The Suitcases are Locked

I've got us all packed up and ready to go. The taxi will arrive in approximately 30 minutes, where we'll head to the airport and spend the holidays with family.

Of course I packed at the last minute and each and every time I wait until the last minute I'm kicking myself screaming in my head, "WHY DID YOU WAIT!?!?!" But nevertheless, we're packed and I have just a few moments to catch my breath before struggling with car seats and luggage and plane tickets.

The munchkin has to look cute for the grandparents that are picking us up on the other end of our travels, so naturally I put her in a plaid skirt with winter tights and a frilly sweater to match. May you feel sorry for me when you feel my frustration should a diaper change need to be tended in some filthy airport restroom. I can just hear myself now, "!@#@#% tights...!@#%@#!%#@ skirt with no snaps...and this !@#%!#%# sweater!! What was Mommy thinking when she dressed youuu?"

But the flight is only 4.5 hours so maybe I'll luck out and I won't be tormented with such an event. Yeah right.

Happy Holidays, Internet! And may your New Year start off safe and magnificent!

I wonder

Last week I went to the bakery up the street...now bakery/deli, and met their new baker who had just made turtle brownies. Upon the recommendation of the women that work there, I bought a couple. My husband and I shared the first one on the way to our daughter's doctor's appointment, to which my husband described it as "this is one SERIOUS brownie!"...


Well, the second brownie sat idle in the kitchen the rest of that evening and the next morning while rummaging around the house I remembered it. I'm much more a frosting/icing fan than a nutty brownie fan so I swirled my finger across the top of that lone brownie several times freeing it from the frosting. There was one layer of chocolate frosting and one layer of caramel chocolate frosting..and let me tell you... each.and.every.slurp.of.frosting.off.that.brownie was ~YUM~.


So a few days have passed and I just remember that that brownie is no longer in the kitchen.


Did my husband eat the brownie in the dark and not realize that I had slurped off the frosting? Did he eat it in the light and simply not care that I had left the brownie bare? Did he look at it repulsed and throw it out? He's never mentioned that brownie to me...so I do wonder.

That frosting sure was good!

A Zoo

This time of year is always such a ...madhouse...!


Everyone is wild and crazy as if they've gone back to their animalistic roots and while the season is supposed to be about love and friendship and all things that make us feel warm and cozy inside right down to that mug of eggnog, people are just entirely off their rocker!


Every store is swamped with people. Everyone keeps calling asking for donations. And mind you they don't call just once..but many.many.many times as if they think you're suddenly going to forget that they've called every evening this week.


My husband and I ventured out to do some Christmas shopping the other day. We thought, what better than to start the day off with some donuts to fuel our systems and prep us for the intense shock of the mall. We stuffed ourselves with donuts, and then the traffic was so yuck that we decided to just do all our Christmas shopping online this year. Who can beat free shipping and shopping in your pajamas?

Top Cracker Snacker

We're back from our trip and wow does cold weather stink.

We went grocery shopping to stock up our empty fridge and bought some sausage, cheese, and crackers to snack on in the evenings.

I like a little sweet mustard, a slice of cheese, a slice of sausage...mind you not a big hurkin slice where you feel like you're eating half the slab in one bite, but a nice thin-ish slice all on top of a cracker.

My husband, while he had to figure out the thickness aspect, always does the top cracker to his cracker/cheese/sausage ensemble.

I wonder why some people are top cracker snackers and others, like myself, prefer no top cracker. I can't say why I would rather not have the top cracker..I just would rather not.

This question is what brought me back to my blog, so I ask you Internet, Are you a top cracker snacker?

Busy

I'm alive, just busy!

Internet, thank you for your concern. :)

I'll try to get back to making posts, however, we're off to Hawaii for the next nine days.

Look for pictures on my Daily Photo site and I'm sure I'll have some tales to tell when I get back.

Amazing

If you let your teething baby chew on your hemp necklace, she will mellow out.

Happy Halloween!

Wishing the Internet lots of candy and little scares on this Halloween!

Something About That Water

So we've spent the last several days struggling between letting the dog be thirsty or letting our daughter have her way with the dog's water dish. She's absolutely obsessed with it. She's crawling around the house like she's jet propelled and if she's anywhere on the end of the house where the kitchen is, all that's of importance is the.dog's.water.dish.

She scrambles over to it at mach five speed and loves to splash her hands in it. Today I got to her one second too late and she was up to her elbows in it --shirt soaking and everything!

If we take up the water dish, not only do we have a dog that looks distraught, we've got a daughter who wonders where her baby pool has vanished to.

Yuck.

Routers, Sleeping, School Oh My!

So I've been busy to say the least.


The little one has been a bit under the weather, but that hasn't deterred any of her sneaky ways.


The other day we were having all kinds of internet connection issues. We'd have a connection and then it would die and I'd reboot and then we'd be good to go again for a little bit and then randomly it would die out again. The router and dsl modem lights looked good. They were warm to the touch,but not too warm...it was just strange. Come to find out, the little stinker that I call daughter who's just turned eight months old, unplugged the router HALF.WAY. So we were teetering on having a connection and not having one. She could have just unplugged it all the way...but nooo half way so mommy and daddy could get frazzled and it would take us longer to figure out the problem.


She's still resisting sleep. She'd rather be awake and taking in her environment. It's not like she's in a bad mood when she's awake when she should be sleeping,it's just that firstly, she needs sleep and secondly, she's such a busy body these days with the crawling and standing that it's hard to keep up with her and wow is it exhausting! So the other night we put her down to bed at 6pm. She slept for 30 minutes, which is all she ever sleeps for unless its super late at night. Thirty minutes and she's awake like clock work right on the dot not a minute too soon or too late. I try my best to get her back to sleep but she refuses. 7pm passes by. 8pm passes by. 9pm passes by. 10pm passes by. Then I'm holding her in my arms rocking her as I stand in the doorway of the computer room talking with my husband. Taped to the wall next to me is a sign I made labeled "sleeping" which I use to tape on to the door of the computer room when the munchkin is napping in her travel crib so he'll know not to disturb the room and wake her. Our daughter takes a close look at the sign, grimmaces and snorts out a chuckle and then like a wild banshee snatches the sign off the wall, crumples it up, and rips it in half. We had to laugh because quite obviously she was telling us just.exactly.what.she.thought.of.sleeping.


Yesterday, I took my daughter to the school I used to teach at. My previous co workers had seen pictures of her, but never had the chance to meet her so yesterday was a good day to visit. I brought her down to the second grade classrooms and had a good chat with my teaching team mates. In one of the classrooms there's a large floor rug that children gather and sit on to read. I put my little one down so she could show off her crawling skills to the children. They smiled and giggled at her and she just hammed it up loving every minute of it. As a proud mother of an 8 month old, I have to say, she did a great job at the school around so many swarming kids. Then, while on the rug still, she crawled right over to the bookcase, sat down next to it, and started dragging out books to read. I'm amazed that she knew what to do!


Well, Im out of time...by now she's probably got the dog hanging by his tail from the stairwell banister and opened every drawer in the house that she could reach and pulled out it's contents.

BABY 1 MOMMY 0

Our house guests have finally left. It seems as though, with the leaving of my inlaws, Teething Hell has moved in.


The little one is teething so badly. We went through four pairs of pajamas last night just from her constant drooling. I.must.find.her.plastic.backed.bibs.


She's crabby. She's tired. Her mouth hurts. I can't blame her. But with her lack of sleep, it's leading to my lack of sleep, which is leading to my husband's lack of sleep...however, find peace of mind knowing--the dog is sleeping JUST FINE!


The only time she's not tossing a fit is when I'm carrying her around in the body carrier. This leads to achey muscles, which let me tell you, are a really lovely addition to being exhausted.


Wish me luck. I hope I survive this.

Truth

If your husband hiccups in for two hours long in hour intervals, and your baby is teething and suddenly in pajamas that are too small and cramping their toes...you ~will~ lose any remaining sanity that you had.

Careful With Your Wording

What better way to celebrate Sweetest Day yesterday than to go out to dinner with the inlaws.


We walked up the street for some good Mexican food and margaritas. We were taken to a booth of our choice and given a highchair for the little one. The booth though was rather small to accomodate the four of us and the baby and the baby's toys and all of our outter clothing due to the onset of cold weather with the changing season.


"Here, I'm going to just put my coat and the baby's extra clothing layers on this chair over at the next table because we're so cramped with space."


"Oh, good idea, me too."


So we stack up our things on the chair next to our table just as the waiter approaches delivering chips and salsa.


The waiter glances at the clothes, glances at the baby, glances at us, and back at the clothes.


Maybe to my mother in law, he looked concerned about us using another table, so she opens dialogue with him.


"Well, if the restaurant fills up and you need us to move those, just let us know and we'll take our clothes off...."


And she pauses and smirks.


Then continues, "...the chair."


