see jane scrap

I've moved!

2009-10-31T21:06:00.000-06:00

Check it out: http://www.nennikers.com/blog!

Freedom

2009-10-04T01:02:00.004-05:00

I was waiting to board the plane from Salt Lake City to Dallas/Fort Worth, and I saw a woman dressed in fatigues. An older gentleman walked across the waiting area, took her hand in both of his, and thanked her for her service.

I always tell my kids that we should be thankful for our troops and their sacrifice. We should shake their hands and graciously thank them for their service. A few parents at the kids' school are in the military. I see one father in particular nearly every afternoon, dressed in his fatigues, meeting his kindergartener. I've never had the opportunity to thank him from my minivan in the pick-up lane. And it would be unseemly, no matter how well-intentioned, to race up the lawn and fist-bump the poor man.

Back in Salt Lake City, the man walked back to his group. I turned to the woman in fatigues and quietly asked her where she was headed today.

"Afghanistan," she replied.

She couldn't have been much older than 20.

I reached out my hand and shook hers. Her hand was small and tiny and slightly trembling, and, somewhat astonished, I weakened my grip and let go.

"Wow," I said awkwardly. "How long will you be there?"

"Until March or April."

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, ma'am."

Oh, like, WOW! He'll be Homecoming King and you'll be Homecoming Queen!

2009-10-02T23:35:00.004-05:00

I was almost 16 when the phone calls started. I don't know why. I don't recall handing out my phone number or asking him to call. He just did. Every single night at 9:00 P.M. Sharp. Regardless of where he was or what he was doing, he always called.

Sounds rather creepy when I type it out, but it was all rather sweet in reality.

I don't remember a single thing we talked about. Just that the conversation didn't seem forced or uncomfortable. After all, we were both nerds, technically. He was a Jock Nerd, so the Quiz Bowl and Math Bee stink didn't stick to him as much as it did to me.

My parents allowed no dating until 16, so my first boyfriend was limited to his nightly phone calls and nothing more. Until October 14, 1988, when I was officially four days old enough to go out for dinner and a movie.

He came to my house in his father's Suburban. He was a little bit older than me and already had his driver's license, but his father didn't trust him to drive his Suburban. Or maybe his father didn't trust a teenage boy on his first date. Regardless, the doorbell rang and there he was.

My First Date.

His father drove us to Southern Hills Mall, way out on the other side of town. He dropped us off, and we shared an unabashedly romantic first date meal at Taco John's in the food court.

No beans. Although I've never been one of those girls who chooses salad over a big juicy steak, it was my very first date and I was taking no risk of avoidable embarrassment.

He bought two tickets to "Cocktail". You must know (if you haven't already guessed) that I was quite the naive young lady at 16. Or 15 and 4 quarters, if you really want to be realistic. I'm sure you've all seen the movie, a Tom Cruise/Elisabeth Shue classic.

Put yourself in my movie theater seat, just for a moment. And be thankful that theaters are dark places where people can't tell if you're flaming beet red or just pleasantly rosy. I have a hard time watching that movie NOW, nearly 21 years later. And it's not just because of the horrible acting and cheesy premise. It takes me right back to 1988 and Southern Hills Mall Cinema.

I don't remember if it was between the "Kokomo" or the Tom Cruise/Gina Gershon romp to the beat of "All Shook Up", but I managed to look over at my date, and I was even more disturbed by what I saw next to me that what I was seeing on the screen. My first date? Digging for gold. That's right. DIGGING FOR GOLD. Um, excuse me? I may have had my eyes squeezed shut for most of this movie, but you REALLY think you can get away with such SERIOUS DIGGING? Dude! I can totally see you!

Well, after the disturbing movie and the disturbing revelation of my date's bad habits, I was so ready to go home. I was torn between feelings of disgust and young love. For once, after all of our nightly hour-long phone conversations over the past month, I was rendered completely speechless.

It was a long ride home in that Suburban.

He walked me to the door, and I think he thought he should kiss me. But with the glare of the brightly illuminated front porch most likely hiding my parents' watchful eyes from his view coupled with his waiting father in the Suburban, he opted for the handshake. The handshake! Now, I KNOW he didn't wash his hands. And this was way back before the invention of hand sanitizer (By the way, thank you, Mr. Purell, wherever you are.) But I had no choice. He HAD taken me to Taco John's AND a movie at the big theater.

I was creeped out.

He called on Saturday night and Sunday night, as I'd come to expect. But it was more difficult to visit with him with the knowledge that he was a Gold Digger.

On Monday at school, one of my most obnoxious classmates practically tackled me wanting all the inside scoop on my first date. You know the movie "Grease"? Patti Simcox ring a bell? Look it up. Astonishing resemblance, minus the poodle skirt, plus the acid-wash jeans.

"OOOOOH! Tell me EVERYTHING!!!!!!" she squealed.

I know my enthusiasm didn't even approach the same galaxy where her enthusiasm resided, so I got this:

"You KNOW, that when YOU TWO are seniors, he is SO going to be Homecoming King, and that means YOU are SO going to be Homecoming QUEEN! That's so AWESOME! OOOHHHHH!!!!!"

Really? Gold Digger over there is handsome, talented, smart, and all that. But he PICKS HIS NOSE.

He called Monday night, and I could tell he could sense my distraction. At some point in the conversation, he went for it:

"So, what's the status of our relationship?" he asks me.

I think I dropped the phone. I recovered long enough to stammer something about having to erase all my math homework and start from scratch because I couldn't turn it in with my handwriting in its present state, punctuated with a very curt "Goodbye!".

I was such a chicken then. Granted, I was a child. But if only I could travel back in time as the person I am now, I would have been so much smoother than that. Come to think of it, that would make me a cougar then, too. Ew.

So that's the story of my first Real Boyfriend. My first Real Date. And my first Breakup.

It's kinda cute, really, don't you think?

And about that Homecoming thing? Fast forward four years, and yes, he was up for Homecoming King. And her? Wouldn't you know it? She was up for Homecoming Queen. They both lost. He probably couldn't have cared less. Her? I still can see the raw expression on her face when they announced the winner. Her best laid plans for the past two or so years came crashing down as hard as her jaw.

Yes, that was me, watching from the audience. At least a tiny bone of security in my enormously insecure body, at peace with the fact that I didn't sell out for a glittery plastic tiara.

I survived

2009-09-29T10:14:00.005-05:00

I did it.

I got on an airplane. Not once, not twice, but four separate times. I did it all alone.

And I didn't even die. Not one time.

My fear of flying is deeply embedded. My first flight was to Washington, D.C. the summer before 7th grade. My Dad flies all the time and never shows an ounce of fear because, well, he's not afraid. My Mom? White knuckles, all the way. I couldn't reconcile how Dad was so nonchalant while Mom was practically hyperventilating with her eyes squeezed shut for a solid two and a half hours.

The flight wasn't actually that bad. The return trip? A little rougher. We flew over a thunderstorm, and the pilot kept climbing to avoid severe turbulence. I vividly remember coming down with a nauseating headache over a breakfast of sliced oranges sprinkled with toasted coconut. (I'm getting sick thinking about it now!) Then we sunk down through the clouds and were practically skimming the Missouri River into Eppley Field.

My Dad? Totally cool. Probably embarrassed by the ridiculousness of his girls.

Next up was a flight to Space Camp in Huntsville, Alabama. (Yeah, I was cool like that.) We flew a prop plane to Minneapolis from Sioux City. The first (and hopefully, last) time in one of those. No flight attendant, unless you count the person in yellow sweatpants who hopped on the plane to shuffle our luggage around to distribute weight more evenly. The flight wasn't as horrible as I suspected, but I couldn't help but fixate on the vision of Jessica Lange smashing into that mountain in "Sweet Dreams" the entire time.

We made it to Minneapolis and connected in Memphis. Nothing spectacular. I remember the Memphis airport being all decked out in pink and blue neon, celebrating Elvis as only an airport can celebrate Elvis.

Memphis to Pensacola was a totally different story. By now, it was nighttime. We were on one of those regional jets that are just a step above prop planes. And we ran into some nasty weather.

Needless to say, I was a wreck.

We hit severe turbulence, the kind that jars you around as if you were on a sick and twisted roller coaster ride. Lightning all around, just like that one episode of "The Twilight Zone" where William Shatner's character keeps seeing Sasquatch hopping on the wing. Thank God for my kind friend, Kelly, who kept reassuring me that turbulence was just like cars going over tire tracks.

Sure, cars. Cars 30,000 feet in the air with nothing underneath but a steep drop and solid ground to break your fall.

The analogy was lost on me, and I started to freak out as the plane jerked more violently. The flight attendant was strapped in towards the front of the plane, facing us. I needed Dramamine, horse tranquilizers, ANYTHING, and Kelly motioned for his assistance. But he was busy with his death grip on his seat. He fervently nodded, "NO!", refusing to unbuckle. Kelly took matters into her own hands and started to walk towards the flight attendant, intent on getting some water for me to wash down some hallucinogens. The plane jerked, Kelly tripped and fell down the aisle, and I think that's when I started screaming, "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yes, I really am that fun.

