself, laden with luggage to the hotel entrance. Only to find... revolving doors. In my defense, the sidewalk was darker than you would wish a NYC sidewalk to be at 1AM and the only doors I see are revolving ones. I did all a girl could do. I loaded my bags into the first pie wedge, shoved the door a little, loaded myself and a bag or two more into the second pie wedge (did you really think I would leave my bags on the sidewalk?!) and shove on in.

And get stuck.

Ten minutes later, I am still stuck in a damn revolving door, grossing myself out from my own stink, trying not to imagine what I must look like, trying to yell to the bellboys some direction that might be helpful in getting me out. Tourists have stopped on the street outside and are shoving from their side of the door, which unfortunately, only served to wedge a suitcase strap even more firmly between the door and the frame. Reinforcements (more bellboys, and perhaps even their leader) are called in. I am freed.

The head bellboy asks me after I literally fly out the other side why I didn't go in "there." Off to the side of the building, big as life, there is a "normal" door. I blame the OJ.

I remember very little of the check-in procedure. Just that the staff yanked my bags from me as soon as I popped out and I didn't see them again until I entered my room. I don't think they thought I could be trusted with them. I summoned what pride I had left (precious little) and gimp up to my room. Did I mention that my shoe heal was chipped at this point?

My mother suggests when I finally call her from my room that I might feel better if I shower and then go have something to eat. I reply that I have already showered but if she thinks I am leaving my room for any reason at all before the next staff change, she has lost her mind.

The next day, I enjoy an enormous breakfast in the restaurant, recognizing no one from the night before. I proceed on my merry (and uneventful) way to Columbia, SC.

To this day, I still hate orange juice and revolving doors. Ask The Scientist.

25 Random Things About Me

2009-01-26T10:44:00.000-08:00

Honest to goodness. I've been tagged to do this approximately 47 times, so I'm going to get it over with. Then I'm going to tag 25 people to do the same and hope that they haven't already done it on their page. I can't promise I'm going to check all 25 of them to make sure. If you do get tagged and haven't done it. Take the plunge. And tag 25. If you have done it, ignore me.

Twenty Five Random Things About Me:

1) I married my teacher. We were both graduate students, so it's not as scandalous as it sounds. Yes, of course I got an A.

2) I always unlock my car doors when driving over a bridge. I keep hoping that someone is going to get me one of those little things that shatters a window when you touch one with it but I don't think anyone I know wants to feed my phobia anymore than it is already. The new bridge in town is delightful, but is much, much too high. Just more velocity for the car to pick up on the way down...

3) I wanted three children for as long as I can remember but thought we would only have two. I got lucky (and have a tolerant, wonderful husband who trusts that I am smarter than he is on topics that count.)

4) I am not a picky eater at all. But, I feel really funny about strange, not completely identifiable meats. Bacon- good. Sausage- bad.

5) I used to own a snake. A ball python named Jake. This makes me sound all granola-y and hippie and alternative. But I'm not. At all.

6) I used to be extremely shy. Painfully. Didn't talk to anyone. No one who knows me now quite believes me when I say this. Thank God for college.

7) I am still happy I married the man I did and can honestly say that I know with 100% certainty that he feels the same. It will be 10 years in July. It is not always a cake walk, but it is always worth it.

8) I think I have excellent taste in food. I'm not promising to be a fabulous cook (although I am pretty darn good) but I can tell a good recipe when I see it. I have found that not everyone can say that.

9) If I had unlmited funds and time and was better at chemistry, I'd go to medical school for fun. I absolutely don't want to be a doctor. The stress and hours sounds miserable. But, I think it would be fun to get all that knowlegge.

10) The best job I ever had was as an adjunct professor at a jr. college. Dream Job. The worst job I ever had was as an assistant in a botany lab. Terrible. I walked out after a few weeks and just never went back.

11) It takes a while for people to make it into my "friends for life" circle. But once they're there, they don't get out. I have tons of "friends" but a very small group of GOOD friends. They are a very ecclectic bunch and I adore them and many of them don't know each other. They live all over the country and I talk to some of them every day, some of them once a month and some of them a few times a year. You know who you are...

12) I hate reading directions. Secretly I always suspect that I am smarter than the people who wrote them anyway and would probably do just as well figuring it out myself. I'm usually wrong.

13) I had my first two children without an epidural (and a combined 25 hours of hard labor between the two of them). I had an epidural for the last one since I was induced and thought that pitocin would be a little much. I highly recommend going without the epidural if you can. They suck. In a different way than labor pain, but they suck.

14) I taught public middle school for 4 years and will probably not return. Loved the kids. Loved teaching. Loved the administration. Liked most of the parents. Hated the official paperwork, senseless meetings and all the crap we expect our teachers to do when they should be educating children. Also hated that bad teachers are so hard to get rid of.

15) I will be happy never to move from our current home. Not because I love it so much (although I do) but because moving sucks ( I should know) and I don't want to sell a house. It sounds really complicated and time consuming and as though it will require an extensive amount of cleaning and patience and disruption of my life. None of which sound appealing. We'll just build an addition. At some point...

16) I am a fanatic about nutrition for children. Don't get me started on school cafeteria lunches...

17) I have the best ideas. I am a great planner. I am not a good follow-through-er.

18) I am afraid to fly by myself. I've done it enough, but it's easier to fly when my children are with me. My rationale is that God isn't likely to take all my children out at the same time. Sort of my own spiritual equivalent of the terrorists buffering themselves with women and children. Traveling with only one of the children makes me not know what to think, so I try not to do it.

19) The relationships in the family I grew up in (my parents, my sister and myself) are totally functional. Parents are married and love each other. My sister and I talk at least once a day and adore each other. We adore our parents and love being together. Sadly, I find this unusual.

20) I have had "bad knees" since high school.

21) I attribute my total abhorence of running to number 20. I may be lying to myself.

22) I love to read and lose myself in books. My sister and I once had a completely serious and rational debate about which Hogwarts house we would have been in. After lengthy discussion, we determined that we would have both been in Griffindor. Duh.

23) I have never colored my hair. The Scientist has said since we met that he hopes I never color it to cover grey. The jury is still out on that for me.

24) I love travel in all forms. International. Local. Cross-country. I think nothing of loading the kids up and setting off on an odyssey. They are all good travelers. They have no choice.

25) I have gotten much more religious with age.

Be Still My Heart...

2009-01-21T12:55:00.000-08:00

Some friends gave us (me) Penzey's spices for Christmas and I am becoming familiar with this most wonderful product for the first time. Any comments at this point as to how wonderful you've always known Penzey's to be could possibly get you banned from the blog. If you knew all along, why the heck didn't you tell me? Or send me a gift box sooner?!

Opening one of these gift boxes was delightful on several levels. First, these friends are foodies so I knew the spices would be great. Second, the jars are thick, sturdy, simple, clear glass and I was having visions already of a spice rack filled with uniform bottles of strong, wonderful spices. Third, although the bottles are glass, no manufactured packing material is used between them to pad them. Instead, the bottles are protected from bumping and shifting by piles of whole nutmeg, cinnamon sticks and Turkish bay leaves.

Take a second to reread that last sentence if you need to. Imagining the decadence of it all could be overwhelming at first...

I've included pictures if you need a visual for how gorgeous such a box filled with wonderfulness

can be. The best part? You won't break the bank treating someone (like yourself) to a little bit of Penzey's wonder for your next big occasion (like a Wednesday, for instance). You can also order every spice under the sun in either bags or bottles. Many of them I've never heard of but there's not a one I wouldn't like to try. I just ordered refills of ginger and cumin and 8 of those cute little bottles.

Just thinking of the spicy uniformity of it all just makes my heart beat a little faster.