The waiter looked at us like we were crazy. We laughed endlessly while my husband looks to his mother and says, "You're cut off...already!"


His mother replies, "~but I haven't even had a margarita yet!"

Toys

I've cleaned the house and am waiting for the arrival of my inlaws to come back through the area on their car trip around the country. We've had so much company lately that I'm not sure what it feels like any more to ~not~ have company staying with us.


At any rate, I'm finishing up getting the house ready. I've vaccuumed, dusted, swiffered....made a roast, mashed potatoes, gravy. The key though to getting anything done when you've got an almost eight month old, I've found, is keeping them busy. And to be busy they need toys.


Mind you, she's got oodles and gobs of cute stuffed animals, blocks, plastic letters-one for each letter of the alphabet in stimulating colors and textures....things that light up, play songs, and make noise.


Those are chopped liver in her eyes right now apparently.


So you ask, what has really held her attention?


--An old chip bag that has all those neglected chip crumbs that one only eats out of chip desperation that I've stapled shut so she can whap it all over her play area without the gross dispersion of chippy tidbits in every which direction.


--A leather belt of mine. Mmm leather must be so tasty to a teething child.


--A cardboard hanger that one of her new bibs came on.


And best of all...


--Have your dog drink so much water that he hurls all over the hardwood floor that you just cleaned.


Talk about a look of sheer fascination, you'd think she had just seen Santa Claus.

Some People

I started playing the McDonald's Monopoly game. I play every time they have it just about...I've never won big and I don't even think I come close really, but at the very least it's a good excuse when I'm in the mood to eat poorly..."but hey we'll get game pieces...so let's go anyways..."


(Truthfully, McDonald's games were always a fun pasttime of mine. In highschool, I was a teacher's aide first period and she was fairly relaxed about attendance...soooo every Monday morning was Bingo at the local McDonalds. I'd skip my first period and go play McDonalds Bingo. I'd always win lots of food coupons for free food...and when you're in highschool, free food is always a plus. I also won pens and mugs and other random items that they were giving away...not to forget all the social skills I was working on. It was a great adventure and then I'd head to school and start my day off having won free food for later and having stuffed myself full of an endless cup of soda. The only real downfall was that my mother never understood why all the old people in town knew me and why we got so many "strangers" waving to us. I think at the time I just told her they were just being extra friendly people. "C'mon mom, why can't people just be friendlyyyyyyy? Do they really have to have a reason to wave?" --She's all the wiser now and she still loves me.)


Anyways, so the Monopoly game is back on again and I'm seeking out tickets because someday I think I'm going to win and I'm going to win big! (Just let me say that-I say it every time.)


I won a free breakfast sandwich, so that gave me reason to take the little one there this morning and cash in my prize ticket.




Copyright Insanity Infusion


But before I sat down to enjoy this, I really needed to use the washroom.


Strollers are a pain to maneuver through doorways. Especially if you have one of the big heavy travel combo deals like I have. So with my body propping open the bathroom door, my hands are trying to pull the stroller through the door frame without getting the wheels hung up on anything which would undoubtedly slow me down even moreso.


As I'm standing there fiddling and finaggling my way in, a woman approaches behing the stroller who wants in the bathroom.


An older crotchety woman.


She gives me this look of "moveitorIlleatyoubecauseIhaventhadmycoffeeyetandIhavetopee" look. And then proceeds to push my stroller, that has my daughter in it, out of her way and through the door.


Not taking my hand off the stroller, I just look at the woman. I was taken aback by the nerve she had of moving my daughter out of her way when I was very well in the middle of doing that and doing a fine job at it too.


In this bathroom there are two stalls. One regular small stall and then one large stall handicap accessible.


I look at the woman and say as I point to the small stall, "So, if you want to take that stall, I'll take the big one if no one's in it."


"Oh? Well, is someone in it?" and then she walks over to the large stall door and knocks.


No answer.


So the woman opens the door and walks in. She walks.in.to.the.big.stall.


So I continue, "orrrr I guess I'll wait until you're done and THEN I'll use the stall."


She stops in her tracks. "Oh, you're going to use this one?"


No lady, I was planning on leaving the stroller and unhooking my daughter and taking off her bazillion layers of clothing because it was cold outside when we left the house and there's no way she'd fit inside the small stall unless I took off all her layers not with me in the stall as well not to mention managing to hold her while I used the facility at the same time.


But instead I say, "Well, yeah I HAD planned on it since I DID need to bring the stroller with me..."


The woman replies, "Fine. I'll use this one."


And she walks to the regular sized stall and slams the door.


Some people are so strange.

Turn Right

We decided to go for a walk tonight. The three of us. Got all bundled up and as we leave I realize it's raining.


"Oh, let me grab an umbrella."


"We don't need one...it's going to stop."


So out we go and walk a few blocks and the rain continues.


"Going to stop eh? I think it's starting to rain harder..."


"Well...I mean, it's got to stop eventually some day."


We continue on a few more blocks and as we approach a side alley we notice a man who looks a lot like Bob Marley walk up ahead of us.


We stopped to chat a bit about whether or not we wanted to go get coffee or if we wanted to go to the pub for a beer and an appetizer before our tv show started which we had to be home for.


We opt for the pub and my husband says, "Turn right!"


So instead of walking on the main sidewalk, and mind you it's still raining, we walk down this side alley instead to cut through the buildings and get to the pub in a more timely fashion.


It was dark and gloomy in the alley and my husband turns to me and asks, "Geeeeesh, who's idea was it to walk down this dark alley anyways..."


Just as those words rolled off his tongue, we see the Bob Marley look alike standing up against the wall around the corner of a small inlet...


and...


he's PEEING! Right.there.peeing.in.the.wide.open.up.against.the.brick.wall. Gross.


So naturally my husband starts up a conversation with the man, and the man returns the same friendly conversation.


Is this a man thing? They acted as if it didn't happen. As if they were at a ballgame together. And on our way we went.


The child in me, who still laughs when someone burps really loudly, couldn't help but to try my best from chuckling at a strange man oddly peeing out in the wide open on the side of a building. I burried my face into my daughter's hat as we walked past, as I was carrying her in the front body carrier.


She wasn't any the wiser so she just stared at the man.


I am pretty sure though that as we passed by and were nearly out of earshot...I heard the man say, "oh @#$!%^".


I don't think he expected to see us any more than we expected to see him, but hey...it got us to the pub faster and we made it home for the start of our show!

Hair is a funny thing.

In response to this post.


My husband was in a similar situation in college. He didn't have a good hair stylist to go to and he decided he'd just start wearing it short short. Instead of going through the rigamarole of finding someone though, he thought he'd just do it himself with electric clippers.


That worked out great. However, on occassion my husband gets starry eyed and a romantic twinge hits him. He thought it would be ~special~ if I cut his hair. Trust me. This.was.a.bad.idea.to.start.with.


My husband, myself, and his younger sister were all living together when he calls me in to the bathroom.


"Hey, you wanna cut my hair, please?" handing me the clippers.


Of course his younger sister joins the fun. She probably had a good idea that this was going to turn out poorly and didn't want to miss a moment of it.


"Me?? Why me? Why not your sister? I'm not good at this."


I dawdled and dawdled and figgeted and twiddle my fingers and swung that clipper left and then right and twirled it through the air several times...


"Really? You want me to cut your hair? I haven't a clue how to do this!"


"You just take the clippers and run it over my head...it's simple..JUST.DO.IT."


I was nervous and when I'm nervous I become even more clumbsy than I already am. So because of this, I drop the clippers on the floor. And in the process of them dropping, the razor length clip on gauge falls off leaving the shaver bare. And a bare shaver would only be used for very very close cut shaving.


I scramble and pick up the razor length clip gauge and snap it back onto the electric clippers.


Meanwhile, my sister-in-law is getting antsy and my husband is getting impatient...no one wants to wait for me to worry about it any longer...they.just.want.me.to.cut.


In haste, my husband grabs the clippers from my hand and swipes it over the front middle part of his head.


His sister let out a "GAASSSSSSSP!!" followed by extreme laughter.


This was then followed by me crying with endless, "ohmygawdimsosorryifeelsobadpleasedonthateme!"


You see, when the clippers fell and I grabbed the gauge to put it back onto the clippers...what I didn't realize at the time was that I didn't grab the one inch gauge..I grabbed the 1/8th inch gauge.


So, needless to say....that short short hair style my husband wanted...he got..in an extreme way!


I think about all my husband said was, "OH @#$%^&!>..." and then proceeded to shave the rest of his head.


I still feel bad about this...although it does make me giggle. And honestly, it WAS an accident!

I Didn't Think I Would

On our walk home today, we passed the school yard with all the children playing. I didn't think I'd miss teaching. This is the first year in seven that I haven't gone back to work. I ~love~ being home, don't get me wrong. There's nothing that could change my mind about spending my days being a full time mommy, but for the first time since taking on this new job, I actually have a tinge of missing teaching.