The turbulence kept at it, but we finally broke through the clouds. I saw happy twinkling lights below where happy families were happily on the ground.

Then blackness.

We were over the Gulf of Mexico, looping around for landing. But all I could think was that the plane was not only going to crash in the ocean, I was also going to be devoured by sharks on top of it.

I was not happy.

Finally, we landed without incident. I felt rather sheepish for being so dramatic. Until we deplaned onto the tarmac. The staid business commuters who shared that flight with me actually knelt on the ground and kissed it.

See? I wasn't kidding. It was pretty bad.

I begged to take a train home, drive, even WALK. I DID NOT, by any means, want to get on another plane, EVER. Of course, I had to fly back from Huntsville to Memphis to Minneapolis to Sioux City. And I'm typing this now, so you know I actually made it. But my fear of flying was all the more cemented, and it wasn't budging for anything.

I mentioned my Dad travels a lot for work, and my family and I always had the opportunity to tag along. Montreal was a big trip. Didn't go. He flies to Arizona and California and Florida quite frequently, in the winter, too, but guess what? Never went. Colorado? Only by car. New York City? Are you kidding me?

I missed out on many adventures, but I told my adventurous self that I didn't need to go anywhere that badly. I denied my wanderlust and convinced myself that an adventure consisted of three-hour interstate drives.

I flew to Orlando once in January. We left Omaha covered in snow, the temperature hovering below zero. And while Orlando wasn't much warmer that time, it was novel to be out of parkas. I allowed myself to enjoy that one.

And then our dear friends were to be married in the bride's hometown of Juarez, Mexico. We bought the tickets, we were ready to go. It was going to be an absolute blast.

But a full week of night terrors and absolutely horrendous anxiety kept me on the ground. Joel went without me. I couldn't even go near the airport. He was gone for a week, updating me daily with all of his adventures. And there I was, the one in the relationship who could actually speak Spanish, sitting in Des Moines at my cubicle, missing the wedding of a lifetime all because I was a wimpity-wimp afwaid to be on a pwane.

I felt so embarrassed. And 13 years later, I still feel it.

Joel insisted I fly on our honeymoon. It was only to Miami to hop on our cruise. It took tranquilizers this time, something that I was really ashamed to admit, but something that did help. What does it say on the prescription? Don't mix with alcohol? I was so terrified that I ignored instructions and drank on the plane, thinking that would magnify the effect. And it certainly did. I was everyone's best friend on that flight and the one returning home. At least in my own fuzzy mind.

As young newlyweds, Joel and I decided that we wanted to move across the country. I encouraged a compromise to Dallas, and he agreed. Our Juarez-married friends had relocated there, and I sort of felt like I would be making it up to them somehow by flying to stay with them there.

And that was the very last time I flew.

Before 9-11. Before all of the new rules. Before three kids and a mortgage and car payments. In other words, before I actually became a grown-up.

Last June, opportunity arose for me to fly to Salt Lake City for the Digital Scrapbooking Experience, a convention put on by Creating Keepsakes. Nancie, the owner of ScrapArtist, threw it out there that I might want to go. I justified not going one hundred ways to Sunday, but by August (and with a lot of prodding from Joel) I bit the bullet and, with much reservation, made my reservation.

I watched takeoffs and landings on YouTube over and over again. I learned as much as I could about how planes work, including the fact that not a single plane has ever dropped out of the sky because of turbulence. I steeled my nerves, convincing myself that if someone as formerly mousy as me could kickbox, then I could probably fly.

I was flying solo, so no drugs. No alcohol. And certainly no mixing of the two. I didn't want to wind up hungover in some Dumpster at the airport.

As my departure day approached, I felt butterflies more and more. But I kept telling myself I could do it. I promised myself that if I could get over this then we could take more interesting family vacations. I could stop talking about all of the places I want to go and actually go to them. I could check one big huge thing off my list.

Joel dropped me off at the Des Moines airport very early Wednesday morning, before the kids were even thinking about being awake. I felt sort of like a big girl just then, dependent on myself. I went through what has become quite agonizing security since my last flight 12 years ago. What you have to endure for a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer is pretty amazing.

I made my way to the gate at the end of the terminal and waited. And used the bathroom. And waited. And used the bathroom. And waited. And used the bathroom. My biggest fear at that point? Losing control of my bladder/bowels. Seriously. I started to perspire in weird places, like the tops of my feet and behind my knees. I had little fleeting moments of doubt that I would actually be able to walk and board. I was terrified to actually be strapped into the plane with no choice but to endure whatever the flight was going to entail.

But I did it. I got on that plane. I buckled my seatbelt. I looked around at my traveling companions and quietly promised them I wouldn't puke or scream or otherwise torture them with my insecurities.

The plane sped up. It left the ground. My eyes were closed, and I just kept breathing like I was at Farrell's. I told myself I kick things for exercise and this was absolutely no big deal. The plane shuddered a little bit on ascent, but nothing major. And before you know it, I looked out and got a bird's-eye-view of Valley Stadium, Jordan Creek Town Center and other familiar landmarks. A few minutes later and we were flying over the Missouri River. Not long after that, Kansas City. Then Kansas.

Before you know it, I saw the Red River and we crossed into Texas. I could make out our old neighborhood, using Grapevine Mills Mall as a reference point. And I actually started to tear up a little bit as we landed in Dallas. It was at that moment I realized how much I'd allowed irrational fear to guide so many of my choices over the years. I felt awfully regretful. I felt like apologizing to anyone and everyone to whom I'd ever exhibited my ridiculousness. But then I felt a little more strident, a little more fearless, a little more confident in myself.

Happy to land, but happier still that I'd made it so far.

The leg from DFW to Salt Lake was on a larger plane, more people whom I realized God probably didn't want to slam into the ground today. We flew over the clouds and as the sky cleared I saw snow-capped mountains. The Wasatch Mountains. I have a big thing for mountains, and seeing them from high above is just something you don't do every day unless you're a pilot. Then I spied a huge copper mine, Provo, and then the Great Salt Lake.

I landed, I was alive, and I went to sleep that night dreaming about all the places that had just opened up to me in the world.

I flew back home the same way, SLC to DFW, DFW to DSM. And I didn't lose control of myself or any of my internal organs. Not once.

The best way to conquer your fears is to face them head-on.

Now for that pilot's license...

Before-n-after

2009-08-16T11:59:00.006-05:00

I know from experience with my own family that treasured family photos are hard for some people to part with, even if the person requesting them only needs to make a digital copy. (I'm still in my, oh, fifteenth year of waiting patiently for some additional Rice family photos, but who's counting? *grin*)

Sometimes, I feel a little sheepish asking if I can make copies, especially if I'm only a relative by marriage.

So what's a girl to do?

Use her camera!

The LeMar cousins had many photos on display yesterday at the family reunion. It was a dizzying array to a self-appointed family archivist like myself. So instead of fussing over the logistics of making hard copies, I just took pictures of the pictures.

Now, this works well in some circumstances, not so much in others. But it certainly doesn't hurt to try.

This handsome devil is Joel's uncle, Cliff LeMar. The photo on the left is the raw image, straight from my camera. The photo was hanging on a corkboard inside the shelter at Grandview Park. I only took one shot. Multiple shots are preferable.

Photoshop to the rescue! I started with a Levels adjustment layer. I fuss with this sometimes, but I just opted to go with the Auto adjustment. Then I used the Warp tool to pull in the sides a bit and give dear Cliff better posture. The photo had been trimmed to fit in an oval frame, so I begged, borrowed and stole from around the portrait to fill in the corners. Basically, I used the Lasso tool with a good feather of 3px to copy a good section, then I moved the patch over the blank area and blended it with a layer mask and a soft brush. I also needed the Clone Stamp tool and the Patch tool to aid with the blending here and there.

The tricky part was filling in the cut-away parts of Cliff's suit. I used the same process as above, but I was much more particular in lining up textures and shadows.

The before photo has an obvious yellow cast to it, and the Auto Levels adjustment layer took care of much of it. But I used another Levels adjustment layer, using Cliff's shirt, which was presumably white in real life, to sample with the White eyedropper and jazz up the rest of the colors. I merged all of the layers I'd created so far into a new layer, and I performed a Variations adjustment on this new layer, making it a teensy bit more blue.

Et voila! A "copy"! Sure, a bit more effort than had I just asked if I could run them safely over to the westside, scan, and run them back. But this way everyone feels safe.

I have a few more to Photoshop, and now I can share copies with all of the LeMar cousins.

Now for those Rice relatives...

Socks

2009-08-12T23:55:00.004-05:00

I was putting away some laundry the other day, and as I was making room in Joel's sock drawer I put my hand on the socks. The first pair of grown-up's socks that I'd ever knitted with my own ten fingers.