Facebook Ruined My Life

2009-01-15T14:44:00.000-08:00

My blogging life, that is. I resisted Facebook (FB) for so long. I scoffed at it and rolled my eyes when people spoke of it and giggled about it with friends who were FB free (and obviously so much more virtuous for it). Then I crossed over to the dark side.

Now, I am expecting a call from "Intervention" any day. Don't act like you don't know what show I'm talking about. You love trash reality TV too and you know it...

I'm admittedly addicted to FB. I have joined the ranks of those who use FB as a verb. "I'll Facebook you!" or "I'm Facebooking." My mom, dad and sister are on it. My cousins I never see or talk to (except on FB) are on it. My sister's high school boyfriend is on it (who'd have guessed he and I would ever be comparing notes on what it's like to have three children each!). My aunt is just confused.

She can't figure out how it is that everyone in the family seems to know so darn much about each other all of a sudden. She also can't figure out why it is that my youngest cousin (on that side) and I are so excited to "be friends." "But, you've known each other her entire life! You were already friends!"

My young-ish cousins on the other side of my family aren't confused at all. They're on there and have pages and post pictures I have no business viewing. Looking at their pages is a little like watching reality TV. I know I shouldn't. I'll be no better for it. I will definitely learn something, but it's not the kind of knowledge that is ever going to make one more equiped to run a PTO meeting. I won't understand most of the suggestions and references. I certainly will never have heard of the bands they're listening to. But, I look anyway. And then wonder why I do it to myself (and spend more time than I'll admit trying to figure out what some of their strange status updates mean.)

So, you can see I've been so very, very busy with the FB thing. If you need me, write on my wall. I'll send you some "flair!"

De-Crapification

2009-01-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

I did not coin this wonderful phrase. A long-lost aquaintance on facebook (crackbook) did, but I find it sooo appropriate. I am de-crapifying at least the kitchen today. I am half-way there and have reached the conclusion that it may actually be a several day process. So far, I have:

1) Filled a trashcan
2) Collected another trashbag of stuff to be given away
3) Beaten the Crazy Corner Cabinet of Chaos into submission
4) Threw out way more Halloween candy than I am willing to admit
5) Got sidetracked more than once by my beautiful new Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter (thnx Mom and Dad!)
6) Decided that if we are ever destitute I'll be the next rags-to-riches Martha story by inventing some plastic storage containers that don't cost a mortgage payment to buy AND all have tops that are the same size regardless of the size of the container.
7) Discovered to my surprise that I do not own half the Pampered Chef catalogue after all...
I own the whole damn thing.

You CAN go home again

2009-01-03T11:28:00.000-08:00

It's true. I don't care what they say. I moved away from "home" (Columbia, SC) six years ago. Since then, I've learned: to make friends and bloom where I am planted, how to survive after a hurricane, when to ride out a hurricane, that mustard bbq isn't the only kind there is, how to be a stay-at-home mom without losing my mind, how to make gumbo, red beans and rice and where to get the best king cakes and... that there are lots of different ways to "be at home."

Since I'm in Columbia for the next few days, The Girls and I went out last night. The beauty of it was that these are the girls I've been "going out" with since middle school and this activity has undergone lots of transformations over the years. Last night, I laughed until I choked, cried, made fun of just about everyone, got made fun of, ate about 3 lbs. of tortilla chips and salsa, compared notes on children, gossiped, giggled like a school girl, and got some suggestions for good books, restaurants and lip gloss. Oh, and we got a good start on planning our 20th high school reunion. Not that we want to plan it. We mostly just laid down some rules about how we thought the planners could really screw it up. And not that we're that old either. I'm not saying my 20th is right around the corner. I'm just saying it's going to happen at some point and that it may or may not be the next big post-HS milestone. So, don't go making any assumptions.

My favorite part of last night was that no one really changes all that much. We've mellowed with age (thank God) and have a good bit more sense than we used to (thank God). The wonderful qualities of each one of us that made us friends to begin with have only gotten more pronounced now that we've had a few decades to season them and finish digging them out from under teenage insecurity. But, the girls I met in fifth grade are still there. They're just funnier, kinder, wiser, and more beautiful now. Thank God.

It's so, so, good to be home.

Because we don't have the sense we were born with

2008-12-22T18:03:00.000-08:00

Conversation this morning:

Me: The vet appointment went great. Samson is over two pounds now. The vet says all the puppies got snapped up pretty quickly. There's only one left and she might go get him if he doesn't get adopted before Christmas.

The Scientist: There's still one left? Which one?

M: The one I almost brought home. The big one.

TS: Well, that SUCKS. His brothers, sisters and his mother have all been adopted and he's still sitting there, three weeks later?!

M: Yup. She thinks it's because he's so much bigger than the rest and just got overlooked for not being tiny and cute. But, he is cute. Just not as tiny.

TS: Well, this isn't worth a damn. I'm going to shower and put my contacts in. We're going to get him. Call who needs to be called and tell them we'll be there in 30.

And we were.

Samson and Jonah seem to be adjusting well to being back together. Their new matching stockings are hanging on the fireplace and they are loving every second of beating each other up. Typical boys. Like we need more testosterone around here.

Thought for the day

2008-12-19T14:39:00.000-08:00

It really doesn't much matter what you wear if your shoes are patent leather, rust and brown leopard spotted ballet flats. You can have on all manner of crap and get away with it if you're going to finish the outfit off with that sort of cuteness.

Which is why I bought them. At the Ann Taylor outlet. On major sale. Major...

Update

2008-12-15T16:20:00.001-08:00

Thanks, Di, for the SOS reply. I have you on speed dial!!
I'm currently sipping gingerale and feeling as though disaster may be averted. No one has thrown up in 18 hours. Everyone is eating dinner and at least mildly hungry. Fingers are crossed...

A HUGE pointsetta plant arrived today from the vet's office with a sympathy card attached. You don't get customer service like that very often.

Say It Isn't So

2008-12-15T10:36:00.000-08:00

Fact 1 (F1)- The Scientist left this morning and will be gone until Friday

F2- Red Fish threw up Saturday.

F3- I mistakenly chalked F2 up to too much orange juice.

F4- One Fish threw up several times last night.

F5- Turns out, it wasn't the OJ.

F6- I'm going dooooooooown. And the liferaft appears to be on a boat himself in the middle of the ocean.

SOS SOS SOS SOS

RIP Hooper

2008-12-13T02:17:00.000-08:00

Our old friend is gone. Courage sucks but somehow we managed to summon enough of it last night to give one last gift to our dear friend. We debated and agonized and cried and planned and looked for any way out. There was none. The Scientist said that Hoop D would tell him. By the time he got home from work yesterday, we both knew that he was doing just that in any way he could. He had stopped walking the day before and never regained either the ability or desire. His eyes pleaded with us and apologized to us and we knew we owed him something we just didn't want to give.

We loved on him and rubbed all over him and lay on the floor with him in the office. He was much more calm and peaceful than we were. I tried in vain to summon whatever I had so that his last memory of me wouldn't be anxiety and grief. He looked at me with glassy eyes, as if to say, "I did a good job, didn't I?" Oh, yes, dear friend, you did.

In the end, he went to sleep in our arms and seemed to breath one final sigh of relief and thanks.
No regrets. No guilt. Just grief, and heaps of it.

Somewhere, right about now, my Rosie Posie isn't believing her eyes or her dumb luck. She is probably demanding to speak to the management and is hissing, "How'd YOU get in here?!" Keep it civil until we get there, guys. We'll be the ones carrying the fribee and the tennis ball. See you then....

Call David Letterman

2008-12-11T15:02:00.001-08:00

There is a church I pass every day of my life (several times each day, actually). The sign out front in big huge, bold letters says:

As longest their is testing there will be prayer in school.