I was looking through some of my old photos, and reflected back on the end of this past school year when we had our class picnic. Myself and my two team teachers surprised the children when we mysteriously disappeared for a few moments (leaving them fully supervised mind you) to snatch up some Super Soakers and absolutely DRENCHED the children.


It really made up for all those days that they gave us a hard time. Oh yeah? Remember when you didn't do your homework? Remember when you mouthed off? Remember when you didn't raise your hand to talk and you tore up that other student's paper? Well, it's payback time!!...


And what did they say?


"MORE!! Hit me again!!"


and


"Hey!! You didn't get ME!! GET ME GET ME!!"


and when our water guns were empty...in a thundering unison, all 80 students belted out,


"REFILL REFILL REFILL REFILL!!!!!!!!"


That certainly wasn't what we had expected, but it sure was fun.


I got you!
Copyright Insanity Infusion

Professional Mommy

My husband and I were discussing baby names. While everyone has a right to name their child whatever they want, I sometimes wonder why parents give children some of the names they have.


This one couple in particular that we know, named one of their children after a beany dinner and their second child after a state.


This then brought up our next topic of discussion: having a nanny.


This couple also has a nanny to tend to their children, because the wife is busy being a 'career' woman....a 'professional'. While I think it's wonderful that women are thrilled to be part of the work force...when you have children, if you can afford to, why not stay home and be a 'professional' mommy? Why work so you can then pay someone else to watch your child/children grow up?


I'm thankful to be a 'professional' mommy to our daughter...and I told my husband this. It feels good (yet completely exhausting) to spend our entire day together and be the first one to see her when she wakes up and be the last one to see her before she falls asleep.


I continue, "You know, the paycheck I get is far better being a professional mommy than being a professional in any other job I could have..."


"...we're so rich this way...we're given so much by watching our daughter grow and not having someone else getting all the special moments because we're working outside the home..."


Shortly after, my daughter passes an earth shaking amount of gas to which my husband responds, "...I think she just left you some currency in her diaper...must be payday."


Men and women rarely see the romance in things the same way I'm learning.

Can Carry Only So Much

I thought it would be a great idea to walk a mile away to a grocery store with my 20 pound child in the Bjorn body carrier with a backpack on my back to carry home the groceries in. That was not such a great idea. See here.


But then I stopped at Walgreens to pick up some other things, which I added to my backpack.


Then I stopped at the market to pick up even more things.


Backpack was stuffed by the time I got home, not to mention I had a bag to carry by hand as well!


All the while on our return, the baby was sound asleep nestled warm against me. If she only knew that I was about to drop dead toward the end.


I told the market clerk..."If when you get off your work shift today and you see me lying in the street passed out cold, please drag me off to the side out of traffic's way. Thank you."


Now that I'm home, I'm exhausted.

Superman - Rest In Peace

Christopher Reeve passed away yesterday. I can't help but mourn his death. My entire life, while there aren't Superheros in tights fighting crime in the streets, you just couldn't help but to think that Superman was real.


And when didn't good prevail over evil? I think we all hoped that he would fully recover from his spinal cord injury...I think we all believed deep down inside that he would, after all -- when didn't Superman win?


Rest in peace, Superman. May you be running and flying free while fighting crime where ever you are.


You will be missed.

Don't

Don't tell me my new Fairie Dust nail polish should be called Disco Hooker instead.

Truth

If you hang yourself half way off your swing and semi upside down while it's in motion and hold youself like that for awhile after I've fed you a bowl of oatmeal, you will spit up all over the floor.


And you don't need to keep checking to see if your spit up is still on the floor with each tick tock of your swing. It will still be there each time you check until I wipe it up.


And if you drop your biscuit on the floor off the same side of the swing before I get a chance to wipe up your spit, your biscuit will be covered in spit and trust me, you won't want it any more. So there's no need to cry for it because you can't reach it.

Beautiful Brown Fat

So today I learned something new.


Brown Fat.


On the base of my daughter's neck in the back where her neck and shoulders meet, she's got the cutest little pudge of fat--charmingly chewable. I pointed it out to my husband, and he says, "Oh yeah--brown fat."


Like I was supposed to know this? Is this common knowledge that I'm just naturally clueless about?


I guess it's something newborns and hibernating animals share alike. In newborns, it a layer of fat in the lower neck area that helps the body regulate a core temperature and to aid in keeping the blood warm as it travels to the brain.


Most humans grow out of and lose this fat, while bears keep it their whole life due to their hibernation habits.


Although 'brown fat' doesn't make the idea of 'fat' sound any better, it sure does look cute on my daughter. I guess it's called 'brown' because the actual fat under the skin looks darker than regular fat?


I was fascinated by this tidbit of trivia!


I married such a smarty!

Where's My Seat?

This has been on my mind for awhile. It's bothered me but I haven't had the words to write about it.

As you know, I pass the retirement home up the street from me on our daily walk.

On many occassion, I've noticed that in their dining room they have name tags that dedicate one seat to one person at a particular table setting. Why do they need name tags to dictate where they sit?

Is this a carry over from when you're young?...the ~cool~ lunch table...the ~cool~ seats on the back of the bus? I mean..is there an ~in~ table at the retirement home?

Come to think of it..maybe it's to help keep track of particular diets. Mrs. Smith can't have salt. Mr. Jones can't have sugar. You think?

I'm bothered that they have name tags.

If it is because of particular diets, is it such an impersonal place that the workers can't know a resident by face? so much so that they need to have name tags?

Or maybe it's because particular residents don't get along well so they put name tags down to keep them from sitting at the same table...a sort of keeping the peace so no brawls break out?

But even then, you'd think in their ripe age they'd manage to either keep their own distance or have learned how to play nice by now.

I mean really, why the name tags? I feel like going in there and scooping them all up.

You Aren't

Don't zoom up to the stop sign in your Dodge truck like a bat out of hell, so that I'll look up at you in your cheap sunglasses and wrinkled button down.

And don't assume I'll think you're cool, because you know how to push down your gas pedal.

You're also not cool when you don't let me cross the street with my daughter at the cross walk, because you're too busy peeling out around the corner so you can park your truck up the street one block.

You aren't cool. You just aren't.

Ansty and Envious

I'd like to rearrange every piece of furniture in my house.

Today it just doesn't seem like it's organized the right way. There's the chance we'll be moving come April or so and that has me so antsy. I need to just hold tight and not go crazy and start rearranging furniture.

Somehow though I think a new look to the place would help me cope with the anticipation and stress of an upcoming move. But then I think, why bother?...you'll have to pack it all up into boxes if you ~do~ move.

My husband's uncle gave a call today and talked of all his great travels..."I flew here this last weekend, hopped over to X on Monday, then I'm off to X tomorrow on an early flight, and then to San Francisco on Wednesday next week...but first there's the dinner party this weekend at my house and wedding and and and..."

It just sounded so busy and fun and adventuresome.

It's Good To Have Friends

The older I get the more I realize how nice it is to have good friends.

Thank you to my friend and her family for coming over.

Thank you for sharing in the devouring of the sinful Atomic Cake too!


The Atomic Cake 

In Awe Endlessly

My Miracle 

It's still amazing to me that we have a daughter.

She's a miracle.

A beautiful creature that knows no hate or tragedy or illness or anything other than love and happiness.

I can't believe it some times.

Watch Out For the Post!

My parents are still visiting. We decided to head up to the British Pub up the street for some beverages and appetizers. It was a nice time-aside from the tumble our little one took from the highchair onto the floor (She's just fine!).

On our walk home, my mom decides she's going to roll the stroller while my husband carries our daughter.

As we pass this BMW parked along the edge of the parking lot, its alarm system goes ~beep beep~ and its lights flicker.

Mom stops briefly aghast thinking she caused the BMW to flicker and go beep beep. Upon looking up she realizes it wasn't her and sees a group of people heading toward the car and comments,

"Oh! That was youuu! I thought I made the car do that!!"

They smile and the owner jingles their car keys in our direction.

Meanwhile, Mom is so busy being friendly and continuing the conversation, she doesn't notice this large metal sign post ahead of her....

PINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

She walks the stroller dead on into it and it makes this loud, yet extremely comical, ping sound halting her movement.

We all started laughing, as did the group of people, with a said comment,

"But THAT ~was~ YOU!"

We laughed until we cried.

The Latest Project

Before 


After 

The bathroom is finally done!! Well, almost done. Floor molding still needs to be put in and my husband is insisting on crown molding. I think it looks sooo nice now!

And as you can see, the munchkin is sitting up all on her own now!

Salseado

Our Dinner Out 

There's a new Spanish restaurant up the street from where we live. My husband and I took a friend of ours to test it out. I have to say that I didn't walk away stunned with great awe and adoration for the place.