Joel's never worn them. It's not a critique of my knitting skills, it's just that they're wool. Soft-ish sock alpaca/silk, a beautiful taupe skein from a bonafide yarn store in Plano, but wool nonetheless. Slightly itchy. No Gold Toe. But Joel keeps them because I made them. He's a bit of a sucker like that, even though he's all tough and manly on the outside.

Regardless of the lack of action they get from his feet, those socks are beautiful. I took them out of Joel's drawer and unfolded them. I marvelled at the idea that the tangle of stitches, increases, decreases, heel flaps, and Kitchener stitch all came from uncoordinated me and a fistful of double-pointed needles.

As usual, some other random thought strikes as I'm folding the socks back together.

"He" asked me to knit a pair of socks for him once. "He" being my high school sweetheart, the boy I just knew (at the wise old age of seventeen) that I would marry someday. I used to fantasize about signing our checks and Christmas cards with my first name and his last name.

Yes, it was true love indeed.

(And I rarely write checks anymore and barely issue Christmas cards, so that really was some fantasy.)

I had never knitted a thing in my life at seventeen. I tried to crochet a sweater once out of a book from the library. I scored a couple of skeins of squeaky white Wintuk from Shopko and forced myself to decipher the pattern into wearable art.

Three weeks later, and I'd barely gotten beyond the foundation chain.

When I was little, my dear neighbor, Hope Harbeck, latched on to my interest in anything crafty. She made it her mission to pass on the feminine arts that her own grown daughter had never given a passing glance. I used to follow her husband, Orville, around their garden. I liked digging up the carrots, which of course he let me wash and eat right there. But after all of that dirty work and vegetable consumption, Hope would wrangle me to sit with her while she tried to help me grasp the concept of casting on.

When "he" asked me to knit socks for him, I took on the assignment with the fervor only a lovestruck adolescent could possess. I ran like a bullet train to Northwest Fabrics and bought a skein of the "good stuff", something like 20% wool.

I was out an entire $3.95, but like I said, this was true love.

I knew that I needed more than two needles to accomplish this sock knitting thing. I settled on a pattern (an old one from Hope, if I remember, complete with cables) and I cast on all of the stitches required for the first row onto one of the slippery Size 5 double-points. The pattern instructed me to divide these stitches onto four needles, being careful not to twist the stitches. All I could do was twist the stitches. I unraveled the cast-on stitches and tried again. And again. And again. I kept trying until the yarn was so over-cast-on that it lay limp and frazzled in my hands.

I gave up.

He was not meant to be with me. The socks were not meant for him.

They were meant for Joel.

For some reason, the next time I attempted to knit socks, I understood the pattern. It was like looking at that optical illusion where you can see two faces or a vase, and this time I saw the two faces instead of the vase or the vase instead of the two faces. Sure, I made a few mistakes, but it didn't seem like reading Chinese upside-down like it had so many years ago. I knit a fine pair of socks, worthy of my soul mate's feet.

To everything there is a season. Socks included.

Betsy Wetsy

2009-08-04T00:06:00.004-05:00

My son, Ben, is the proud owner of his very own...

BETSY WETSY.

Ben is now three-and-a-half years old, and he is extremely resistant to toilet training.

Of course, Elizabeth was potty-trained at two, with very little effort on our part. We pointed to the toilet. She went. Done deal. Never made it past Size 3 Pampers.

Sam was a bit more difficult, but very determined. I vividly remember him coming down with a vicious case of the flu that left him dehydrated to the point that we wound up in the hospital on an IV. He was wearing Pull-Ups, but he asked me if he could go potty. I told him he could just use his Pull-Ups this one time because he was so sick. But he insisted on walking down the hall to the restroom. There he was, my little man, shuffling through the ER wheeling his IV stand all the way to the toilet. It was an heroic thing to witness.

Sam's threshold? Size 5. Barely broke into the box, but we had crossed the line.

Ben? Size 6 and counting. I even went all Mommie Dearest and switched from Pampers to Huggies, assuming that Pampers were far too absorbent and therefore too comfortable for Mr. LeMar. After Size 6, our only other option will be Depends. I have nightmares that I will have to sneak Ben into preschool, sliding under the radar of the no-underwear-no-shoes-no-service preschool standard, only to be turned away after he soils his adult incontinence undergarments and rats himself out.

True story. We stopped at a rest area on our way home from Sioux City before Ben was born, and I witnessed a frustrated mother changing her SEVEN-YEAR-OLD son in the restroom. She was trying to reason with him. If you are having an existential battle with your child regarding diapers, it's gone too far.

Ben is *this close* to "too far". We introduced the concept as soon as Ben expressed interest, just like parents are supposed to do. But I have this feeling that as the baby he knows he's getting exclusive time with Mom and Dad because we have to change his diapers. Trouble is, the older he gets, the more the deposits evolve. Without getting into too much detail, the days of "sweet-smelling" breastfed-baby jobbies are long, long, long gone.

(And whomever decreed breastfed babies have sweet-smelling diapers must have been smoking something sweet when they wrote that. Comparatively? Maybe. But there's nothing sweet about Numero Dos. Ever.)

We've rewarded Ben by trucking the entire family to Dairy Queen when Ben merely sits on the potty. He doesn't even have to do anything but sit, and he earns ice cream. The promises have become grander and grander, if only Ben would actually put something in the potty.

I think we're up to a supermodel girlfriend and a Lexus at this point. Honestly, I've lost track.

So a co-worker of Joel's leads Joel to (of all places) DrPhil.com. Dr. Phil professes a fool-proof method of toilet training that he swears will work on the most resistant of subjects in a single day. Buy a doll that wets. Load up the doll with bottled water. Let the subject put the doll on the potty. And celebrate profusely when the doll performs as requested.

Dr. Phil promises that Ben will want his own "Potty Party" so badly that he will fling his diapers to the margins for all eternity.

We had to run to Wal-Mart this afternoon to fill in the missing blanks on our school supplies lists, so we checked out the toy aisle and found such a doll. She's a girl, and Ben has christened her "Lily".

(As a side note, Wal-Mart had two versions of the same doll on the shelf. One had pursed lips and seemed entirely too grumpy, the other had a pleasant smile on her face. Ben chose the "happy baby".)

Lily is now sitting on our kitchen counter, waiting for her training to start tomorrow morning. Believe it or not, Ben is JAZZED about taking care of Lily and teaching her how to go potty.

Dr. Phil? If this fails, I have you down for a Costco-sized box of Huggies, Size 6, possibly a pallet of Depends. I've never been one to put faith in you before. I'm calling on you now.

Dude, I'm at my wits' end. This better work.

New technology, old wounds

2009-08-01T19:48:00.014-05:00

Me at my dorkiest, 1985

I spent six years at the same elementary school with all of the same kids. I was by no means popular, but I wasn't a total outcast, either. Then 7th grade rolled around, and I was at a junior high school in a completely different neighborhood with some of the same kids from elementary, but with a lot new kids who really didn't like me very much.

I don't remember if I was just an easy target (most likely) or if I antagonized the Mean Kids (maybe?), but I do remember some awfully painful teasing during those two years at Herbert Hoover.

In particular, I remember one day quite clearly. I was walking down the hallway in between classes (awkwardly, as usual), and I heard her voice behind me, mocking me.

"Wow. Nice outfit. Your Mom took you to K-Mart yesterday, huh?"

(Actually, Sears, I thought, but thank you so very much for noticing my Toughskins.)

Then her voice was right behind me, still saying mean things, still trying to get a reaction. I walked a little faster. She did, too. Next thing I knew, I felt her foot in between my feet, and I felt my books fly out of my hands and my glasses flip off of my face right before my head hit the hallway floor. She laughed even harder, stepped over me, and walked away with her giggling friends.

I felt like an absolute worthless piece of garbage, and I suppose that was her intention.

I don't know if she treated everyone like that, or if I was special. I just know that when I think about it now, more than twenty years later, I still get a sickening feeling in my gut.

The other day, her name popped up as a "Suggested Friend" on Facebook.

Curse you, Facebook! If you only knew! Why don't you get your smart people on the case and program some sort of "Bully Filter"! And, oh, gee, THANKS for dredging up one of the worst memories of my adolescence.

This minor Facebook incident reminded me of a time when I thought I'd gotten the upper hand on her, too. Joel and I were in Sioux City, shortly after we were engaged. We went to a restaurant downtown. SHE showed us to our table. She SERVED us. It felt GLORIOUS! I felt so smug and so superior that I actually acted like a jerk towards her. I knew she recognized me because she wouldn't look me in the eye. She seemed sort of embarrassed to be in a position of servitude towards the dorky high school nothing.

We went to high school together, too, so I could have been friendly and shot the breeze with her about what she'd been doing since then. But I didn't. I gloated.

When Joel and I went back to my parents' house, I relayed the story of my bully's comeuppance to them as if I was relaying the story of how I'd won a freakin' Olympic gold medal.

"Oh, she went to college and was in such-and-such city doing such-and-such, and then she had to come home," my Mom tells me. (Sioux City is essentially a small town, and everybody knows everybody else's business.)