I'm well aware of where I live and the educational challenges that come with the territory. But honestly! Hasn't a single member pointed this out (perhaps someone who passed high school freshman English?). The sign has been up at least a week. I might call tomorrow. If they are having trouble attracting visitors to their services, I might be able to be of assistance.

I'm not kidding. You can't make this stuff up.

The Smoke Alarm Theory

2008-12-10T14:16:00.001-08:00

Stop going to the mailbox. My Christmas card isn't coming.

Mostly, this is because of my Smoke Alarm Theory. I believe that the only reason we do Christmas cards is that we need a time during the year when we know we'll finally sit down and catch up with everyone. We send an updated picture, dash of a quick note or agonize over an extremely censored Christmas letter. Just like replacing the battery in the smoke detectors when you change your clocks twice a year. Is there something magical about the batteries if you remember to do it when the clocks change instead of some other time? Of course not. You're just supposed to do it when the clocks change so that you'll remember.

In the same way, there is nothing more wonderful about getting a Christmas letter than, say, an Easter letter. Or a Happy New Year letter. Or, as the case may be in this household, a Mardi Gras letter. We just do holiday letters so that 1) people will know how much we are wishing them a happy holiday and 2) we will make sure to at least touch base with our not-so-nearest and possibly dearest once a year.

And who the heck decided that the best time to do this was during the all-time busiest season of the year, for crying out loud?!

So, as of right now, I'm officially wishing everyone a VERY, VERY Merry Christmas. There. That's done. No one needs to wonder any more whether I wish they will have a good holiday season. I do. Desperately.

I'm also thinking that you would feel pretty bad if you knew that the bajillion of hours I will spend trying to get the fishies to take a decent Christmas picture, writing the letter, hunting down the envelopes and buying a stamp to send your letter took time away from my children, huh? It could also take precious time away from my wine-in-front-of-the-Christmas-tree-time, too, but that is a minor detail. Cards are stressful and I defy you to tell me differently. What we need during this season is LESS STRESSFUL activities and I'm starting the trend NOW.

I am a big fan of the catching up once a year. That is important. So, I am transferring this card-sending to Mardi Gras this year. Mardi Gras is a big ol' festival of parades and ridiculously needless days off from school with nothing to do and I figure that this is The Perfect time to send cards. Besides nothing says original like a holiday card featuring the Fishies in jester caps and beads, now does it?

You can start waiting by the mailbox again in February. But take a break until then. It will be worth the wait. Promise.

A Tale of a Tree

2008-12-09T19:07:00.000-08:00

Here's my favorite Christmas decoration this year and here's the story behind it:

Christmas 1998. The Scientist and I were engaged and were excited to be spending our first Christmas together. With a great deal of trepidation, I agreed to spend Christmas with his family. It wasn't that I didn't want to. We had agreed that we would switch off years with our families for holidays and there was no reason not to start with his. I even liked his family well enough but really didn't know them that well since they lived two states away. I had only been in the same room with his mother a handful of times. I had also never spent a holiday away from my family.

The other rub was a big one. The Scientist's nephew (soon to be mine too) was three and in the winter of 1998 was fighting for his life. He had an extremely aggressive form of childhood cancer and had been given a 30% chance of surviving. All my interactions with the family up to this point had been (understandably) against the backdrop of The Cancer. Although it wasn't said aloud, we knew that we were being strongly encouraged to spend the holiday there because this might be the last one he'd have. I wish I could tell you that I was gracious enough and mature enough and big enough to waltz into this situation knowing exactly what to do, but I can't. I was 25 and I was scared to death.

A week before we were to depart for Virginia, another rub entered the mix. My seemingly very healthy and vibrant maternal grandmother had a stroke. My mother, father and sister had planned to spend the holiday with my other grandparents. My paternal grandfather had Alzheimers and my grandmother needed all the help she could get. I was putting on my big girl panties and dealing with the fact that everyone would be there but me. But, with her mother's stroke, my mother changed her Christmas plan and headed north to be with her ailing mother and her siblings for Christmas. She had no choice. My grandmother was hospitalized and her rehabilitation and housing after she was released had to be decided. If she made it out of the hospital at all.

I cried daily in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I have already admitted that I wasn't nearly as gracious or mature as I would have liked to be, so I might as well go ahead and admit that as much as I had already grown to love my nephew, I was just the tiniest little bit resentful of The Scientist's family for having a crisis that trumped my own personal crisis. I don't care how bad the stroke is or how severe the Alzheimers, chilhood cancer trumps it every time. Even I could see that. But I didn't have to like it. The Scientist understood how much this sucked for me. We were also united in our belief that we should never spend the holidays apart if there was any possible way around it. So, we headed north to Virginia.

After about 10000 hours and one icestorm later (we took turns using a screwdriver to chip the ice off the headlights) we arrived in Virginia. Knowing what I know now, there was nothing at all unusual about the room I was assigned to sleep in. But, up until this point in my life, I had never seen such hospitality or decadence in someone's house and all laid out for a guest. We would have given his mother heart failure if we had assumed to sleep in the same room (not officially married yet and all). My room was exactly what I would have dreamed of. Feather pillows (and zillions of them). Oodles of fine quality bedding, all piled up and waiting to be snuggled under. Soft lighting. A stack of magazines and books by the bed. A bench waiting for my suitcase. And... a little Christmas tree in the corner that was decorated completely with tigers and purple and orange glass balls.

She had me at the Clemson Tree. The base of the little tree was even tiger striped.

With her only grandson at death's door, my mother-in-law had taken the time to put that one little touch into my room that let me know that this room was especially for me and that it mattered that I was there. To say that she never had a good relationship with her own mother-in-law would be the understatement of the year. I "got" that she was really making an effort and was trying so, so hard and that she knew what awful, uncomfortable position I was in. Now, the Scientist did surely go to Clemson but he couldn't give a tiger's behind about having a Christmas tree decorated in tigers and purple. That was something just for me. I look back on that Christmas as the point at which I truly joined his family. It was wonderful and magical and a Christmas custom made for a three year old little boy. And that sort of fun is good for any soul.

A few years later, she asked me if I wanted her to save the Tiger Tree. Duh. I finally got The Tree when we were up there this summer. I think she was amused that I wanted it as much as I did. She would also be horrified if I got all weepy and emotional and huggy on her and told her all of this. So, I kept my mouth shut and just shoved it into the back of the van. It is in our dining room now and is heavy with every single Clemson ornament we own. The original tigers and purple and orange balls are still there too. The Scientist said he can't even tell it's a tree.

My grandmother recovered partially from her stroke. She moved into assisted living and lived there until 2000. She danced (with lots of assistance) at our wedding and laughed into the phone the morning I called her from my hospital bed and told her that her first great-grandchild had been born. She died two months after that. She never saw One Fish in person. But she knew. And that was what was important.

My paternal grandfather passed away in February of 1999. Christmas of 1998 was my sister's last visit with him. His passing gave my paternal grandmother the gift of being able to be at our wedding. Red Fish is named for him.

My nephew beat the odds and I can honestly say that he is the only 13 year old I know who is always a pleasure to be around. He was the ring bearer in our wedding and was so cute that Clemsongirl proposed to him on the spot. He refused by saying, "But, I'm only four!" Now, he drives his parents crazy and has no recollection of the two years that turned his family upside down. Praise God.

And that, as they say, is the rest of the story.

The Christmas Ass

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

The Scientist is eccentric. And that is to say the least. I would give details, but then you might meet him someday and laugh when you did just remembering what you know and it would be bad and he'd be all mad at me for telling you that he used to always wear two pairs of socks and all sorts of other things. He gets "ahold" of an idea and just can't drop it. Even when good, solid evidence points to the fact that He.Is.Wrong. Or misguided. Or about to make a bad choice. Or is unlike everyone else in the free world. No matter. It's sort of endearing and gives me lots to chuckle at. And he is quite brilliant and very, very funny, so it all sort of evens out.