The food was really good, but getting to the point of eating it was rather comical.

My husband and I showed up a little early so we could enjoy a drink or two and an appetizer before our friend arrived.

We placed an order for a couple tapas: Gambas al Diablo (Shrimp with spicy sauce), and Grilled Steak with Poblano Peppers and Melted Cheese. Both were delicious. We also placed an order for a couple Pacifico beers. Upon further investigation, I thought it might be more fun to try a more ~what I thought~ to be a more ~Spanishy~ beer and wanted to change my order from a Pacifico to a Hatuey beer.

Not 90 seconds after we placed our original order, my husband goes to change my beer order. The waiter says, "Oh you can't change it..I've already placed it! I've already put it into the computer..."

"What? You can't change my beer order?"

"No, it's too late. But you can have a Hatuey beer for your next beer."

Mind you, the bar is not but 10 feet from the computer where the order was placed, and we still didn't get our beers for another five minutes later.

Who ever heard of not being able to change a beer order? Strange if you ask me!

We peruse the menu...

For me it was a toss up between: Solomillo Seville and Solomillo con Champi'nones.

The first being grilled steak with salseado and the latter being grilled steak with mushrooms.

So I call the waiter over and ask,

"What is salse-e-ah-do?"

"You mean salse-A-do..."

"Ok, What is salse-A-do?"

"It's like a salsa sauce salsa-ie salsa type sauce and it's on steak...a grilled steak with salsa, a salsa-ie sauce...salseado..but you might also like this one which is a grilled steak with mushrooms. You see, mushrooms...it's a steak with mushrooms on top where this one is a grilled steak with a salsa type sauce on top, so you might like this one with mushrooms on it instead too."

About all I could respond with was a simple, "Thank you."

He told me nothing the menu didn't already state. Thank.gawd.for.helpful.waiters.or...
I.might.not.ever.have.figured.out.those.dishes.

On the good side, the food was fantastic...the Pacifico was far better than the Hatuey (which we did order for our second round of beers)..and the dessert was to die for.


Mmm Mmmm Mmmmm.... 

So Much Yet So Little

I've got a couple blog entries brewing my head, but between allergies and house guests ..oh and my seven month old.. my prose is being somewhat postponed. I'm looking for time later tonight to sit and share my thoughts....

Company is due in around 530 ...so keep your fingers cross that I get some free time!

Thinking:

Dinner at LaPinta and oh.my.gawd.our.waiter.was.so.bad.

Name tags at the dining tables at the retirement home.

The American Dream

On our walk home from the market tonight, a man stops us on the railroad tracks and says to my husband,

"You've got the American Dream: a beautiful wife, a beautiful baby, a dog, and a six pack of beer..."

Don't

Don't twiddle your fingers on the counter at me when I come to your register check out because I'm not signing my credit card slip fast enough for you when there's only one person in line behind me.

And don't be surprised when I call you on your lousy attitude.

Blue

I walked to the market today to pick up some basic things to accompany dinner tonight. The cashier smiled at me as I pushed my items up onto the counter. After one quick glance at him, I say with a returned smile,

"You eat something blue?"

His lips, tongue, teeth were ~all~ blue. Looked rather silly. And I suppose I could have left it alone and not said anything, but ...well, I asked anyways.

He replied, "Oh, uh, yeah. How could you tell?"

"Your lips and tongue are all blue."

He clenched up and got all nervous.

I continue, "I bet it was good though whatever it was..."

"It was one of them slushie things...you know, the blue kind."

He stared very intensely on the buttons of the cash register and wouldn't look at me.

He said in a hushed voice, barely moving his lips, "...that's so embarrassing..."

So trying to make him feel better I assure him that that sort of thing happens to anyone who indulges in dyed goodies and that companies should rework the dyes so they don't do that to people's mouths.

I'm not sure if he felt better or worse after I said that, but he gleefully spurted out, "....~I'm a Berry Boy!!~"

I had such a hard time keeping a straight face. I wonder if he talked with clenched lips the rest of his shift or if he scrambled into the bathroom to try rinsing his mouth out.

Creeping Close...I Can Refrain No More

I.am.so.tired.

Ever just gogogogogogogogogooooo and you feel fine. Then you take one half of a brief moment to rest, and your body goes into a comatose shock realizing just how much sleep you've been losing each night, just how much energy you've been exerting that you never had to begin with, just how close to empty you're running on...

...and the tired settles in.

...and you can ignore it no more.

...and you must sleep.

...really, really sleep.

Goodnight, Internet.

Loooopppyyyy Laaaaadddyyyyy

Well, I think I've officially lost my brain. I'm a ditz...I'm admitting to it.

With the inlaws here, my husband and I were able to go out to dinner tonight. Just.the.two.of.us. It was the first time in ages that we were able to do that. Part of me didn't know what to do without always finding a new toy, a snack, something to point to in the vacinity, making strange noises, and smiling from ear to ear until my face hurt. My gawd, it meant we had to actually carry on a conversation with each other.

We were able to eat simultaneously. Strange. It felt very strange. But it was nice to be able to do that and know that our daughter was safe within the watch and care of her grandparents.

So when we were done drinking and eating until our bellies could take no more, we went for a little walk around the area.

It is on this little walk that I realized: I.am.a.ditz.

We went into a music store. My husband wanted to pick up a CD of 'old' Metallica. I dabbled through the stack of Dave Mathews Band. As the woman rang up 'Kill 'Em All', I saw on the shelf a sign that read 'Now Playing' and below it a box of CDs reading 'Credence Clearwater'. Instead of pointing to the box and sharing the fact that my parents just went to a concert of theirs, I turned and said to my husband, "Oh yeah, my parents went and saw them..." alluding to the sounds that were playing on the store's stereo. I mean, 'Now Playing' ~usually~ means that's what you're listening to in the store...right?

I was fat and happy off dinner though and didn't really pay attention to what was playing. My husband looks at me with a look of 'You.are.a.tard.' and then asks the granny running the counter, who then turns to her son who's restocking CDs and says the very same thing, "This Credence playing???"

My husband says, "It's Paul Simon...."

The son replies, "Yeah...Paul Simon..not Credence..."

Paul Simon, Credence Clearwater...is there ~really~ a difference? I felt like hiding inside the CD case of my husband's newly bought CD.

So I survived that moment and as we continued our walk, my husband, while continuing to chuckle at my mistake, decided he'd pick up a cigar for himself and his dad to smoke tonight. I straggle along and we continue chatting.

We're at the register again, and across the way not too far from where we're standing, I notice a cigar box from the side with its lid open. The side reads, 'Mint Especial'. So I ask, "Ooo a minty one~ You don't want one of those cigars?"

Again, I get the strange look from my husband. He replies, "Why would I want a minty cigar?"

"Well, the inside of the lid says because its 'full of flavor!'..."

Meanwhile, the cashier guy is trying his hardest to keep a straight face and him and my husband exchange that --I feel for you, man-- look.

I continue reading, "AND! They are sugar free!!...."

And I think to myself, How strange..a sugar free cigar? I didn't think non minty cigars had sugar in them...

And just then, I lean forward because curiosity got the best of me and I wanted to see how the cigars were wrapped...surely something that sounded so appetizing would be wrapped up in a neato wrapper...

..Only to realize, they were tins of breath mints!

Why would someone trick me and crate mints in a cigar box... oh.you.evil.trickers.of.the.world!

At that point, I sheepishly smiled and said, "I'll kindly be waiting outside..." and left the two of them inside having a good ol' laugh.

So, if by chance you find my missing brain, please mail it back to me. Thank you.

The Greatest and Worst Sounds At This Moment

Greatest:

Compressed air from the roofers' air compressor being let out demonstrating half of my neighbor's roof being completed.

Worst:

The roofers starting to redo the other side of the house's roof.

~~Please, someone, make the incessant pounding stopppppp......

Phantom Showers

My inlaws arrived last night. What better way to celebrate their earlier than expected arrival than to head to the pub for a few adult libations.

Sitting and sipping my beer, I felt a light shower of water sprinkle across my legs and arms. How strange, I thought. It was a warm, clear night so I had a hard time understanding why I felt rain on my body.

I glanced around the beer garden looking to see if a water sprinkler of sorts might have been turned on to water the plants seeing as how the sun had set and the air was cooler than the heat of the day.

Nothing seemed to be running.

I looked around the table and noticed no one else there with me was commenting on this random water.

I looked around the pub, and again, everything was as it should be.

So I sat at the table, sipping away and casually carrying on conversations with my family and admiring how my daughter was showing off her most talented skills to her Grandma--blowing spit bubbles.

And then it dawned on me.

The rain I felt was my daughter! It was the spit she was blowing from her mouth all over my legs and arms. Gross.

Kids--a never ending adventure. And hey, a beer and a shower in one...not bad.