"Oh, REALLY?! What a loser, having to come back home. She thought she was really big time, and now look at her! She's a hostess in a restaurant in Sioux City!" I mocked.

"Jennie, she didn't have to come home because she couldn't make it. She had to come home for a very good reason," Mom scolded.

And it was a very good reason. And this time I was the jerk. Big time.

I felt like going back to the restaurant and apologizing. But by then I was hoping that she still felt I was the little nobody she tortured in school and she still believed she had me in my place. I knew, though, that I was the only one keeping score.

I spent so much time in my own head during junior high and high school, yearning for the day when I would blossom like Mom had always promised. When I wouldn't have to deal with Mean Girls at school and when I would realize I wasn't really a loser. I fantasized about my Dad being transferred to the opposite side of the country so I could start over where nobody knew I was a dork, where I could reinvent myself and live happily ever after.

That was a waste of time. I would have made better use of my time forgiving and letting go. I probably should have prayed harder during Mass, not so much for relief from my tormentor but for her relief. Turns out her life wasn't easy, and that's probably why she let loose on me.

Forgive and forget.

Oh no you DIDN'T!

2009-07-22T00:33:00.009-05:00

I hate dealing with service people of any kind. This is because I am a woman and most service people are dudes. Dudes with severely diminished opinions of women.

Soon after we moved into what has become Chateau LeMar, we couldn't help but notice how what the inspector told us was just "normal wear (nervous twitch) and tear (nervous laugh)" was more like serious deterioration.

We forked over a ton of cash on really sexy things like Hardiplank and a roof and gutters. Ooh. La. La.

Every spring and summer, I take it upon myself to wash the windows. (I do windows. I love to do windows. It's more the result than the process, but part of it's the process, too. Clean. Freak.) I couldn't help but notice how the paint had started to peel away from our trim. Winter passed, another spring, and the more I scrubbed, the more it flaked.

I distinctly recall the painters haphazardly slopping paint on the trim in cool rainy weather, so I nervously called the contractor and asked what was going on. He assured me that no matter what, he guaranteed his work for five years, pretty much blowing off this Little Missy.

Four years later, and you can literally breathe and blow the paint off of the trim in long curling sheets should you walk close enough. Please don't.

Since the Hardiplank was primed when it was installed, I guess he got a little mixed up about the trim. So he just slopped paint over that, too, even though the trim was original.

I call upon Joel for situations like this where I'd have to interact with a gruff macho painter guy. So, Joel called. And we waited a couple of days. So I called. Gruff Macho Painter Guy appeared on my doorstep not ten minutes after I hung up. I just know he's thinking, "The little woman is home alone because her husband is the one out in the real world doing man's work. This'll be easy."

He was appalled that we thought his work was shoddy, even with the peeling paint shedding all over him as he inspected the trim.

Gruff Macho Painter Guy: "This woods all wet, see? Soaked. We can't do any kind of prep that'll cover that."

Me: "Um, it rained all night. The wood's bare from where the paint's peeled off. Rain makes bare wood wet," and I know this because it's in all the books I read.

He was astounded by the breadth of my meterological knowledge.

Gruff Macho Painter Guy: "Well, they sanded and oil-primed and did everything they were supposed to do," implying that my magic witchy woman voodoo powers must have just terrified paint into jumping off window trim.

Me: "I was watching your guys on the job, and they didn't do any prep. They just painted over what was already there."

Gruff Macho Painter Guy: "Well, you SHOULDA CALLED ME," talking down to me like the stupid little woman he's sure I am.

Me: "I did call you. You told me you guaranteed your work for five years. And now you're here."

Wow. Did he get all incredulous on me then. This chick is a SMART ASS, his favorite kind, obviously. He told me he'd "get back to me" in two weeks.

So, for now, we're the house on the block with the beautiful siding and the shabby windows.

"Sam, grab Momma an ice-cold Forty from the fridge, lemme pop out my teeth, and let's sit a spell on the front stoop. Fire up my corncob pipe, Ben, and bring Momma her chew, Elizabeth."

I've forbidden anything else from breaking down, falling apart or otherwise deteriorating for the foreseeable future. I've employed my super secret uterine powers to make it happen. Now if only I could command my estrogen to take the form of Sherwin-Williams Duration. That would impress Gruff Macho Painter Guy AND save him a trip back to the bowels of Hell!

I'm such a girl like that, willing her own body chemistry beyond it's purpose just to save a Gruff Macho Painter Guy a redo. Tee-hee-hee!!!!

Just do it

2009-07-15T01:58:00.001-05:00

I ran a few weeks ago on a random Saturday night. All by myself, for no particular reason other than I can do so without barfing or passing out on the sidewalk. I just ran the one mile loop we ran for testing at Farrell's. It felt wonderful, and I think I just might do it again this weekend. It might even become some sort of a habit. I never understood why people smoke pot or snort cocaine, or for crying out loud, shoot up heroin.

Until now. I just get my euphoria the old-fashioned and perfectly legal way. It's good stuff.

Funny thing about all this fitness that I've earned over the past few months. I cross paths with lots of other fitness-seekers on the trails and sidewalks while running or biking. I see people in all stages of the game, from lanky runners who are probably training for marathons to women who just had a baby and are forcing themselves to make it up that hill. I think it's hard for all of us, no matter where we are. But you know what? I feel like I'm really and honestly enjoying my life now. We women, especially, seem to think that being tired and cranky is OK. The alternative would just pile on more obligations to a life that's already crowded with to-do's. But if I ever shed one ounce of light on your life (as if!), let it be this: get out there and live. Don't just exist. LIVE! For crying out loud, if Little Old Me can get myself to the gym six days a week, then even if you have only an itchy nagging feeling to do the same, SCRATCH THAT ITCH. I swear, it's the best thing you'll ever do for yourself.

I told Joel how I have a weird feeling of pity for people I see wading through life carrying around the burden of apathy disguised in obesity. And he totally got that because he feels the same way. Once you know how it feels to be strong and light on your feet and able to endure stretches of breathlessness, once you know how good it feels for your muscles to burn and ache and grow stronger, once you know you can accomplish something you never thought you'd ever be able to do, then you get it.

I've been working on my attitude since forever, so I can't tell you how interesting it is for me to compare myself now to myself, oh, say, ten years ago. Twenty. Where did that girl go?

And why didn't I get rid of her sooner?

She was annoying in her insecurity and sucked the energy out of everyone she met. She actually had a different voice, in an octave her Dad considered so unreal he dubbed it "Dog Whistle". She had love and support in spades, but never noticed it until she grew a pair.

(A pair of biceps, that is.)

I wasn't pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough, talented enough, focused enough, coordinated enough, worthy enough, motivated enough...sound familiar? I've heard it in some form or another not only from my whiny inner voice but from all of the women I've ever met in my life.

ENOUGH.

I believed for many years that everyone kept close tabs on my failures and successes. I thought the entire world would flop over when a zit sprouted on my chin.

(For being such a schlub, I guess I was a complete and total narcissist.)

Nobody gives a hoot about what we accomplish or neglect to do. We're all important, but none of us are *that* important. Who has time to keep score? Some people actually do wait for their nemeses to fail so they can relish in the moment, pump up their self-esteem. But those are the kinds of people that suck the life out of you.

The kind of person I used to be.

Ouch.

I keep going on and on and on about my new found fitness because it really did change my life. I swear. It's not a quick fix, and I'll always be a work in progress, but rarely is anything worthwhile easy to do.

I don't wanna hear "I can't do (insert activity here)" for one more solitary second.

I'm 36 years old, and I get whistled at when I go for a walk. I didn't notice it until Joel walked with me one night and pointed it out. (Since I had company, I left that crutch of an iPod and its highest volume setting at home.) It's embarrassing, but oddly gratifying after all these weeks of work. Even if the whistles do come from a gang of hormonal teenage boys, even if those teenage boys got a good talking-to from Mr. LeMar about their lack of manners and respect for women. And elders, since I'm, well, elder. But until I'm elderly (or maybe even after), I'll let myself appreciate those whistles just a little bit.

So drown out that nagging inner voice. Go out and fill your ears with a few of your own whistles.

A new Iowa Cubs fan

2009-07-12T10:29:00.009-05:00

I hate baseball.

You sit in the hot sun for five hours or so, at the mercy of vendors hawking $8 bottles of water, surrounded by obnoxious old men sauced up on Budweiser, and the players scratch, spit and generally just hang out on the field before you not doing much of anything to capture my interest.

Fast forward to Sam's birthday this year, though.

Sam has recently become baseball's Number One Fan. Something clicked with him while playing for the HPBC U-7 Athletics this spring. He's obsessed with it. He has encyclopedic knowledge of the players in his burgeoning baseball card collection, and he even starts his day with "Sports Center".

So when Joel found information about birthday parties at Principal Park, we signed up faster than you can say "Babe Ruth".