My mother in law and I have long wondered if this eccentricity trait has been passed on to any of the Fishies. They really get a little from both sides (thanks, Mom). We've started to suspected that Two Fish may be "touched." I got confirmation yesterday. The boy just does things "different," for sure...

The church Christmas pageant is coming up. Each Sunday School class is assigned a number of roles. The preschoolers are all sheep and angels. The 4th and 5th graders are the narrators and so on and so on. Two Fish has been quite concerned about this as there was a rumor that perhaps the preschoolers would be sheep, angels OR shepherds. Because he wasn't feeling the sheep and he sure as hell wasn't feeling the angels. He is sort of an angel- in that he is such a good kid- but he is old enough not to be caught dead in a halo and fairy wings bought from the clearance bin after Halloween. He was really hoping the shepherd rumor was true. It wasn't.

I thought it probably wasn't. I was almost positive and warned him about this. "You're probably going to have to be a sheep," I'd say. "Well, I don't want to be a sheep."

"How about an angel then?"

"No way."

"Well then, you'll probably be a sheep."

Even The Scientist, who bans all things dramatic as a rule, backed me on this. "All your buddies will be sheep too, Bud. I had to do it. Everyone has to do it. Just do it."

"Well, I just hope I'm not a sheep..."

This conversation has repeated several times over the past few weeks. And I knew what was coming. Two Fish had a fuzzy brown "dress" thing with his name on it and might as well be practicing up on his best "baaa." He was going to be a sheep.

So, yesterday, after our usual fruit-basket-turnover/Chinese firedrill method of getting everyone where they needed to be, One Fish and I met Two Fish at the first pageant rehearsal at church. I was prepared. I tried not to meet his eyes when we walked in. The room was packed with half the children in the world, all trying on robes and headpieces and fuzzy get-ups and Two Fish was right in the middle of it.

He did spot me after just a few seconds, though. Almost as though he had been watching for me. And he was... beaming.

"Mom!!!!! I don't have to be a sheep!!!!!"

I was pretty sure this was because he'd already thrown himself onto the floor in a full-blown conniption fit and some sucker had given in and agreed to let him hand out programs and I was going to have to kill them. Before I could ask, a giant greyish brown onesie looking thing was thrust at me along with at baby-bonnet type headdress that had what looked like two huge pink carrots sticking out of the top.

"Mom!!!! I GET TO BE THE DONKEY!"

Sure a-damn-nough there was one donkey costume that no one had probably ever agreed to wear in the history of Christmas pageants and my son spied it and begged it for his own. The play director could not have been more pleased that she hadn't even had to beg anyone to wear the giant grey onesie with mule ears for a headpiece- she had someone step up and beg for it. She'd hit the pageant jackpot, if you will.

An hour later, the first run though was in progress. The animals were lined up at the back, waiting to be led in by the older shepherd children. Away in a Manger is being played on the organ and dozens of children sweetly accompany it in song. The shepherds lead in the precious little children, all sweetly muttering, "Baaaaa, baaaaa" as they look for their mothers in the pews.

And Two Fish is bringing up the rear, head held high, bellowing, "EEEEEE-AWWWWWW, EEEEEE-AWWWWWW."

Two Fish is the Christmas ass. And if you think I'm not pulling these pictures out at the rehearsal dinner, you're crazy.

Samson

2008-11-30T18:48:00.000-08:00

He's here! The Tiniest Puppy in the World. Which is why we named him Samson. Because it's just funny. He's six weeks old. Too young, really, to be away from his mama, but since she had already been adopted out, we figured there wasn't any reason to leave him sitting with all the other strays who were carrying God only knows what. So, he's here and One Fish is in love. Two Fish likes him just fine but isn't going to win any parenting awards anytime soon. Red Fish is traumatized and may need therapy. He backs away, shrieking like a little girl when the puppy approaches him.

Even Jesus Liked a Good Olive

2008-11-26T05:54:00.000-08:00

I've heard that heaven is a very busy place. At least that's what my Sunday school teacher says. Busy, busy, busy with everyone given the job they're best suited for and will best use their spiritual gifts. Well, if that's true, I can't wait. Because I know that when I get to heaven, I'm going to be in charge of a specialty food store and deli. And be able to sing with a voice that someone other than just my children will love. But, I digress.

I cannot open a store in this life for a lot of reasons. Mostly, I'm too lazy to be a shop owner. I'm also too OCD (in my own, strange, non-neat little way) and would work myself to death. I also hate finances and I've heard that being a small business owner requires one to deal at least occasionally with money and bills and other unmentionables. I am pretty sure, though, that in heaven there won't be any bills and I think that if God gives me the job of providing all of us with good creme fraiche and decent olives, he will also provide me with some good help so that I don't work myself to a frazzle. I don't think there is anything heavenly about working oneself to a frazzle, after all.

I really think that any place at all can benefit from a specialty food store. We have a few here. A cheese shop (which I am more enthusiastic about than is really normal) and a family run Cajun deli/market which is one of my favorite places in the world. We also have a delightful Asian market with produce and all sorts of things in the refrigerated section. Some of these things are wonderful and some are nothing I would ever consider cooking in this lifetime. We don't have a really wonderful grocery store, but we do have these three shops which make one feel a bit better about the general culinary taste of the population here.

There are some people who just don't have my taste in food. OK, to be honest, I don't think they have good taste in food at all. I know this is a strange revelation coming from me, who just several posts ago admitted that I like marshmallow peeps. I did admit that I knew this was not normal and so it isn't something I tell lots of people. The Scientist has some sort of low-brow taste in food sometimes. I'd give you examples, but then I might offend the type of person who prefers iceberg lettuce. And I hate to be offensive (recent posts not withstanding).

As my mother has always said, there is no accounting for taste. Lucky for you and me, I have wonderful taste in food (heehee) and the following recipe is a good example.

I have been making this for awhile and is perfect for this time of year. Pumpkin Bread Pudding. I can't even remember where I got the recipe, but in the interest of full disclosure, know that I don't come up with recipes. I only pass judgment on existing ones. Don't cheat yourself by eating this for dessert. Eat it for breakfast- we do.

Pumpkin Bread Pudding

1 loaf raisin bread, cut into 1 inch cubes

zest from one small orange

1 can evaporated milk

15 oz. solid pumpkin

1/2 plus 3 T. sugar, divided

3 eggs

1 1/2 T pumpkin pie spice

1/4 c. chopped nuts

Preheat oven to 400.

Heat evaporated milk until hot.

In separate bowl, whisk together pumpkin, 1/2 c. sugar, eggs, spice and zest. Gradually mix in hot milk.

Place 1/2 of bread cubes over bottom of baking dish. Pour half of pumpkin mixture over bread cubes. Repeat with rest of bread cubes and rest of pumpkin mixture. Sprinkle with nuts and rest of sugar.

Bake 25-30 min. Can be served with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream (even I don't do ice cream for breakfast though. I do have some standards).

No Excuses, But...

2008-11-20T03:54:00.000-08:00

I'm catching some flack for not posting in awhile. It all boils down to two reasons:

1) Red Fish is cutting molars- all four at one time. This is apparently a very long process and requires lots of unhappiness, screaming, and demands for 100% of my time. We're on week number 2 and things may be getting a bit better but I hesitate to jinx myself. In the midst of it, he has developed a diaper rash from hades because all of my children (aka, the whitest children on the planet) have skin that breaks out when anything at all disturbs it's delicate balance. For him, this may or may not have been the 100 lbs. of grapes I let him eat the other day because it was keeping him quiet and happy for the first time in...well, two weeks.