He-boot She-boot Nonstop Re-boots

Possessed and Obsessed 

So our six month old has discovered she's got hands. And attached to each beautiful, chubby hand are five beautiful, chubby digits. She's also figured out that she's got control of all five, and that she's got two sets of them...10 dangerous digits to call her own and wreak havoc with.

Nevermind her endless assortment of toys and books and dolls and her elephantine exersaucer...all she wants to do is smack open her daddy's usb port cover and dabble with the wires and unplug his headset. And once that becomes mundane, she scrambles over to my computer and makes a b-line for my reset button. And she's successful at rebooting it too.

She then, having realized her success, scrambles back over to my husband's computer and mushes her little fingers on his reset button. She's amazingly fast, and it's not as easy to stop her as one might think from an outsider's perspective. His reset button isn't quite as sensative however, so her mad attempts are often defeated.

Thank you Dell for providing hearty reset buttons. No thanks to Microcenter for making their tower case reset buttons so darn sensative!


I Spy a Runaway Snack 

Kids today. They must be born with computer knowledge.

Not So Bad This Time

Eggplant Tempura 

Ok, so I tried eggplant again. Tempura style. I picked it up from Trader Joe's. Tasted pretty darn good. But then again, what doesn't taste good after it's been fried?

How Long Is Too Long?

An evening walk seems to be our family ritual these days. Not because it's been nice out, or because we're enjoying the mild temperatures before winter sets in, or even because we want to enjoy each other's company really. Mainly we're going for our family walks because it's what seems to mellow out the little one enough where she'll go to bed shortly after our return.

Our walks usually are held to a short radius around the block, but tonight we left a bit early. So in order to keep the timing of our evening right, we needed to walk further.

Because we walked out from our driveway to the left instead of to the right and looped around the block and walked past all the shops that my husband and I debate about daily as to whether or not they are worthy of their leasing spot and how much remodeling they need to have done (those debates take about as much wind out of your sails as it would take to read this whole runon sentence in one breath)--we ended up at the railroad tracks delayed from crossing because a train was zooming by.

(Apparently trains are my theme today.)

After we were able to cross the tracks, we were delayed again because we had to wait for the blessed 'Walk' sign to light up so we didn't get smushed by passing traffic.

So this brings me to standing on a street corner idly waiting. My options were limited as to what I could look at: the 'Dont Walk' sign, the traffic signals, and then of course I could peer into the cars around me. They were either filled with onlookers seeing if they could nose their way into the flow of oncoming traffic, irritated people who were sat glaring at the light and twiddling their fingers thinking they could make the light change faster, or people peering out of their cars to look at people who were waiting to cross the street who were peering into cars--which was me.

As I looked into this minivan of sorts that was waiting to make a right hand turn, I noticed a woman driving. A woman who took a double take of me as I took a double take of her. A woman I am pretty sure I was very very good friends with six years ago, if not best friends with at the time. A woman who taught in a classroom next to mine that I spoke to every single day for a year and many nights and weekends too.

Yet, as we each took our double takes, I found myself feeling panicked and I looked away. I found random topics to discuss with my husband and random reasons to look into the stroller at my daughter and second after second of waiting for that light to change felt longer and longer. Why.couldn't.I.just.get.my.'Walk'.signal.

I am 99.5% sure I am right in my assumption of who this woman was.

We had not had a falling out. No argument. I switched jobs. I also moved. I moved again. And again. And again. But for some reason, I could not bring myself to look up into her car and verify that it was her with a simple look or a simple "Hey...is that you....?" with a smile...no, instead I did all I could to avoid it. I even pulled out my new insurance card and inspected it. I'm surprised it didn't read, "You are being ridiculous." across the front of it.

Six years is a long time to not talk with someone. But when was the cut off? When did it go from me being willing to run up to her car, having her roll down her window and me giving her a warm hello...to me standing on the corner avoiding all posibilities of contact? What would I have done in a month's time? One year's time? Is two years the cut off? Or is it three? or four? or when?

Or is it dependent on the person? And would I have reacted differently had it been someone else? And why didn't she roll down her window and say, "Hey...is that you....?" What was her cut off time? What would she have done in a month's time? Two year's time?

And it's not about not wanting to talk to her. I have wondered many times how she's doing and what she's up to. I'm sure she's wondered the same.

A friend years ago told me one day, "You know, after awhile it's just been too long to go back..for no other reason than that."

I guess now I can say, I've been in similar shoes. But as she drove on, I looked up to watch her disappear into traffic and I wondered, 'How long is too long?'

Unaware

Some people are so unaware of their surroundings.

I was heading home today from my walk, and a woman turned the corner ahead of me so I was trailing her path. She was a mother of three, but wasn't using a stroller. Instead she had one of those wagon deals--only this version was more like a train. Each child had their own...boxcar, if you will. But then the mother added on a few boxcars of her own for storage and whatnot. The 'train' was five boxcars in length. The mother was pulling the first car with the handle attached, followed by child 1, 2, and 3, and then an end car piled full of items. It truly was a sight to see and she seemed to be managing it fine.

Not only was she the main engine of this beastly, child train, but she was also talking on her cell phone! Which means she was managing it one handed as well as carrying on a conversation.

All this was fine and dandy, until she decided to stop. She brought the train to a halt and began digging out goodies and snackies for her children and really diving deeper into her phone conversation. Nevermind my approach.

The woman stopped in the ONE place on the sidewalk where it was congested. The ONE spot where another person with or without stroller could not pass with her there. I stopped for a few moments and waited, thinking surely a woman who managed to birth three children, manage a cell phone, cookies, and crackers and all those miscellaneous items in boxcars #1 and $5 could see that I was standing behind her massive train with my own child in stroller waiting to pass.

But no. She didn't notice or she didn't care. She continued on with her dealings.

I had to finagle my stroller into the street, down off a rather obnoxiously high curb, up a few feet while cars weren't passing, and then back up the rather obnoxiously high curb, and then continue on my way.

I really felt like saying something to the rude woman...but who am I to interrupt her snack break and phone conversation.

I Tried but I Can't

Ok, so unless eggplant is breaded and deepfried and covered in sauce and melted cheese, I just can't stomach it.

It's a texture thing. Slimey and mushy...but mainly slimey.

Blurg, blurg, and triple blurg.

So I tried Eggplant Parmesan today for lunch. The cheese and sauce were scrumptious! But that gooey, slimey, mushy eggplant is a definate no-go!

It looked like gigantic hunks of mushroom, which I also don't eat...

But I'm trying to keep an open mind.

Sprinkle Splendor

I walked several blocks further today than usual. I wanted the extra exercise, but also, there was a store that was recommended to me that carries a lot of imported groceries. The British store that I buy my daughter's Farley's Rusks from is closing. The Irish store a few blocks away refuses to carry them. Stubborn Irish! ;) (I'm Irish..I know...I'm s-t-u-b-b-o-r-n.) So The Home Economist was recommended to me since they carry a lot of out-of-country and unique items.

As I walked through the doors, an elderly gentleman passed me and said very seriously but with a smile in his tone, "When she gets older...you WON'T step foot in here!!!"

Having never been in the store, I found his comment to be rather strange.

My first thought after taking a quick glance from side to side: A store made for my inner child!

There were all sorts of delicious candies and chocolates and pasteries and chips and crackers and candy coated nuts and roasted nuts and ...

...and oh goodness, an ENTIRE side of one isle devoted.to.sprinkles!

Sprinkles are one of the world's greatest creations. Sprinkles make EVERYTHING taste better. Mmm...sprinkles...sPrInKlEs...~*~*sprinkles*~*~...it truly was a beautiful sight!

They also had a lot of pastas and cheeses and a gourmet deli fridge containing homemade salads and such by the grannies working in the back.

What a fun little place. And that man was right, when my daughter gets older... no WAY am I bringing her in there!

Well, maybe when she's stuffed full of lunch, in the dead of winter where I can put layers upon layers of clothing and gloves and hats on her and stick her in the basket with moonboots on and ...really really dark sunglasses..because we all know how 'stressful' those flourescent lights can be on a child's eyes ;)...and then I'll roll her around in the basket..she'll be too bulked up to see or grab anything!

Oh wait, they only have little carry baskets.

I'm doomed!

A Cracker? Excuse me?

Things said inside the confidence of your home's walls is one thing. To speak openly in public is entirely something different.

I gave in to my food fetish today and stopped by McDonalds for lunch. I was enjoying a Bic Mac and fries...with extra pickles.

(It's essential to order something 'special' about your meal to assure freshness. I always order extra pickles for the sandwich part...still trying to figure out a sure fire way to get fresh fries though.)

As I sat there relaxing, I overheard a family chatting at a table behind me. Now I do realize that eavesdropping isn't nice, but they weren't speaking discreetly so it was a tad difficult not to hear. When people speak loudly, I assume they want those in earshot to listen. Otherwise, wouldn't they be more cautious about their volume level?