Sam invited three four of his best little buddies. Everyone received a genuine Iowa Cubs cap, free reign of the jungle gym on the first base concourse, hot dogs, popcorn, soda, and Dairy Queen ice cream cake. Sam had his smiling grin displayed on the Jumbotron during the seventh inning stretch. And fireworks from the center field line topped it all off after the game.

One of Sam's buddies looked up at me as we were heading home and declared, "I will never forget this night for the rest of my life!"

Enough said.

Those people certainly know what they're doing. Did I mention I HATE baseball? Not anymore. After seeing the game through a true fan's eyes, I have an entirely new appreciation for the sport.

One dollar Koigu

2009-06-23T10:20:00.005-05:00

It's possible, my friends.

Oh, how I do love garage sales!

The kids and I stopped at a sale on Park Avenue that advertised craft items and yarn, yarn, yarn. I only saw a basket full of the chain store stuff, Lion Brand this, Red Heart that. Somewhat disappointed, I turned in another direction. And there it was. A basket full of The Good Stuff. I snagged a hank of Koigu Painter's Palette in a lovely blend of aqua, blue and green for one measly dollar. Even better? A super huge hank of rainbow-dyed merino and two super huge hanks of pink variegated alpaca from local spinners. The labels attached to each displayed price tags of $17.50. But we were at a garage sale, so all four hanks of lovely wool deliciousness were $4. As in total.

I was a little shocked at the price, and the homeowner looked sickish green as I forked over my Washingtons, even admitting that she hated to sell it for one dollar considering how much she paid for it. But she had to cut back her stash, so there you go.

Sam found some old crochet patterns for sea creatures, all purchased for a mere quarter. He and I have this thing where he'll design a creature and we'll try to bring it to life. He drew a pattern for a thing he calls "Guy", sewed it up, stuffed it and decorated it with permanent marker. It's pretty darn cute! So he was a happy camper with those sea creatures. Now if I can only dust off my rusty crochet skills and make my child happy!

I already put them up into center-wound balls, and they're ready to go become something. The Koigu will become something quite small, since I only have a little tiny hank of it. But the rainbow and pink yarn is in relative abundance, and E's claimed the rainbow yarn for a pair of socks.

E asked that I teach her how to knit the socks, too. But it's only the third week of summer vacation. I have to stretch out my patience until August, so we'll see.

We also returned to the sale off Ingersoll where we hit pay dirt the previous day. The homeowner was rained out Friday, so she marked everything down 50%. She was so happy to see us that she gifted Elizabeth an unopened box of embroidered hankies. How nice was that? So, we bought more, including the buttons I eyed Friday. I also picked up some beautiful red and green tea towels for the kitchen and some vintage linen.

On the way home, along Ingersoll where the road narrows into the Waterbury neighborhood, I spotted a deer statue at the side of a house, nestled in between the hedges. I thought it was an odd place to put a statue, being so close to the street, but whatever. As we drove closer, the statue MOVED. It was a real live deer, munching the landscaping, not four feet from the car.

I know there is no such thing as a carnivorous deer, but they spook me nonetheless. I'm accustomed to sharing my neighborhood with squirrels, which are essentially bushy rats. But for some reason, the sight of a deer, as ubiquitous around here as the squirrels, freaks me out. If you ever come across a deer and get the opportunity to look one in the eye, it's like they're plotting to take over the world. Sure, they seem all sweet and innocent and Bambi-ish. Call me paranoid, but I think they're plotting a coup.

Come "sale" away

2009-06-19T16:11:00.002-05:00

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Elizabeth and I were able to duck out for an hour this morning to hit two local sales. One was advertised as "Super Sweet" and was located South of Grand, which is a very interesting an eclectic neighborhood in Des Moines. It's no Beaverdale, but it has potential for interesting items.

The "super sweet" sale must have run out of sweetness before we arrived. I did feel a pull from macrame owls, though, just like Dad used to make sans the fluffy bellies.

We tried our luck at one more sale just north of the first location. Eventhough we had a map, I'd be darned if I could find the house. Turned out to be on what could barely be considered a street, tucked behind the new Dahl's on Ingersoll. I'm glad, though, that it was so hard to find because it was hardly picked over. Turns out the homeowner was running a sort of sample sale, and she had all kinds of goodies. I picked up three napkins rings, which I know sounds completely random. But they're beaded, and I plan on taking them apart and using them somewhere else. Elizabeth discovered she has a thing for vintage hankies, so she picked out nine of them and plans on starting a collection. The homeowner had some examples of what she's done with her collection, and I loved her table runner idea: basically, lay the hankies out on a muslin background close enough together to conceal the muslin. Then stitch with invisible thread close to the edge of the hanky onto the muslin. I never could bring myself to cut apart the few hankies I have in my possession; sometimes the borders are scalloped or trimmed in crochet or tatting that's just too beautiful to rip apart.

I picked up a couple of bags of random trims, including a few VERY OLD pieces of spiderweb lace. Another cute find: crocheted edging with rick rack flower insertions. Very creative. I bypassed a bag of SWEET buttons (I'm such a button freak) because I only carry so much cash with me, (a) because I'm afraid I'll misplace the real stuff, and (b) because plastic is so much easier to account than paper, being able to match a receipt with a method of payment. If garage sales ever start accepting plastic, I could buy all the things I never needed without having to hem and haw over which treasures to keep.

That would really annoy Joel!

This may disgust some of you, but on one of my trash adventures this spring I foraged for a Samsonite train case. It's been sitting in the basement waiting for a purpose, so today it's become Elizabeth's collection case. It needed a VERY good scrubbing, but it looks rather nice now, and I like to imagine that it used to belong to a stewardess (yes, I said stewardess, as in old school flight attendant) who traveled the world with it. Joel says it probably belonged to some old lady. (Kiiljoy.) But it's awfully cute and a great place to hold a little girl's random treasures.

Elizabeth doesn't have my love of history. Or at least she *thinks* she doesn't. I think she really does.

She did ask me, though, on the way home if the hankies were clean, as in laundered after being used for their original purpose. Ew. So we're going to soak, wash, and iron before we put them away.

Perfect day for the movies!

2009-06-16T15:52:00.002-05:00

I was almost excited to see a cloudy sky when I woke up today. That meant no sunshine had to be wasted in going to the movies! One of our local theaters is running a "Summer Stimulus" package where you can buy a ticket for $4. Add a small popcorn and a small drink for $1 each. You wind up saving about $47,000.06, as I figure it.

When did movies get so EXPENSIVE?

Anyhow, the kids and I went to see "Up" today.

I. loved. it.

One question, though: Is a person really supposed to cry as much as I did at what essentially is a cartoon?

Those Disney people have significant expertise in taking your heartstrings, wrapping them around your throat three times, and tugging the breath out of you. And it's the little moments in the film that jerk the most tears. My favorite? When little Russell opines, "It's the boring stuff you remember the most." Trust me. That line will MURDER you. I'm crying while I type this now. I cried on the way home from the movie trying to explain to the kids why I was blubbering in the theater.

Seriously, Disney! Why must you torture me so? And why am I tingling in anticipation of when your "Up" movie becomes available on DVD so I may buy it and cry while I watch it in the comfort of my own home?

You people are good.

Whatchoo lookin' at, Willis?

2009-06-08T13:32:00.003-05:00

So, I walk into the gym Saturday morning for the 9:30 FIT class. My coach from the 10-week program is there, and he looks at me like, "What is the world are YOU doing here?" The room was rather empty, considering people were practically lined up out the door last week for the 7:30 class.

The instructor happened to be Randy, the gym leader. I should have known what I was in for at that moment, but I have yet to be frightened DURING a class. I've feared the unknown more than anything up to this point.

"Everyone grab a jumprope!" shouts Randy.

Yay. Jumprope. The last time I jumped rope at Farrell's, I practically soiled my pants.

We started out easily enough with ten seconds on, ten seconds off. Then we gradually increased until we were jumping rope for five minutes straight. Five minutes may not seem like eternity, but when you're jumping up and down and whipping a rope under your toes at the same time, you get a pretty good idea of what Hell must be like.

The kicker was that if you tangled the rope three times within the five minutes, you were done. And you got to do a plank. So, if you used up all your tangles within the first minute, like me, you got to plank it for four solid minutes. You really get in touch with your core that way, I tell you.

Then we moved on to push-ups. I'm pretty proud that I can do a single push-up these days, so I didn't think this would be so bad. Until Randy passed out pairs of four-pound medicine balls. Push-ups with your hands on the medicine balls. On your toes.

I couldn't feel my arms. That's called muscle failure. I told them to move, and they ignored me.

Randy seemed to be proud of me, told me that was my goal. But I was still hallucinating from all the jumproping.

Then it was on to kickboxing. Jabs and crosses.

Randy comes over and says, "Your arms are still pretty tired, aren't they? I'm sorry."

He leaves, and a few seconds later returns to say, "You know I'm really NOT sorry, right?"

Yeah, I got that.