2) We're getting a puppy. I wanted you to have to squint to see that because it is strictly on the DL. It is time and I probably need a whole post devoted to my thought process on this (hint- it did not involve a small amount of rationalization and OCD behavior). The Scientist and I are going to see the puppies this weekend (sans fishies of course because of the whole DL thing). The mother is a red, long haired dachshund and the father is... well, who the heck knows. The mother was dropped off at the shelter with her "boyfriend" who is a Pekinese but it became pretty clear after the babies were born that the old boy had been stepped out on a bit- or at least one all important time. The vets think the babies are probably half Shitzu or something close to it. They are black and white and might be the cutest things ever. Cuter than a guinea pig, I can almost guarantee it.

FYI- Spell check doesn't do well with dog breeds. Hasn't heard of most of them apparently. So, apologies to the Pekinese and Shitzu enthusiasts out there for mutilating the spelling of their favorite dog breed. I don't have time to get the dictionary right now. The Dog Whisperer is about to start.

They're Called Adult Britches. Put Them On.

2008-11-07T12:56:00.000-08:00

There is a blogging topic that has been nagging me lately. Summed up, it is:
Stay Married, For Crying Out Loud.

The Scientist and I are experiencing a rash of divorce in the lives of our friends (and I know some of them are reading this and yes, I AM talking about you). To be quite frank, most of the divorces are stupid. Yep- the S word. Stupid, stupid, stupid. There are certainly some very valid reasons for deciding to toss your marriage vows out the window. I probably don't need to list them. But, for clarification and for the edification of anyone reading who may not be clear, let me list a few of the not-so-good reasons for thinking about getting the Big D.

1) It's too hard. Really?! Well, no shiot, Sherlock. Labor hurts and marriage can get hard. This is not breaking news. Everyone thinks it's hard sometimes. Did you really go into this expecting a Lifetime movie? Well, go get some money back from whoever did your premarital counseling because you got ripped off. Get over it. You made a promise. Put your adult britches on and keep the promise.

2) This is a newsflash to some people, apparently, so I'll put it in boldface. Most married people do not have sex three times a day. Most married people with children do not have sex even every day. Sex is not a reason to get a divorce unless, of course, the issue is sex with someone not sharing the marital bed in question. These problems can be fixed. See a doctor, get some counseling, read a book and/or look into some lubricant. Sexual issues are not reason enough to leave a spouse. Fix the problem and move on. Know that these things wax and wane, but are fixable problems (you did notice my enormous restraint in not saying "come and go," right?).

3) We're not "in love" anymore. Seriously? Are people serious when they say this?! As a very, very wise woman said recently, love is a choice. Love is not something magical that hits you like a bolt of lightening if you're lucky. Love is an action verb. You can choose to make dinner. You can choose to pull yourself out of a slump for the sake of your children. You can choose to love the one you made your vows to. No one just gets lucky and marries someone perfect. You have to wake up every day and decide that (contrary to lots and lots and lots of evidence) the one you're married to is perfect. Choose it.

4) It will be better for the children if we separate. Unless there is some sort of abuse going on, this is a lie that someone tells themself to justify a selfish decision. No it won't. Making the choice that your children will grow up in a house lacking a unified parental team is serious business. It changes them. It irreparably alters their future and the future of their children. They can still grow up to be loving, useful adults and parents who are a blessing to those around them. But, they'll have to work so much harder to get the pieces back that they could have had in childhood.

As I said, there are several really good reasons to divorce. There are even times when it would be irresponsible and perhaps criminal not to leave. I'm not talking about any of these situations. I'm talking about run-of-the-mill divorce because someone can't keep the promises they made or just don't feel like it anymore or can't take the trouble to work hard for something that is worth it.

Divorce sucks and in the interest of full disclosure let me add that The Scientist is a re-tread. So is my father. I know why these men are no longer in their first marriages but it's past the point of mattering now. I am obviously glad both of them moved on to second wives. One divorce led to my existence. The other divorce led to the existence of my marriage and the birth of my children. So, I'm not completely against divorce when it is truly unavoidable. It just makes me sad when it can be avoided and isn't. And my heart hurts for those friends of ours who are divorcing because of decisions others have made and which they have no control over.

I'm sure I'm not paraphrasing this perfectly, but Billy Graham's wife was once asked if she and Billy had ever fallen out of love with each other. "Oh, yes!" she replied. "Just not at the same time."

Hang in there, folks. It's worth it.

As Promised

2008-11-01T08:09:00.000-07:00

Awhile back I resolved to learn to cook a wide variety of foods that were good for me and my family. Here is one I've come up with. Homemade apple sauce and feta roasted tomatoes to follow (gotta perfect the ingredient measurements).

Pumpkin seeds are high in protein (and fat, but since it's a seed, it's got to be the "good fat," right?). They are also high in zink, potassium and fiber. I'm calling them a health food!

No tally on the sodium content of these, but I'll tell you right now... it's high. So, cut the salt if you're sensitive to salt (Mom). The Scientist says he's going to go find some more pumpkins today and dig the seeds out of them so I'll make him some more of these!

Roasted Pumpkin Seeds
2 1/2 cups rinsed and clean pumpkin seeds
1 T. olive oil
1 1/2 t. salt
1 T. garlic powder
1/2 t. cayenne pepper (reduce if you're not "spicy people")
1 t. black pepper
2 T. maple syrup (the real stuff)
1/2 t. paprika

Preheat oven to 400. Toss pumpkin seeds with remaining ingredients. Roast 15-20 min. or until seeds are beginning to brown.

No Title Needed

2008-10-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

It's confirmed. There have been rumors for weeks, no, years, actually. We have all been hoping. Praying, to be more accurate. We have speculted, gossiped and spread rumors about it. This morning, the paper published it in black and white and it is better than any of us could have imagined.

We are getting a Target.

I'll let that sink in for a moment...

If you live near one (or three), you are still trying to understand how someone lives in a place without one. If you are like me and you live in one of the three remaining places in the free world without one, you're trying to figure out right now how you can get here before opening day (Fall 2009, if you're interested).

In addition and in the same location we are also getting a Michael's, a Kohl's and a Marshall's. There are other stores being added that have The Scientist all wound up but that I don't give a hoot about. Best Buy among them. Who cares, as long as a Target is front and center?

No, it is not going to be a Supertarget. This is actually a blessing because if it was, it would be overwhelming for us all and we probably would have needed pharmaceutical help to handle the excitement. Baby steps, please...

Tagged

2008-10-26T10:47:00.000-07:00

The Bee Hive tagged me awhile back and I'm just now tagging it forward.

Seven Strange Facts About Me

1) I love marshmallow peeps. I know this is not normal.

2) I gave birth to my two older children sans epidural. The first was 9lbs. 6oz., the next was 10lbs. 6oz. Yes, it was by choice. Yes, I tried something a little different the third time around.
No comments on this one, please. I am still dealing with the PTSD. Kidding. Kind of...

3) I was accepted into the Peace Corp after college and even assigned to a continent. It is a long process.

4) I cringe when I hear people say that "so and so is someone THAT" instead of "so and so is someone WHO." Major pet peeve.

5) I have no depth perception.

6) I used to own a ball python. His name was Jake the Snake. Beat that on the weird scale...

7) I have tried for years to sew and I can't. Bottom line.

I'm tagging:
puppydogtailsandsnails
threeboysonedog

It's a Good Thing He's Cute

2008-10-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

Two Fish needs to watch his step. He's treading on thin ice this week.

Yesterday he informed me that he has decided NOT to be the lion or the tin man for Halloween. This is a problem since One Fish has The Most Darling Dorothy costume and will tote a Toto stuffed animal and a decorative scarecrow in the wagon. Red Fish and Two Fish are supposed to complete the ensemble cast by being the tin man and the lion. I agreed to be the wicked witch only if they are good between now and then. This is big since I do not dress up. Ever. The last time I dressed up for Halloween it was as a pregnant girlscout (obviously pre-Scientist and definitely pre-baby). It was to go to a rockin' bar party in Five Points. Nothing since then, though.