Anyways. They were loud. I listened. I couldn't avoid it.

I picked up in the coversation where they were talking about 'relatives' and one of the girls commented, "I'm not related to him by ~blood~...just by marriage!"

Then an adult said, "Yeah, your aunt married the white guy!"

The girl snickered and replied, "Yeah, right!" and continued laughing...

The adult then added, "Yeah...The CRACKER!"

I glance around the room, and realize my daughter and I are the only white people there. It wasn't packed by any means, but regardless...

I felt offended. There are a lot of derrogatory terms to use for a lot of different ethnicities, however, joking or not joking, it's disrepectful to use them. Especially if you're not in the privacy of your own home.

Before I could stop myself from getting involved, I realized I had turned around and was glaring at the man. How rude he was!

Their voices hushed after that, and when one of the other young girls went to continue, a quick "SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE!" was blurted out cutting her off to silence.

What a role model.

As I stood to leave, I caught eye contact with the adult at that table. He gave me a forlorn look, and I returned a look of non-expression. As an adult those children look to for guidance, he should prove to be someone who can mold them to become the best they can be and teach them to be accepting and open minded. This is probably the teacher in me feeling most upset, for far too often I've seen childrens' views skewed negatively by the adults in their lives.

Children are like sponges--they will soak up anything and everything around them.

Paper Bag Ugly

So I needed..I mean ~needed~ soda. At the tail end of a nice walk out with my two side kicks-baby + stroller, we headed toward the convenience mart just a few blocks from my home.

The market's doors are covered with a larger than life picture of two icy milkshake looking drinks with gobs of whipcream on top...honestly, I could have bathed in it had it been a real shake in front of me. It was huge and looked simply heavenly.

So naturally, after standing under the air conditioning vent for a few moments to cool down from the blazing sun that had been beating down on me in my black shirt (remind me again why I chose a black shirt on a HOT day...)..I headed right to the freezer to scope out the pints of ice cream. Mmmm...ice....cream. Sigh.

I was good though and just looked. I didn't even open the door of the freezer to feel the whoosh of chilled air brush against me. I figured that would just be a temptation I didn't need, not to mention it's harder to hear the ice cream whisper, "take me home...take me home..." if the door is closed.

I refocused my mental energies and strolled further to the cold beverages area.

[Can you see a theme here?...I'm reflecting heavily on the ~cold~...it's a freaking oven in my house right now.]

I grabbed some soda and (sigh) perused the candy isle. The harder I try to eat better, the worse I eat! There's a small line at the register so I took my spot for waiting.

An old gentleman turned to myself after being rung up and waved a paper bag at me. I looked at him quizzically. He wagged the bag some more, smiling and mummbling something along the lines of putting the bag on my daughter. Um.no.I.dont.think.so.

So I smiled at him and said sweetly, "She's sleeping." Truth. She was. And I must have given him that motherly look of YOU.WAKE.HER.AND.I.KILL.YOU. because he then turned to me and smushed the paper bag onto ME instead! He stuck it on the top of my head like a hat. Some.random.person.stuck.a.bag.on.my.head!

I'm thinking he was either telling me I'm 'paper bag ugly' (So ugly a paper bag over my head improves my looks...) or he was drunk.

The guy at the register thought the latter.

The Price of Nice

I spend a fair amount of my wondering-time, wondering why people aren't nicer to each other. The return for being nice to others must not be that great since so few seem to open up to such an idea. I can't say I understand that avenue of thinking--being nice has always been part of who I am, and it's never been at a steep cost.

I was out for my daily, morning walk with myself, the hurkin' stroller, and the munchkin. Fantastic day for a walk. It was still early so the air was a gentle warm, although you could feel the sun resting its fingers on the temperature gauge slowly heating things up.

Went to the Walgreens up the street as my first stop off. I swear Walgreens is going to take over America. It was late enough in the morning though, where people were out and about running errands, so the store wasn't empty. Had I been walking with my eyes closed though, it might as well been since no one was talking. Like shopping zombies, people combed the isles in silence. I kept to myself until I went to check out. A very nice, old gentleman rang up my things and tried desperately to get my daughter to smile at him.

She must have absorbed the negative, sleepy energy in the store for there was no way she was going to flash her two pearly whites at him. We chatted about diapers and without even a 'have a nice day' he shuffled me onward and began ringing up the customer behind me. Maybe he was sore about my daughter not smiling at him. I've learned that people expect niceness in return if they put forth the effort of being nice themselves.

So maybe people aren't nicer for fear of it not being returned? or maybe because they don't want to invest the energy into someone without a guarantee that that effort will be acknowledged and rewarded?

So I go on my way to Trader Joes.

As I enter the store, pushing the stroller with one hand and holding the carry basket in the other, a little girl comes rushing up to the stroller and nearly crawls into it with my daughter. I remind her to be gentle and she smiles at me and gently touches my daughter's cheek. My daughter, at first a little nervous, raises her hand to hold the little girl's hand. The girl's mother comes rushing over frantic--"Don't do that!! You can't touch people!! You need to ask the mommy first!!" I smile and assure the woman that her daughter was being very nice and gentle and that really it was fine. The woman hurries her daughter and they go on about their shopping.

Odd to me though. You'd think you'd want your child to be outgoing and friendly--no harm in showing that toward a baby. And her daughter was polite. Strange.

As I gather the few things I needed, and some things I didn't, a woman skirting her cart around the store kept huffing and puffing as I apparently was in her busy-body way. She must have said 'EXCUSE ME!' half a dozen times to me and then, when she was finished being rung up ahead of me in line, she dropped her berry pie and it crumbled to bits. But it didn't bother me when she went back to exchange it for one that wasn't wrecked. Upon her return, she smiled at me sheepishly and in a far different tone said, "excuse me..."

Again, this cashier tried his hardest to get my daughter to smile, but to no avail, she refused.

With frozen goods in the stroller now, I needed to be somewhat swift about my return home. A couple blocks from home and a block away from the coffee shop, my husband drives by...gives me the good ol' sissy 'beep beep' of our Trooper horn (Trust me, if you're looking for an SUV with a rough manly horn--don't invest in a Trooper!) and a circular wave of his hand which means, 'turn the stroller around-we're getting coffee!'

We go in to get some coffee and the woman behind me begins her plan of attack in getting my daughter to smile. This time, with success! My daughter does love the coffee shop, so it didn't surprise me that she finally gave in. It also could have been the Farley's Rusk she had been nibbling on and covered herself in that gave her the energy to exude such a sweet expression.

The baristas, who know my daughter fairly well, gave their normal routine toward her which she adores. She watched her daddy get his coffee and then dress it as he normally does. And then the next man in line, in his 30s I'd presume, decides he's going to be part of the baby chatter. He looks at my daughter and, he too, tries to get her to smile. She stops frozen, holding biscuit in hand held high, and glares at him. No smiles. Eyes wide. And then she goes back to eating her biscuit. The man turns, and says in a serious manner, "She should enjoy this! It's the nicest people will be to her in her life!"

What a sad thought that is--at six months old, my daughter is getting the best of what mankind has to offer, according to this man.

I sure hope he's wrong.

As we left, the woman that my daughter smiled at was walking behind us.

"I know it looks like I'm following you! I'm not really! I swear!"

I reply, "Uh huh...you just want her biscuit!", with a smile.

I'd like to believe that there are people who will always be willing to outstretch their arm with a welcoming hand and open their heart for the 'niceness' that can exist between people no matter what age you are.

The price of nice hasn't been unaffordable to me, has it for you?

The Tale of Falling (Fallen) Rock

Once long ago, there was a princess. She lived among nature and believed in all of the goodness it brought to the world. Like many of her friends, she was betrothed to a man she did not love. You see, she had fallen madly in love with a boy in her tribe that certainly would not match up to her father's expectations of the type of man his daughter should marry.

The boy went to the princess' father and explained his true love for his daughter and how she returned the love in full. The father insisted that such a love would never be allowed and that his daughter would be married to the man he chose.

Heartbroken, the boy disappeared from the tribe. He was too saddened to remain and watch the life of his true love be carried out with another.

When the princess heard of such news, she raged her anger at her father and swore she would not fulfill his orders of marriage to a man she did not love. She wept and wept, for she too had a heart full of despair and ache.

The next morning when she awoke, her father agreed to let her marry the boy she had so solemnly swore herself to. That is, if she could find him. So the princess left the tribe in search of the boy.

She still has not found him to this day. Those that say they've heard of a traveling boy or have caught a glimpse of him amongst the trees and bushes, put up a sign in the area to help the princess. So should she travel by, she can see the sign and know her true love has been spotted.

It's important to always be looking quietly when you see one of the signs posted, for the boy, Falling Rock, gets scared off easily and doesn't trust strangers. But should you spot him, you may be able to finally reunite the princess with her true love.