I'm still having a hard time moving my calves. I actually took a whirlpool bath when I woke up this morning I was so stiff and sore. I regained the use of my legs, and I fully intend on attending class tonight. I'm a glutton for punishment.

I have a very vain reason for my gluttony now, though. Warning: VERY VAIN! I took the kids swimming Friday afternoon. I wore my new Nike two-piece for the first time in public. I must say, Nike makes an excellent swimsuit. I feel like I'm all put away and decent. They employ some secret fiber in the suit that makes you feel all Gabrielle Reese, even if you aren't. Anyway, remember how I marveled at the Two-Piece-Wearing-Pool-Moms last summer? Especially the older ones with more than one child in tow?

Well, it was ME getting the stares and sideways glances this time.

I felt pretty awkward. After all, they were probably just trying to protect their eyes from the glare off my stretch marks. But I do rock that two-piece. I've earned the right to say that after the past twelve weeks. Or, heck, even from just this past Saturday. ROCK ON!

E shares a story

2009-06-03T12:27:00.002-05:00

Stop the presses!

2009-06-02T13:19:00.006-05:00

I scrapped!

I've been cracking the genealogy lately, hoping to pull together more information for the LeMar Family Reunion this August. Joel's cousins Linda and LuAnne have taken the reins and are planning the entire thing. The least I can do is contribute a little memory art, right?

I just met LuAnne last summer at, well, Linda's house! Linda tries to bring us all together at least once a year, God bless her. LuAnne and her brother made the trip from out east and expressed their interest in the family tree. Woo! WOOOOOO! DING! DING! Every time someone tells me they want to learn more about their roots, I get all excited. It validates the hours I sometimes think I've wasted on research. What good is it if I'm the only one who cares? I'm thrilled more LeMars are joining the genealogy bandwagon.

LuAnne graciously mailed an envelope stuffed with copies of the family photos in her possession, including this one of her great-grandparents, Frank and Laura LeMar. I just adore Laura's gloves. These are probably the fanciest clothes this young couple owned at the time, so it seems they went all out in the accessorizing, too. Oddly enough, Laura comes from a long line of Quakers from Indiana who migrated to Iowa in the mid-1800's. I thought Quakers were modest, like the Amish? Or maybe I'm just confused. I know Quakers are pacifists, and that has nothing to do with whether or not they wear leather gloves.

Another thing I notice is Frank's hands: look how HUGE they are! The LeMars are pretty tall people, so check out his legs, too...they drift off to the side of the photo. Maybe it's why he's seated, too, so as not to tower over his young wife?

Antique Patterns GAL*ORE

2009-06-01T10:54:00.012-05:00

Just when you think the Internet has clammed up and erased all goodness in people, you run across a site like Antique Pattern Library. If you're anything like me and really into crafting and history, then you really need to check out this site. The gracious folks there have scanned and uploaded knitting, crocheting, tatting and other assorted needlework booklets from as far back as the 1840's to the 1920's. Really spectacular stuff!

View the catalog here.

Oh, and Elizabeth and I went to the Market Street Media Foundry on Saturday, as promised, and meandered through a very old and very rough building in search of art. We were not disappointed. The most unique items I saw were created by Chimes Design. She actually rescues discarded dishes and paints the most whimsical little designs on them. I especially liked the birdies. I love the idea of rescuing things (obviously), but all of those dishes I've ignored at Goodwill all these years have the potential to blossom into something totally new and beautiful. How cool is that?

You can find these and other designs at Chimes Designs Etsy shop. Absolutely charming!

Afterwards, I dragged poor Little E over to West End Architectural Salvage on 9th and Cherry downtown. It was on our way home, essentially, and I haven't been there in a very long time. And I'd never visited The Basement. You wanna talk about creepy? I felt mixed feelings, surrounded by beautiful claw foot bathtubs, rusty tin ceiling tiles, and various other pieces and parts. I felt that at any moment Leatherface from Texas Chain Saw Massacre would jump out of one of the dark corners and seriously put an end to a lovely afternoon. We hoofed it back upstairs in short order. As we ran out the door, the owner asked us, "Did you find anything you didn't need?" I thought that was quite clever. You, sir, will find my aura of terror in your basement!

E caught the crafting bug, so we had to rush home and work in the medium of her choice, polymer clay. I suck at polymer clay, even though I own nearly all of the requisite tools. We made a few beads, and I experimented with using my antique circus stamps to make charms out of a clay blend E created from purple and green that wound up brown. I played a little with painting, but I'm not feeling it yet.

Speaking of antique patterns and crafting and such, I need to scan and pimp out the darling baby book illustrated by Dulah Evans Krehbiel I purchased several weeks ago at Found Things. (And, no, it's probably not OK to "pimp out" a baby book, but it sounds cooler when I say it like that.) I scanned it once already and started enhancing the scans in Photoshop. I came upon a perfect combination of Adjustment Layers and Blend Modes, but when I went to apply them to the next page I realized I'd just merged the layers, saved the file, and thus erased all of my steps. Way. To. Go. Sometimes, that "Save Often" adage works against you. Here's to starting over!

Iowa hearts art and my heart works...who knew?

2009-05-26T10:28:00.016-05:00

As the days of leisurely perusing the morning paper surely wind down, I enjoyed this morning's Iowa Life section my Des Moines Register. They featured a story about Market Street Media Foundry and their upcoming Market Day. I know Des Moines is a terribly creative place. It just has this vibe about it, hard to explain. Maybe it's always been this way but I never noticed until I was interested in art myself. But I keep discovering new art and new artists just about every day lately.

And I think you'll know where to find me on May 30 and every last Saturday of every month through late September.

I'm still organizing my craft acquisitions. I ripped apart the crib railings I picked up for the spindles. As I gave them one whack with my hammer, then one more, and saw the railings fall apart so easily, I thought, "Wow, glad I'm not a baby." I have a whole bucket full of beautiful spindles now, both Jenny Lind and traditional.

I also ripped apart an old Kenmore sewing machine and an Underwood typewriter. Marvels of modern engineering, I have to say. Do you know how many pieces and parts I have now? Beautiful little bits and bobs of metal.

I collected more at Carousel Antique Mall in Story City on Sunday: interesting buttons, wooden casters to replace the missing ones on some of my trash day finds, a very old celluloid album (marked "perfect for collage"), a beat up "Cupid" candy tin, and a cute little aluminum kitchen helper to stow foil wrap, waxed paper and paper towels. I passed up a Remington typewriter, complete with cute workable typekeys and merely $25, but I really need to make things before I acquire any more parts.

Joel is tiling the old wet bar by the backdoor. He can be so funny, going with the flow more often than not, but being such a stickler for details in home improvement projects. Not that I mind! I just worry that the old wet bar is going to outshine the rest of the first floor and Joel will be assigned to resurface the entire kitchen.

The kids spent most of the weekend outdoors, which is a big deal for them. Mom and Dad are grateful for pleasant weather. Our neighbors have a trampoline, a treehouse and a zip line, so the kids spend most of their playtime begging to go next door while our Rainbow playset sits unnoticed out the family room window. It gets some play, just not as much as we thought it would. Joel and I were thinking like kids of the 80's, back when iPods were about as conceivable as flying cars. It doesn't take much to impress us. Unfortunately, kids just keep getting more and more sophisticated. And Joel and I keep sounding more and more like old fuddy-duddies, starting most sentences with, "Back in MY day...".

If I hide this here, in the middle of this post, maybe it won't be so noticeable. My FXB results. Yes, the ten weeks have come and gone. And, no, I didn't win the big $1,000 cash prize.

(And, no, you don't get to see the full-body before-and-after shots. I just don't think it's appropriate to splash my half-naked body over the Internet. Even though, had I won the $1,000 cash prize, my half-naked body would have been splashed over the Internet...)

About 70% of the people who started in March finished the program, so I feel pretty good being in that group. Here are my results:

TEST RESULTS	PRE-TEST	5-WEEK	FINAL TEST
Sit & Reach	21	21 3/4	20 3/4
Push-ups	5	36	42
Sit-ups	5	24	32
Body Weight	137	141	140
Body Fat %	26.8	27.2	26.2
Run Time	11:59	10:12	9:41

BODY MEASUREMENTS	PRE-TEST	5-WEEK	FINAL TEST
Arm	11	10 1/2	10
Chest	36	35	34 1/2
Waist/Middle	33 1/4	32	30 1/2
Hips	40 1/2	39 1/2	39
Thigh	21 3/4	21	19 3/4

So, no, I didn't lose much weight. I'm cool with that. And you can say I didn't lose much fat, either, but SOMETHING happened. I did get leaner. I had LOVE HANDLES! YIKES! I didn't even realize it! Now I can see my belly button. I feel stronger. Joel marvels at my biceps. That run time? That's for a one-mile run. Not fast, but I actually RAN the entire way for the final test. About halfway through I realized I felt somewhat euphoric and was telling myself I should do this more often. I know. CRAZY TALK!