But, now he says that he has decided against this plan. Instead he's going to be either one of the flying monkeys from the movie or... Gene Simmons.

Then, today, I pick him up from preschool, in my not-pulled-together-mommy-costume with several ingredients on my shirt from morning cooking projects necessary for this week to end well and he says...

"Hey! Mommy, I thought you said you were going to change out of your jammies before you picked me up!"

He needs to watch it.

Stop the Madness

2008-10-15T09:00:00.000-07:00

The madness is going to stop. I am going to learn to feed my chilren's mother well balanced and nutritious meals and not just feed her the scraps off their plates if it kills me (and it probably won't). If whole grains are important for them to eat, then surely they are important for me to eat too. I will stop looking at the price tags of the best, most nutritious, least processed foods and weighing in my head whether or not it is "worth it." It is.

I will stop considering diet soda one of the major food groups.

I will start to think of my daily vitamin as essential to our family's well-being.

I will stop getting on the scale and raising my eyebrows. I might just throw the scale away. Who cares what I weigh as long as I feel good?

I will foster my love of cooking. I will drink red wine while I'm going it.

I will buy exotic, fresh ingredients at the grocery and learn to use them. Doesn't it seem appropriate to get all Euro and just say "at the market" or "at the grocery" when talking about exotic, fresh ingredients instead of "I'll buy exotic fresh ingredients at Walmart?" Walmart and exotic don't seem to go together. At all.

I will cook vegetables I love and will learn to cook them well. I will discover new ones I didn't even know I liked. Or that existed, for that matter. I will eat lots of them. I will encourage my family to do the same.

This fish tank is getting an upgrade...

He Says, She Says

2008-10-14T04:32:00.000-07:00

He says:

"I had Columbus day off. She came in about 8AM, arms flapping, going on about something that didn't seem to have an immediate point. 'Just give me the short version', I said. 'Do you want to me take Two Fish to school or what'? Turns out, that's all she needed me to do. I got going (much earlier than I had planned) and took him to school, glad I could help her out this morning."

She says:

"Wild morning on Columbus day. As usual, the fishy's schedules conflicted and I had to get warm pigs in a blanket up to One Fish's school at exactly the same time I needed to be dropping off Two Fish at preschool. Just being a little late to either wasn't a viable option in this instance.

I could have brought the pigs in a blanket early to the school, but I was notsomuch being the planner this particular morning and realized too late in the game that I was not going to be able to pull it off.

Luckily He was off on Columbus Day. I wake him and explain my scheduling issue. Perhaps I gave too many details. But, if I was going to be yanked out of bed on my morning off, I'd want to know exactly what the deal was, wouldn't you? 'Just give me the short version,' he grouches, 'Are you saying you need me to take Two Fish to school?'

Yes, Einstein. That would be helpful.

So, he gets his rear in gear, motivates Two Fish to do the same, and 10 minutes later, they are out the door.

Mere moments after they leave, I, too, am out the door. Red Fish on one hip, basket of pigs-in-a-blanket with seasonal linen handtowel tucked around them in the other hand. Dangling from one finger is a bag with the "trinkets" I was to bring for One Fish to pass out to the other "super readers" in her class. Another finger held the lunchbox she forgot.

I schlep myself out the door with just enough time to get the appropriate items to the appropriate classes at the appropriate time. Upon my arrival in the driveway, I find...

No Van In The Driveway.

He has taken the $%^# van. He HAS TAKEN THE #$%^ VAN!! With my keys. With my cell phone. With my pocketbook and wallet.

I call him on his cell-phone. It rings on the kitchen counter. I call him on my cell phone. He answers.

'You are killing me here!'

'Whaaaahhhh...??? Whadidoo? You said take him to school. I'm taking him to school, right?'

Fast forward 5 minutes...
Red Fish is cozy in his big red wagon. I am pulling said wagon up to the school (in the interest of full disclosure, I must note that it isn't really very far).

We both have a pig in a blanket in each hand.

(Almost) wordless Wednesday

2008-10-08T14:01:00.000-07:00

One Fish's actual birthday and birthday cake.

Yes, I made it.

I bet it was one of those TEENAGERS

2008-10-02T18:44:00.000-07:00

So, I'm on my way to snag Two Fish from school today. It's pick-up time in town and the soccer mommies are out in force. I pull up next to one about to turn down the road with one of our three elementary schools on it. She's in character. Low-maintenance Mommy-do, big sunglasses, cell phone to ear and carseat in the backseat of the wagon. A somewhat dirty wagon. Not terrible, but obviously a wagon that spends its free time in a driveway surrounded by very fertile trees. You know that's what pollen is, right? Tree sex parts? Judging from the back windshield of our soccer mommy's car, the trees near her house were very, very sexy. And she's just oblivious to it all, scooting over to get the kiddos from school in the tree-sex mobile. How do I know she was oblivious, you ask?

Well, because into all that pollen on the back windshield, someone had written in big letters with their finger:

" I wish my girlfriend was this dirty."

Bless her heart...

And the winner is...

2008-09-30T19:10:00.000-07:00

My brother-in-law, for coming up with the most amusing commentary on our nation's current financial crisis.

"I've never been so happy to have all our assets tied up in handbags and shoes."

Hee hee hee. My sister has good taste (in more ways than one).

Darned Expensive Kids

2008-09-29T05:40:00.000-07:00

Two Fish has pulled a fast one. He has gone from size 4/5T, last year at this time, directly to a 6. This poses a problem since all the clothes I bought "ahead" aren't so much working. Darn! And it's still hot out, so I can't just go buy fall things. He still needs some shorts to get us through to the next season of the year, which is Christmas. Our seasons are: summer, Christmas, Mardi Gras and summer again. Darn, again!

Olivia Continues to Demonstrate Her Rockin'-ness

2008-09-27T05:17:00.000-07:00

So, y'all know that the investigator in Two Fish's case isn't really named Olivia, right? I just call her that because her real title and last name are far too long to write out each time, and in my mind she's just like Olivia on Law and Order Special Victims Unit. All-business and ready to kick some bad guy arse. And young and trendy to boot.

Two Fish had his interview yesterday. He did great! After some last minute nerves, he warmed up to the interviewer and went in and talked his head off. "His interview was consistent with the report" which is what they were looking for. The very short version of the tons of new info I got yesterday is:

1) They have him for 5-10 years PER COUNT of voyeurism. They think they can get him on multiple counts. He'll take a plea bargain, most likely. Olivia's boss says that if he is offered 10 years, he should take it and feel quite lucky.

2) After the investigative part of the case is over, they'll determine if they can get him on child pornography too. If they think they can, they'll hand that over to the feds. And that will probably go to trial. Both investigators I talked to said that they think they've got him on child porn. Because he didn't just look. He took pictures too. The plus there is that then he'd get serious, hard core time. The minus is that it would go to trial (probably) and we may have to testify. Two Fish's name would definitely come out and his taped interview would probably be used. They wouldn't let me watch the interview yesterday in case they needed to call me as a witness in a federal trial.

3) They really don't think he downloaded or sent any pictures from his phone. They were strickly for his purposes (I know, try not to gag...). Two Fish can't really be identified in the picts, if you didn't know what you were looking for or what time the picts were taken. Mr. Big Man (Olivia's boss- we'll call him Mr. Big) says that in his experience, the guy has a classic pedophile personality. Meek, timid around adults. Not the sharpest tool in the shed from what I'm gathering. He preys on children because he is powerless in the adult world. Ewwww. I've got the shivers.

That's it in a nutshell.

Being the Soccer Mom

2008-09-27T04:55:00.000-07:00

Finally, the season is here! I love soccer season. The chill in the air (although I'm going to have to imagine it today). The tired kids at the end of the day. The sportsmanship. The triumphs. The comraderie. The Nalgene water bottles filled with screwdrivers for the mommies. Kidding. Kind of.