I can't tell you ~how~ many countless hours I'd sit in the car on road trips looking for Falling Rock (Fallen Rock).

[This is the story my parents told me on car trips so I'd shut my trap and stop my endless yammerings. Needless to say, I fell for every bit of it and they got some silence to relish.]

One Thing to Say

Headaches are a real @#$%^!

And that's about all I can say.

/stumbles for the bottle of Tylenol.

Gummy Bear Aware

So Walgreens has Black Forest Gummy Bears on sale for 2.50 for a bucket of them. Not only do Black Forest Gummies have the best flavor, but they are also the only bears that I know of that are made with the little fur marks on the candy. Not to forget, stretchability is really important. Don't try to deny that you torture your gummy bear before you eat it.

So I'm thinking and wondering, as I look at this bucket of glorious chewable yum, how do other people eat their gummy bears?

Do they pluck them one at a time from the bucket?

Eat all of one color from the bucket before moving on to the next color?

Mix colors?

Leave a particular color until the end because you hate it and you're going to toss them? because you love it and you want to savour them?

Ever confuse the cream colored ones with the yellow ones when you are nibbling them in a dark or dim room?

Do you stretch them first? bite their heads off first? nibble the limbs off one by one? What's your gummy torture method? or do you just plop them into your mouth whole?

When someone else asks you for one, do you ask them what color they want?

Do you give them the color you hate or the color you love, if they say they don't care?

Do you wait to see if they are going to eat it any particular way?

Do you always chew them on one side of your mouth?

I wonder.

Say It Isn't So!!!

An excerpt from the Chicago Tribune:

"Authorities said Wednesday they are unsure if criminal charges will be filed against the Dave Matthews Band and one of its tour bus drivers for allegedly dumping foul-smelling waste into the Chicago River and showering a tour boat filled with passengers in the process."

For full article: Authorities unsure if criminal charges will be filed

DMB is one of my all time favorite bands. I can't believe they would do such a thing! And what timing!! Those poor tourists on the river!!

...."According to the lawsuit, on Aug. 8, a bus leased by the band crossed the grated Kinzie Street bridge near the downtown business district and the driver allegedly emptied the contents of the bus' septic tank into the river below.

At that moment, more than 100 people on the Chicago's Little Lady architecture tour passed underneath the bridge and were showered with the human waste."...

Nasty, Dave, nasty! I'm just so shocked!

...~What would you say~, Dave?

And You Just Keep On Plunging Forward

Sometimes being able to turn back the hands of time sure would be nice. Not forever, just for a little bit...to try to look at a situation differently, or take in a moment and appreciate it because maybe you look back on it and know you slighted it a bit more than you should have. Sometimes simply for the fact that you feel overwhelmed in what's going on now and it would feel good to go back for a brief moment to something happy and familiar...

About the most we can do though is reflect. Move forward and make the most of what's to come.

A story my grandmother told me always helps me realize this:

My grandfather and her were having an important dinner party. All the 'big' people were attending. My grandmother had spent a good portion of the day prepping meals for the event and cleaning house etc. You know, all the typical items that are on a hosting agenda.

As the guests arrived it was my mother and her brother's job to stay out of sight--'Kids don't belong at adult parties.' and to make sure the dog didn't finagle his way into sight either.

My grandmother had taken this golden, beautifully cooked, honey ham out of the oven. She truly was a fantastic cook, and I have no doubt in my mind that this ham had made the house smell heavenly.

Kids being kids, my mom had found herself busy with her own play schedule and her brother too I'm sure. The dog also found himself preoccupied and kept well out of the way of the guests.

While my grandparents were attending to welcoming arriving guests, the dog was welcoming himself to the beautiful ham cooling on the table. Considering it was a dinner party for 15 people or the likes...it was a big ham.

My grandmother returned to the kitchen to check on her dishes, to find the dog up on the table with one paw straddling each end of the ham, and his face devouring the middle with a look of pure doggy ecstacy on his face enjoying each sugary sweet lap of his tongue across it as he nibbled more and more.

Needless to say, I'm quite sure my grandmother, while not a violent woman, beat that dog senseless. She stuck her head out of the kitchen and ever so sweetly smiled at my grandfather beckoning his company...told him to stall the guests with whatever banter he could while she tried to remedy this problem.

So instead of delivering a gorgeous ham to be cut on the buffet in front of all the guests...she rinsed the ham off, sliced up what was left of it, and served it on a platter. She then put her best smile on, presented it to the table with the rest of her dishes, and no one was any the wiser.

That must have been a good chuckle knowing inside that all the hoity-toity biggies from work were happily eating ham ala dog slobber.

So when things look dismal...and not panning out how you had planned for them to...you do what you gotta do and just move on since time is a forever forward sort of thing.

Everyone has that ~one~ thing...

I got to thinking tonight and realized...Everyone has that ~one~ thing they really really REALLY wanted as a child and they never got. And no matter how old you get, you always think back and say to yourself, "I wish I would have had a [insert thing here]. That would have been so GREAT! I'm still torqued I didn't get it!"...

I wanted a Big Wheel...one of the cool ones with a brake. I wanted to go screaming down my street as fast as my little feet could pedal me and then give the brake handle the hardest yank I could and go sliding a few feet before I came to a stop.

I never got one.

I'm still bummed about that. Phooey.

Although, at my age now, I'd look pretty damn funny attempting to ride one down my street...but if I could get it going fast enough, a challenge indeed given the weight of my big arse, I'd yank that brake and hope for that long awaited gleeful slide down the street...but would probably jolt myself right off it into oncoming traffic instead!

You?

Food, Glorious, Food!

As I sat watching my daughter blow spit bubbles tonight (A lovely trick she learned from Manababies' son), I got to thinking about how much she just adored the rice cereal she ate for dinner and a childhood memory came to mind.

We'd been sailing up in the San Juan Islands and anchored off not far from shore. We took the dinghy in to shore that evening to fulfill our plans of watching a stage production of Oliver Twist. By the time we reached land, night had set in and there wasn't much visible light to guide us up the hillside toward the theatre.

I distinctly remember there being lots and lots of plants and branches and very little glimpse or feel of a noticeable path...if there was a path at all. Using matches to guide us up the hillside, one short flame at a time--right down to the last match, and then finishing our way toward the lights of the theatre best we could on our own. We actually might have had a flashlight to start off with, but maybe the batteries died unexpectedly? I just don't recall using it for very long.

When we reached the top of the steep hill, we rested for awhile. Took in the beautiful scenery of a star filled sky with the light of the moon reflectcing off the water in the inlet as the sailboat bobbed in the distance awaiting our return.

It was in these moments that I saw my first shooting star. Standing there in the quiet of night as nature's own firework danced across the sky--that vision is clear in my mind.

People always say, "I knew you when you were just a twinkle in your momma's eye..."

Maybe on that night, so many years ago, that shooting star was my daughter teasing me with her splendid delight well before her time...

...which now she shares with me daily by blowing spit all over the friggen house. ~grin~

Button Pushers

Does anyone ever really only push the crosswalk button once?

Does it make a difference if you hit it ten times instead?

Bootie Calls

On my walk today as I passed the retirement home, I wondered...

Do they sneak down the hall to so-n-so's room for a little action when no one is looking?

A Tragic Blessing

I'm not really sure how I feel about what I'm about to write on...

In my many years of teaching children, I've seen a lot of different things -- good and bad. I've seen very loving families, very distant families, very dysfunctional families, and families wrought with heartache and families gushing with good fortune. Life tends to hit each of us differently for different reasons, and I do think for whatever reason, we grow from the lessons that are plopped in our laps--be it growth in a positive or negative direction in life.

Several years ago I taught a little boy who was extremely overweight, poor poor self esteem, lacking tremendously in academic smarts (primarily due to his low self esteem), yet an extremely good baseball player. His younger sister wasn't far off from him, although seemed to fit into the 'norm' of the school a bit better than he did.

The home life of this little boy was rather disturbing from my perspective. The school was quite familiar with the chaos that resided behind their closed doors. The mother tended the children with their schoolwork primarily--aiding in homework and conferences and after school activities. The father's main focus seemed to be in picking the children up from school and yelling out belligerent comments out the car window about how the school provided lousy education for his child and how our demands to educate his son (never gave the daughter much thought) were misguided because said son was going to be a pro baseball player and that's all there was to it--who needs education when there's pro baseball?

I hit a milestone with the boy that year. It had been two years since the children has first learned cursive writing, but the child refused to write in anything but print. Now truthfully, print or cursive, work is work. Typically in grade school though, penmanship is something that is worked on and therefore was part of my regular curriculum. I never saw this child write in cursive until mid year. I actually didn't think he knew how given how resistant he was toward it. Sadly, he wrote in print because his mother couldn't write in cursive. The child's print was horrendous and yet his cursive was immaculate! By mid year, I did have him writing beautiful cursive and feeling ~great~ about it. But like so many things in life, balance is always there. The good of his cursive brought about balancing bad-- misfortune at home.