I earned a blue attendance card for the year-long program (well, yeah, and I paid for it with something other than blood, sweat and tears, as in cold hard cash) and attended my first class as a 10-week graduate Monday night. I realized how far I'd come by helping the new group struggle through all the awkward movements we do in kickboxing and the endless push-ups and sit-ups and burnouts.

Joel encouraged me to take a week off and get back into it next Monday, but I couldn't stay away. I need exercise now, much like I need food and water. I felt so blah yesterday, going back and forth about class, until I finally walked in and felt the glorious rush that comes with kicking and punching things.

I'm hooked.

See? I always knew my obsessive-compulsive nature would eventually reveal its practical side.

Pet ownership world record

2009-05-25T12:52:00.004-05:00

Three days. That's all we could handle of little Cosmo.

Or that's all Cosmo could handle of us.

He's a great dog, but the kids aren't ready for a pet in the house, and now that Cosmo is back on the farm, it seems Joel and I weren't ready to be parents once again. Even if our new baby was of the furry variety.

We brought Cosmo home a week ago Friday. Then we introduced the kids to him after school. Sam flinched and hopped and otherwise avoided Cosmo at all costs, spending most of the weekend on top of a pile of pillows on the couch, out of Cosmo's leap.

After a very long few days struggling to acquaint ourselves with Cosmo, we came to the very tearful decision of returning him to Eddyville.

I got to take him home last Tuesday. The best thing that could have happened, though, happened. He leapt out of the car and could barely contain his happy wiggles once I unhooked his leash and set him free. He was happy to be home. I lost it while handing over his toys and food, items it made no sense for us to keep when the breeders could certainly make use of them. I lost it as I drove away, even with Cosmo still wiggling all over with the joy of being free from his leash and the suburbs.

But it was the best thing for now.

Happy Mother's Day!

2009-05-10T12:59:00.012-05:00

How do you celebrate? Around here, it seems the baby gets sick and pukes on upholstery and bedding. Usually, this is just what happens. The kids get sick for the morning, then they're up and at 'em by dinner time. Crossing my fingers! But keeping my Steam Vac handy.

Elizabeth and I went junking in Clive Friday night, but we were outnumbered by more enthusiastic Dumpster-divers. I did manage to snag a free Xerox copier. The note attached promised, "It works, just needs toner". It will be the perfect addition to my workshop for doing some hardcore image transfer (the images aren't hardcore, you filthy mind, but the transfer involves chemicals and requires toner to work!). Toner is pricey, but not quite as pricey as a new Xerox copier or a new laser printer, for that matter. I'm game.

While Ben and I were in Southeast Iowa Friday meeting Cosmo and his family, I couldn't help but stop to check out some local thrift. I found the aptly named Antique Shop on the square in Oskaloosa. (The locals affectionately call their town "Osky". Just thought it was cute!) I found an antique blue notepad and a tattered lotto game with all the card and numbers as well some glass chips which kind of remind me of Tiddly Winks. The grand total? Five dollars. Gotta love that. And the nice ladies who own the shop appreciated that Ben didn't break anything and let him choose a toy from their stash. He picked a stuffed Blue Jay, so Ben walked out of there happy, too!

Joel just called Three Rivers Farm, and Cosmo is all set to come home with us Friday morning. He'll be bringing a Puppy Pack of essentials to start with, and we're buying a crate, collar and leash this week. The kids are each choosing a toy for him, too. We live in your typical Des Moines two-story, which means our master bedrooom closet extends the width of the garage on the floor below. It even has a large window on the far end. It's really quite nice, I must say, even though I'm no clothes horse. So, instead of housing my non-existant career wardrobe and ballgown collection, our closet will now serve a higher purpose as Cosmo's den!

I can't help but feel mothering instincts kicking in for this little lab! I just cruised around Petco.com, shopping for a crate, and actually got a little emotional thinking about having the pitter patter of four furry feet in the house. (And I have to add, being the coupon whore that I am, I snagged a 42" Midwest LifeStages crate, the one I've found to be most recommended for Labs, for 10% off with free shipping to boot! YAY for never paying retail!) I think Cosmo will make a wonderful addition to our family. Added bonus? No stretch marks! :)

Elizabeth and I biked to the Des Moines Menace soccer game last night. It was the first time she's witnessed "grown-up" soccer live, and she LOVED it! They handed out carnations for mothers last night and cowbells for noisemakers. Hilarious. It was a really fun time, and it didn't hurt that the Menace beat the Rochester Thunder 2-1. E was fixed on the game the entire time, picking up "cool moves" for her next game.

And while the ride TO Valley Stadium was pleasant, the ride HOME was almost bitterly cold in comparison. We rode a little faster just to keep warm!

Ben recovered, as expected, by mid-afternoon. Whew! I pushed him on the swings for a little while, but then he turned an odd greenish color so I switched to snuggling. It was beautiful outside today, so I unfurled a beach blanket next to the lilac bush in the backyard (well, the lilac bush in my neighbor's backyard, but it's close enough!) and read all about Labs. Ben was a little peeved he couldn't tag along with E and Sam and Dad to Petco, but he was happy to see all the toys they chose for Cosmo!

Meet Eddy Cosmo!

2009-05-08T15:22:00.012-05:00

Well, at least that's what I think we should call him, since he was born in Eddyville.

(EDIT: Mom was out-voted, 3-to-1! Ben voted for "Robby", I was stuck on "Eddy", but everyone else loved "Cosmo" at McDonald's this afternoon, so Cosmo it is!)

He needs one more week with his mama, and then we can bring him home. He lives on a small farm now, with cattle right across the one-lane dirt road.

The suburbs will be shocking!

We do have a veterinarian within walking distance, and West Des Moines even has hours set aside at the local pools for dog swimming. Really! So, it won't be like a farm, but I'm pretty sure ~~Eddy~~ Cosmo will adjust smoothly.

We met mama and papa. Papa is 110 pounds, with mama not far behind. They are both four years old. And just like any other four-year-olds, they were very curious about Ben. Papa gave Ben quite a fright trying to kiss him, since Ben is a wee bit shorter than the dog! Ben started crying, and both mama and papa backed off and looked up at me with the sorriest little faces I've ever seen, as if they wanted to say, "Gee, we're sorry! We just wanted to make friends! We didn't mean to scare the poor kid! HONEST!"

(I'll post pictures of the whole family next week when we add ~~Eddy~~ Cosmo to ours.)

Seeing those two huge dogs act so sweet and kind, given their enormous size? I'm sold.

And, oh boy, are those little puppies soft. ~~Eddy~~ Cosmo has two brothers and three sisters. The sisters are all yellow labs (they got that from their father, whose grandfather was a yellow lab), and the brothers are all chocolate labs like Eddy.

See, doesn't it just sound nice? EDDY? :) (Yeah, until you get overruled!)

I should have been doing this already, but today I'm stocking up on books regarding labrador care. We have a week to prepare and accumulate supplies. A metric ton of food, too, I understand.

Spray paint solves all the world's problems

2009-05-07T19:55:00.004-05:00

Really, it does! Cover up the ugly with the color of your choice (Rustoleum's Regal Red is a good one) and watch the old become new again. I coated two of my found shutters and my formerly Army green organizer a happy new shade of red.

I'm not sure what I want to do with the shutters, but right now I'm thinking of them as a place to display Christmas cards during the season. I can just prop them up against a wall. Joel, my dear sweet supportive husband, even suggested using them to display photos. See? He's coming around!

We have a really not-our-cup-of-tea wet bar by the family room, and you see it right as you come through the garage door. This is where the organizer needs to go. It looks like a bunch of magazine holders nailed together, but tidier. (Note to self: post picture 'cause you stink at describing this thing!) So, in preparation, I ripped out the wet bar sink and it's annoyingly tall faucet yesterday. Now we have a clear landing area for all the things we haul through the door when we first enter the house. A clear landing area with a big hole in it where the sink used to be. But wandering around Menard's this morning, I spotted a kitchen display with tiled countertops. We have backer board leftover from tiling the kids' bathroom. We have grout. And we'd only need a box of tile, six feet of bullnose and one corner piece. Oh, and a borrowed tile saw (thankfully, Joel's dad and brother each own the heavy duty tools). I've got myself a project! And I've gained a ton of storage space by cutting off the water pipes and drain inside the lower cabinets. I envision making this whole thing look more built-in and not so pre-fab. I think I'll practice my cabinet painting skills over here, where you don't necessarily expect the cabinets to match the kitchen cabinets. I'm sneaky like that.

And I almost forgot! I neglected to mention that I picked up the treadle-part of a New Home treadle sewing machine in Norwalk's garbage on Tuesday. I've ALWAYS wanted one of those, what with the fancy wrought-iron and all. It was pretty rusty, but nothing a jar of Naval Jelly (that conjures up some weird images) and spray sealer won't cure. The "New Home" is stamped out in brass letters on each side of the treadle, so while I'm entertaining the idea of covering all the rust-damaged patina with flat black, I'm more inclined to just leave it as is. Fabulous.