I'm definitely bringing a chair this morning. It is the season opening and some genius decided that the best idea ever would be to have every single child enrolled in YMCA soccer on the field at the same time for a group practice. So, I'll be the one kicked back in the corner watching the maddness unfold in front of me, with an expression of quiet bemusement on my face.

May I Suggest?

2008-09-24T16:56:00.000-07:00

I almost used this time/space to post the yummilicious recipe for bruschetta chicken that we enjoyed tonight and that the unsuspecting families of supper swap will enjoy in the next month. But, I am leaning toward suggesting something a little more inspiring than chicken. No matter how inspiring it's bubbly goodness was. It was still chicken, after all.

I love traditions. Especially quirky holiday traditions. And nothing makes me happier than to realize that I'm on to something so good that it might warrant a Tradition. The two older fishies and I just finished reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever (where the heck is the underline button?)

I read the book years ago and thought it was hilarious. We saw the play last year in our community theater and this year One Fish has decided she wants to audition for the angel choir. So, we decided to read the book again before the audition date.

Wow, wow, wow. The children were riveted by it. Two Fish begged for more chapters each night. This is a book that begs to be read aloud and reads easily. As with many books originally intended for children, it is best read with lots of expression and voice changes for the characters.

I actually got choked up reading the last few pages of the book. Here is one excerp:
" When Imogene asked me what the pageant was about, I told her it was about Jesus, but that was just part of it. It was about a new baby, and his mother and father who were in a lot of trouble- no money, no place to go, no doctor, nobody they knew. And then, arriving from the East (like my uncle from New Jersey) some rich friends.
"But Imogene, I guess, didn't see it that way. Christmas just came over her all at once, like a case of chills and fever. And so she was crying, and walking into the furniture."

The children and I have decided that we will read it every Christmas season. Sort of like the family tradition I grew up with of reading the Christmas Carol (the Charles Dickens one) aloud every holiday season. This tradition has pretty much had a failure to launch in this household because of The Scientist's insistence that there are few things he won't do for me, but that at the top of the short list is: "Sit around like a dork reading Charles Dickens aloud to one another." Marriage is full of compromise and if this is the biggest concession I ever have to make, then I will have gotten off easy indeed.

But, I think that Barbara Robinson (author) is a little differen from Dickens. I'm already looking forward to starting the first of the seven chapters a week before Christmas and to sobbing through the last page or two on Christmas eve.

Quick Pervert Update

2008-09-24T08:08:00.000-07:00

Two Fish hasn't had his "interview" yet. It's later this week. In the meantime, Olivia says that they have a warrant to search his computers. Plural? What young cashier has more than one computer? Freak. It will take awhile to do this, but they already have the computers in their posession. He couldn't do anything about it even if they hadn't seized them because he's still in the clink. The slammer. The caboose. His bond was set at a half million dollars. He's not going anywhere.

Apparently the good ol' boys around here don't cotton to perverts.

Being a Girl

2008-09-22T04:06:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all the input on the guinea pig issue! Looks like a majority of you thought that I had either lost my mind for even considering getting One Fish a guinea pig, or think that they are fine but stink to high heaven. I sort of think I lost my mind momentarily too and am not into letting anything (else) that stinks into my house.

So, no pets for One Fish this birthday.

She had a terrible morning yesterday. She hit Two Fish (somewhat justified, I'm sure) but still...I have to have some standards around here. She moped around feeling sorry for herself and bemoaning the fact that "no one" loved her as she thought was evidenced by the fact that she faced some consequences for her heinous crime. She's such a giiiiiiirrrrrrl. But, then it was time for church and after a few outfits that were inappropriate (jeans and a long sleeve turtleneck?!), she emerged wearing a new outfit that was actually purchased for next spring season. I said not a word (somewhat to her surprise, I think).

I am a girl, after all, and I know very well how much difference it can make in one's day to wear a brand new sassy outfit. And sassy she was. Mood and attitude improved very quickly and soon she was hugging her brother again and singing my praises for being such a rockin' Sunday School teacher. And doing that girly walk with purse swinging that is only possible when you know that you look good and your shoes, bag, and hair accessories match. You know the one I'm talking about.

So, I think the year has arrived that I can get One Fish clothes for her birthday and actually have her excited about it. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think that some cutie outfits with accessories to match may be just the ticket to happiness for our oldest fishy.

And sooooooo much easier to care for than a guinea pig, I'm thinking...

2008-09-19T19:16:00.000-07:00

I'm not your friend. I'm your mother.

2008-09-19T18:46:00.000-07:00

That's usually the kind of mommy I am. Pleeeeeease don't ask me to play pretend. Or dress-up. Or color. I'll hook you up with the activities all day long, but I really do want to go about my day and get things done. Not play Barbies or army men. I rationalize this poor attitude by telling myself that the original mommies- the ones who hunted and gathered and later tended farms and stuff did not play Barbies or army men either. Nor did they play dress-up because they were too busy stitching together real clothes and doing other things like making sure everyone was still living at the end of the day. And civilization grew up just fine, didn't it? Even with generation after generation of mommies who didn't fingerpaint.

But, I needed to get outside today, so we went on an adventure. I love adventures!! I won't play pretend, but I can get all behind an adventure. We went to find a "famous" tree in our area (exciting already, no?). It did take some looking, but finally we (and the little girl next door) were successful. And how cool is this tree?

Of course the late hour provided us with beautiful light in the little clearing in the woods where the tree is located. I was actually a little disappointed that it didn't have more branches that they could climb up and use to scale the tree, but they were completely into climbing along the big extended branches. They stretched all the way to the ground! It was great! The light was great for photos too!

The pumpkin one is thrown in there just because. And to point out that the hair is cool, but with it comes the skin that even breaks out when the poor child eats an APPLE, for heaven's sake. Check out the lower lip and chin. Ewww...

PS-What the heck is up with the picture arrangement on this page? I can't figure out how to arrange it so that you get anything other than a spontaneous case of ADD looking at it. And the cutie, cute B&W picture of One and Red that is all caddywhompus (heck yes, that's a word!)? That one really ticks me off because it's my favorite and I can't get it turned around! Arrgghh!

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Presbyterian

2008-09-18T18:38:00.001-07:00

I just got back from a Sunday School meeting which was held in my Sunday School room, coincidentally enough. In the Presbyterian Center. On the church grounds. With wine and cheese. Two bottles. Which we drank out of big, red, cheap plastic cups while we ate cheese, grapes, strawberries and white bread with lots of unhealthy sugars in it and no fiber at all. While we talked about which mission projects and family activities to do this semester.

Life is good.

E-mail me if you need directions to the next one.

"Olivia" Is My Dream Girl

2008-09-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

** If you are a new reader, please read posts titled " Life would be much more delightful without perverts," "Insert Song from CHIPS here," and "Go, Olivia, Go." Then this one will make much more sense.

Olivia came through for us. She called tonight. Here's what she had for me:

1) AN ARREST HAS BEEN MADE!!! Praise God! I had given up hope and had found some peace with it. They needed a confession or another witness in order to seize his phone. I thought neither was likely.

2) The Pervert had "priors." In other words, he was "in the system."

3) The other potential witness was not able to "contribute to the case." I love the language.

4) It didn't really matter if they had another witness or not. The Pervert confessed. He confessed!

5) When Olivia told me that he confessed I actually laughed out loud and said, "What a MORON!" I immediately qualified my outburst by saying that I was soooo glad that he was a moron, but that I really couldn't believe it. She said, "Well, and I am trained to do this. I do this for a living..." Oh, yeah. Well, that too...

6) There are multiple "other victims who cannot be identified."