In addition to attending conferences and maintaining the house and making the children's lunches and so on and so forth, the mother of this boy was also expected to make sure the children's grades were passing. Both children struggled tremendously, and this often led the mother to do the children's work for them. Unfortunately, not only could the mother not write in cursive, but she herself had trouble obtaining passing grades for her son and daughter. When the children didn't perform well, to the point of it affecting baseball plans ie having to stay after school to redo assignments, tutoring, etc., the father would become irate.

The irate head of the house, soaked and saturated with intoxication, would hollar at the school, belittle the teachers, yell at his children, beat his wife (after all she deserved it for not making the children's grades better, right?[intense sarcasm]),...he even keyed the principal's car.

As an educator, you do what you can to protect and help the children you teach that are in situations such as this. And quite often there is little you can do beyond listening to the children when they come to you and providing a shoulder for them to lean on. It's truly disheartening.

News came to me today about this family. Some years have passed, and I've not kept up with their details. The father passed away last week. Liver and Kidney failure. He drank like a sieve, so it really didn't surprise me. But news such as this does leave me wondering with a sense of sadness. What does the family feel? While this man was such a tyrant, he was still a father...a husband. Do the children and the mother feel a sense of relief? Do they mourn with deep sorrow? Does the wife wake up each morning now and think she's free from the mental and physical abuse she's been enduring? Does she wake up looking at the empty side of the bed where her husband used to sleep and weep for him? Do the children feel a sense of burden off their shoulders--no longer do they need to feel the need to protect their mother or worry that they will be hit or that their father will come home drunk yet again? Do they feel sad sitting at the dinner table with one less place setting? I wonder.

Why Thank You - I Don't Think So

Tonight was a great night for a walk. The sun was setting and the air was crisp and clean but not too chilly. Upon turning the last corner back toward our home, the local pub dazzled our noses with the smell of grilled burgers and tempted our tongues with thoughts of bottled libations. We decided to ditch our dinner plans at home and head to the pub after a quick freshen up of the baby at the house and grabbing an extra layer or two of warmth to mask us against the chill of the set sun.

Our dinner arrives and of course our daughter decides that us giving attention to our food is far less important than her being held and bounced and walked so that she can peer at the other tables and grab as much eye contact as she can with random pub goers. Little was going to come between myself and my much wanted burger and beer, so my less-hungry-half held the baby while I became fixated on my food.

From behind, a nice gentleman approaches us, "Hello there! Let me do my good deed for the day and hold your baby for you while you eat..."

~
... "Why that would be wonderful!" My husband and I enjoy our burgers and beers and fries and conversation-while this stranger holds our only child and proceeds to run with her, screaming at the top of his lungs that he's going to kidnap her and toss her into his dungeon of stolen children where they are left to reach near rotten and then chop her up into bits so we can read about her on the Five O'Clock News and have it affect all our future children's lives and leave us in a perpetual state of misery and mourning...
~

Oh wait...my mind does wander.

... "That is sweet of you to offer, but no thank you."
... "Are you sure?"
... "Yes, we're sure, but thank you."

I am sure the man was being sincere, but like I'd EVER give my daughter to some strange man in a bar. There's no burger good enough in the world to make me do that.

Where's the Baby?

She's got so much space--why does she insist on being under her swing and crammed against the wall with her toys?

The World Needs More Whiskers

Why is it that we, on the average, look at a dog and feel the need to scratch behind its ears and pet it?

"Scuse me, can I pet your dog?"

And if you have the joy of owning your own, you go for walks, to the park, around the neighborhood--wherever--so you can share him/her with those that ask you,

"Scuse me, can I pet your dog?"

...and it almost always results in a smile.

Children giggle at the gentle return of prickly whiskers and a slimey tongue when they give animals attention.

So I wonder, why in a world where people rarely take the time to stop and really talk with each other about genuine thoughts and feelings, will people take the time to stop and pet a breathing, walking, slobbery, whisker-filled, tongue-wagging dog?

Brisk and Beautiful.

Brrr!

The weather has taken a change this week and it's been considerably colder outside from how it's been normally lately. I love this weather. Today felt like it was October. You know, perfect weather for tossing on jeans and a sweater or sweatshirt.

The sun didn't shine much, but that's okay with me. Days like today make me feel rejuvenated. I'm not sure why since it makes most people feel depressed--maybe from being born in the Pacific Northwest. I must have spent a good two hours out walking today. Not many people share the way I feel it seems, or at least not many like walking in weather like this. I pretty much had the streets to myself.

I used to go into work in the mornings and talk to a dear friend on days such as this one, explaining how I got ready for work by candle light. I'd pretend that I was living up in the mountains and didn't have electricity. I'd imagine I was in a little stone cottage out in the forest with gorgeous mountain surrounding me. Which would end as soon as I stepped out my back door into the flat flatness of Chicago and enter hellish traffic. It was a nice relaxing way to get ready for work at any rate.

Its refreshing to take part in such activities every now and again, even if they are silly.

I finished the day with a walk in this fall weather as the night's sky blanketed over me with a hot, absolutely scrumptious, mocha in hand. Mmmm.

Which side did you fall into?

Left or right?

I'm really wondering what the purpose of being left handed or right handed is. Why is it that we're born ambidextrous and then pick a side? Why do we end up favoring one side over the other? Why aren't we ambidextrous our whole life? And since we're not, there must be a good reason for us picking a dominant side? Right? I wonder why.

And curses to my mom who taught me how to iron as a leftie when I'm a rightie. I'll forever iron backwards.

A Faded Sparkle

Up the street from me is a retirement home. I've never actually ventured inside it, no real need to, but I do walk past it every day--often three times a day. I've become accustomed to the faces I see sitting out on the patio . I wave and smile with a friendly greeting as I go on my way. Most the time nothing more than a quiet wave or nod of the head is returned. That is unless one of the lesser stable minded ladies is out and about walking in 90 degree weather in her black knee highs. Then I usually get some sort of verbal recognition beyond understanding in the English tongue--nevertheless, it's nice because it's more than the norm.

Sometimes when I'm out walking, I notice an ambulance parked out front of the retirement home. Now, although I've never seen the paramedics transporting anyone out of the home, and I can't say I've even ever heard anyone in a panicked mindset, or anyone at all but the lone parked ambulance, it always makes me feel a bit saddened inside. It does bring a sense of mortality to your thoughts.

When I say saddened I don't mean for the impending loss of my own life ...but I think about the news that the families will receive about the loss of their loved one. That that day will forever be marked and life is changed for that family. Date X won't be just date X any more, but rather...The day that [insert family member's name] passed away. And each year that that date passes, will surface, even if briefly, a moment of remembrance and heartache.

So what goes through the minds of the lovely people that reside in this home up the street? What do they think about when that ambulance pulls up? And how do people feel when the nice gentleman or lady that had the corner room on the third floor is no longer needing it because he/she left on an ambulance trip? Do they still talk at dinner when the person doesn't return? or do they sit in silence? And do the managers/landlords/staff (whatever they are called at this home)...do the {caretakers} offer any condolences? Do the residents want that? or would they rather just not think on it? From the outside looking in, I think a situation such at that would be so difficult.

What really gets to me though, is when I pass the front entrance of the home and walk down the side, past the dining room, and past the room with the neat bird feeder outside the window, and past one of the few rooms that has a window air conditioning unit which must be so nice to have on a hot day and I bet that their room is just packed with as many friends and so-called friends as possible just so they all can cool off because it's unbearable outside....When I pass all of that, I look down a narrow driveway to the back corner of the home and it's always a sad goodbye to those that have departed, for I'll see a recliner that's no longer needed...a mattress...a dresser...a chair...a mirror--just left out by the dumpster because someone's time has come to an end and they've moved on.

Computer Mayhem

Why do computers hate me so, when all I do is love them?

It's truly amazing just how much bad luck I can have when it comes to computers. Within just this last year and a half, I've had two sets of 512MB of RAM go bad, a motherboard die, a power supply croak, and an ethernet card die (and I'm sure a multitude of other misfortunes with the damned boxes which my mind has erased from memory just to preserve enough of itself so I can function on a daily basis). I've become quite proficient when it comes to kicking, screaming at, punching, and swearing at computer cases. Although time and time again, it doesn't help anything by taking such actions, it does somehow make me feel a heck of a lot better. I'm sure you're with me on this...venting helps..it does.

But! Tonight, after replacing my new motherboard...with a newer motherboard...I'm back online again and rearin' to go!

A New Start

Back at it again.

My blog.

Just kicking this off as it is late and I don't have enough energy to continue blinking much less make a long blog entry--tomorrow is another day.

Welcome to those of you who have ventured here and taken the time to ponder my babble.

Much more babble and yammering to come.