7) It is not known whether any pictures were downloaded anywhere from his cell phone. The techies picking his phone apart as we speak are trying to figure it out.

8) They need Two Fish (hereafter referred to as The Hero) on tape. If the charges stick (and our girl Liv is determined that they will), he could get 5 years for voyeurism. They need Two Fish in order to make them stick. I told her to just tell us when and where. We have an appointment. Two Fish will be delighted to finally get to tell his side of the story to someone important.

We will discuss my current and sudden anger and rage at The Pervert in a later post. Or not. At least it looks as though we are going to get some closure on this.

Brrrrr...

2008-09-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

Who wouldn't love this little face? Two Fish announced this morning that it was "cold." In truth, it was actually about 75 degrees, but since our average temperature is about a bajillion degrees, I guess 75 does feel chilly to him. He demanded "winter" clothes. So, we pulled out the long shorts. He picked out his own clothes and decided he looked so good that his picture needed to be taken. I am never one to argue with a child who WANTS to be photographed! I am a sucker for a brown haired, brown eyed little boy with some freckles! Actually, I'm a sucker for the red headed ones too, as it turns out! Oh, I do love my little boyfriends...

Thanks to everyone who weighed in with suggestions for me on outfitting the fishies for the holidays. Judging from the captive audience style selection session I had with the fishies in front of the computer, the winner is Chez Ami. Kudos to the anonymous poster who came up with that one.

Just to add to Two Fish's adorableness (heck yes, that is a word!), he was picked up after school for a playdate and I will not see his handsome little face until 3:30. Then on to Kung Fu, then home for dinner and then to bed. Tired. Exhausted, is actually my guess. I firmly believe that an easy 7 PM bedtime is the mark of a good day. I know you agree.

Obsessed

2008-09-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

That's what I am with finding Christmas outfits for the fishies. I am all about the "matchy-matchy" as they call it. Two Fish must have just a shirt to match his siblings. No matchy-matchy pants for him because they are usually patterned and elastic waisted. He says they look like a bathrobe. Go figure. It's just not worth the argument. One Fish is probably a little easier, but she will be 8 by then and is completely over smocking (can't say as I blame her, considering how much of it she's put up with over the years). I'd love to go a little casual so that they can (will) wear them other than just a few times to church and performances. For instance, how cute is this? But, there's no little boys option, let alone a baby boy option. I could even deal with this for the holidays. How cute and preppy! But, the options for the older kids aren't wonderful. The jumper is a little young for One Fish and I'd like to see anyone try to get Two Fish into those pants or, God forbid, the vest.

I need inspiration!

PS: I.Do.Not.Sew.

Good, good stuff

2008-09-14T17:26:00.000-07:00

Red Fish is having some sleep issues. My guess is that they are somehow related to the fact that he is about to walk (we think?). For some reason, being about to reach a big ol' milestone like that messed up schedules and eating and all sorts of other stuff for the other two fishies. Brain capacity met, or something like that. Once they up and did the deed, everything sort of cleared up. Or so I'm hoping for Red Fish.

In the meantime, he is waking up at 5:15 every morning. I don't protest too terribly much because it was an uncomfortably short time ago that he was waking at 12, 2:30 AND 5:15. So, rock on with the solo 5:15 wake-up call, little man. But, the result of this is that he is ready for a nap at 7:30 AM (weird, right?) and another right after lunch. So, by 6:00 PM, he is really nothing but baggage. Heavy, inconsolable, baggage.

I just got him into the crib. He still nurses at night before bed. He was still a little warm from his warm bath and his longsleeved cotton onesie that had little sheep on it smelled like lavender. His hair was just starting to dry and was all curly and mussed on top and smelled like clean baby. He was so tired that he was heavy and limp and molded into my arms as soon as I started to rock him. In the dark, I could see his little eyelids fluttering. His little hand feels my arm while he nurses, but moves slower and slower as the minutes tick by. Every now and then his foot comes up toward my face and his rubbing hand touches it. Periodically, he leans his head back and stretches out completely and sighs and then melts right back into my arms again and resumes nursing. Sighs! How darling! When I know he is almost asleep, I stand up and moved him to the crib. He didn't even move after I put him down. Except for his little hand that still rubbed the sheet a little just as it had rubbed my arm.

That, ladies, is good, good, good stuff. Take you through a few more days, kind of stuff. Change the ickiest of the diapers that The Scientist gags at, kind of stuff. Totally worth it. Every bit worth it.

Please, Lord, help me to remember evenings like this when he has hair on his face and his feet and armpits stink to high heaven.

Please Help

2008-09-13T10:35:00.001-07:00

One Fish wants a guinea pig for her birthday.

She's not begging. She's not pleading. Mostly because she knows it won't work and the chances of me allowing another animal with legs (read- another creature who can poop or pee in my house) into this house are slim to none. But, that really just makes me want to get her one all the more. She has been saying for years that she really wants a pet she can "pick up." Is this the time?

Or, is this just a knee jerk reaction because we're now missing Rosie's four little legs around here? Or, is 8 years old enough to take responsibility for cleaning and feeding a very small creature? Do they smell? Do I know anyone who would know? Am I crazy?

The Scientist will let just about anything that breathes and isn't human in this house. Sucker. And he doesn't know why I'm even asking his opinion on this (or yours, for that matter). He says I'll just end up doing what the heck I want anyway.

The problem is that I really don't think I know what I want in this instance. Vote in the poll and help me out.

"Menu" Night

2008-09-12T13:46:00.001-07:00

I just told the two older fishies that I had a "menu" for tonight's meal. Column A is main dishes, Column B is veggies (choose two), Column C starches and Column D desserts. Basically, it is "eat up what is in the fridge, freezer and cupboard night" in the old fishtank, but what do they care?

The rub is that whoever does the best job getting their stuff picked up in the next hour gets to choose the meal for the family. They start with 100 points and at the end of the hour one point is deleted for each thing I find that is out of place or not picked up. Bonus points for anything considered above and beyond. Points deleted for any whining or crying.

I have just realized that the peace reigning in my house at the moment will be completely overshadowed by the screaming tantrum Two Fish will surely pitch if he works this hard for one hour, only to discover that his sister beat him. I may have to ammend the rules. Whoever wins gets to pick the three items of their choice and second place gets to pick the other two?

I've got to make sure that this works out for me because my house is H-E-A-V-E-N right now. Anyone getting Family Fun realizes that I have totally modified this from idea in the current magazine, but aren't the most sane mommies just the best idea theives?

Edited to add: I did indeed amend the rules. Predictably, Two Fish came in second, but he did work his little distractable, five year old tail off. So, I let him pick ONE menu item of his choice and let him pick it before his sister chose hers. This seemed to appease him, while still allowing her to bask in her glory. When I announced that "if they were good" tomorrow, we could do this again for tomorrow's meal, except do it for the playroom, Two Fish was ecstatic and said to his sister "Bring it ON!" Whatever works...

The B is BACK

2008-09-12T05:51:00.000-07:00

I'm 100%, baby. I knew all I needed was an extreme amount of ginger ale and a good night sleep and I'd be back. My family doesn't quite know what to do and the dog is cowering outside. I think he can see the gleam in my eye that only ever leads to a bath for him. Both older fishies made a few noises this morning first thing about staying home again. The speed with which my feet hit the floor and the coffee was being brewed must have convinced them that it would all be to no avail. After seeing my initial flurry of activity in the kitchen (you should have seen what it looked like after over 24 hours of no mommy), they dressed and brushed without complaint.

My kitchen is sparkling and I am working on a tremendous activity for today. Not sure what it is yet, but I've got to come up with something good. It would be a crying shame to waste this kind of energy on laundry. I'm sure I'll sneak in a call to Olivia at some point.

Many thanks for the well-wishes. Watch out world- the B is back!