I'm going to Eddyville tomorrow morning to meet who is likely to become our family pet, the cute little chocolate lab I posted about yesterday. He'll be weaned in two weeks, and then he can come home with us. But, being my anal self, I have to go check out the farm and meet the breeders and feel comfortable about all of this. The kids have already created a list of chores, divvying up duties by their initials. "Poop" is at the top of the list, and "S B E" are each responsible for cleaning up. "S B E" are thinking about names, too, while thinking about chores. "Cocoa" was in the running, but when we found out that only one male remained from the litter, we started leaning towards "Scout". I think it'll be like naming a baby; you just don't know what to call him until you meet him.

Got an hilarious e-mail from my little brother tonight. Laughed until my face hurt. HURT! He is brilliantly funny. I was trying to read it to Joel, in between laughing spells, but Joel just doesn't get it. My family has a very unique sense of humor, and if you don't get it (Joel), I wish you could! My sister-in-law, Shannon, feels the same as Joel. I never knew how warped we all were until we married people from this planet!

Discarders of Norwalk, I salute you

2009-05-06T09:47:00.005-05:00

I've determined, with almost scientific accuracy, that the best junk to be had by far lives in small towns. Norwalk is no exception. They held their annual Spring Cleanup Monday and Tuesday, and I spent yesterday morning perusing the curbs in search of interesting trash.

(I have to add, too, that there is just something about roaming the countryside on a beautiful spring day, with all the windows open. If you are ever down in the dumps, hop in your car and go for a ride off the beaten path. It will pick up your spirits, guaranteed. Bike rides are good, too, but sometimes you just need the kind of wind in your hair that you can only get above 45 miles per hour.)

My Norwalk haul:

One very interestingly woven bamboo chair, in great shape, just faded. I like faded, and it's sitting on my front porch.

An old wooden box filled with rusty things, old Prohibition-era brown bottles, blue medicine bottles, and one glass bottle shaped like a fish (scales and all). VERY filthly, but nothing steel wool and soap and water couldn't fix.

A metal gym basket (love those!)

A nifty slotted organizer which has motivated me to finally rip out the wet bar sink (we're not the wet bar types) and totally renovate the cabinets by the back door to accommodate our family papers. I'm so sick and tired of all of our ephemera (doesn't junk mail sound better as "ephemera"?) landing far outside of its designated basket. I'm not the athletic one in the family, but my aim is the best in the family, oddly enough. This will involve some basic plumbing and a new countertop, since there will be a sink-sized hole in the existing countertop. The cabinet under the sink is HUGE, and I think it needs some pull-outs to organize the kids' craft supplies.

Wow, I digress!

A beveled mirror

A cathedral-shaped window (absolutely TO-DIE-FOR, and I will be cleaning it up and hanging it over the whirlpool tub, after attaching a little shelf for pretty bath things...you know, the kind you look at but never use?)

An old tilt-out basement window frame, no glass, but three openings. Three kids, three openings. I sense a photo collage...

Miniature porcelain Christmas angel ornaments (!)...now, this one made me a little sad. I usually don't dig through boxes, but for some reason I stopped at the curb and saw these spilling out. I grabbed my work gloves and, well, went to work. Found a nesting Santa doll (ala those Russian nesting dolls) and a tole-painted rocking horse ornament, too.

Filing supplies (letter tabs, etc.) for collage along with two basketball clipboards (the kind that you sketch out plays during a game, but, of course, I'll be using them for some collage adventure instead)

One side of a crib, just for the spindles. Lovely, lovely, LOVELY spindles.

An old wooden pencil box with latch, painted orange

I only accumulate to the capacity of the Town & Country's storage area, and then I go home. As far as I know, only two more Spring Cleanup days left for the year: westside of Clive and Ankeny. I need to get cracking on some of my projects, at least the deconstruction, to make room for anything else that may be out there, waiting to be rescued and repurposed.

This gives me the opportunity to accumulate weapons, er, TOOLS, as well. I'm entirely freaked out by a recent spate of home invasions and sexual assaults being perpetrated in Waukee and West Des Moines. This crazy dude busts through windows in the middle of the night and attacks young female occupants of the target residence. Most recently, he attacked a sleeping couple in a townhouse right next to the ballpark where Sam plays Little League. He held the man at bay with a knife while he raped the woman.

"Nightstalker", anyone?

Police just announced yesterday that they've linked the suspect to a March rape in Waukee. They have his DNA, so that's a good start. And they mentioned that the Waukee victim was not chosen randomly, but they "refuse to elaborate". That tells me that they're on to someone, which is nothing but good news.

I inherited my "true crime" thing from my Grandma Mary. I would be a decent detective, I like to think. And in all my research (every single episode of "Cold Case Files" counts, right?), I've noticed that crime victims usually aren't pet owners.

I'm not a gun person. I know some women who sleep with kitchen knives under their pillows, but I doubt I would have enough wherewithal to actually wield a knife upon being startled awake by a crazed lunatic. Same goes for being able to reliably aim pepper spray at an attacker.
I'm rather confident Joel would seriously hurt this creep if he happened to choose our house. Heck, I KICKBOX, for crying out loud. I kickbox like a girl, although I bet I could throw a few Chuck Norris-style in self-defense. But I'm taking no chances.
We're getting a dog.

That's right. It's taken uncomfortably close random acts of violence to persuade me that adopting a dog is not such a bad idea after all.

We just started looking, and I'm terrified of puppy mills, so I'm not quite sure where to find a reliable breeder. I really would like to adopt from the Animal Rescue League, and we visited the West Des Moines kennel yesterday. We met Jade, a five-year-old puggle.

When the worker brought him out of his kennel, I got teary-eyed. How cute is that dog?

Joel took the Elizabeth and Sam to meet him yesterday, too. I'm in love with Jade, and the kids would be happy with any dog, no matter what. Joel isn't sold, though. He would like to take the rest of the week to look at other dogs, too. And I can't argue with that.

(Just look at that face, though!)

There's also Trudy, who we haven't met in person, but who is a boxer/husky mix:

Unfortunately, our options at ARL are limited, since most of the dogs are not good with children under the age of seven.

So, the puppy farm. We found a breeder in Eddyville who has chocolate lab puppies available this month:

How could you not love that face? I think Ben and I have a trip to the farm in our near future (like, this morning). My only reservation is how big this cutie-pie will be when she's fully grown. Our neighbors have a golden lab, absolutely precious, but somewhat intimidating. But, hey, isn't that my point entirely? A loving family pet who scares away potential intruders? It's not like it's going to be her lifelong responsibility to ward off danger (we do live in West Des Moines, after all, where the biggest threat to security is usually teenagers throwing toilet paper in your trees).

We're also thinking boxer. Suggestions welcome!

Ho hum-de-dum

2009-05-04T00:01:00.003-05:00

I drive up to our house, several times a day, and grimace at the sight of the faded purple front door. Maybe it was smokin' hot red at some point in our home's short history, beaten down by the long afternoons facing west into the hottest sun of the day. But let's face it: it was ugly.

I'm going to pat myself on the back here and announce that my days of procrastination are over. I've reached a point in my life, maybe midlife, hopefully on the longer side of that (!) where I've realized that there is no perfect time, no perfect color, no perfect ANYTHING. I've wanted to paint that cursed front door for as long as we've lived here. That's five years. I've been denying myself that simple gratification for FIVE YEARS. How ridiculous is that?

So I bought a pint of cranberry Rustoleum, busted out the Purdy's, and PAINTED.

(And inhaled copious amounts of toxic fumes. This was enamel we were working with. Even more toxic cleanup with paint thinner. And acetone for the parts I fudged, even with a rather excellent taping-off of the door hardware, if I do say so myself.)

It may have taken five years, but I finally have that red door.

We spend so much of our lives in fear, don't we? Fear that whatever we do won't be good enough. Even when we're talking about paint colors, for crying out loud. Good enough for whom? You? Your neighbors? The occasional stranger who passes by walking their dog? Who cares? It's not like the Paint Police will prevent you from tossing another ten bucks out the window if you change your mind and decide you like green better than red, right? It's not like you can screw up *that much* with paint. Enamel is a bit tricky, you do have to be a bit more careful since you know oil and water (and therefore simple cleanup) don't mix. But if you see something in a magazine that you might like to see in your home, that triggers your taste-o-meter. Follow it.

I even asked Joel to dismantle all four of the pathetically dull builder's grade outdoor light fixtures disgracing the front of the house. Rustoleum makes a wide variety of spray paint these days, so I selected a nice textured dark brown. Scrubbed them all down with steel wool and a little soap and water, painted, and reassembled, complete with lovely amber flame bulbs.

I figure I "saved" Joel at least $400 in new light fixtures.

And those frequent approaches to the front of the house are infinitely more enjoyable. (I'll post pictures tomorrow. And then you can see the large vacant expanse of potential outdoor living space that's been, well, vacantly expansive for two years. With all my preachiness, I myself still have yet to turn on a dime. But I'm working on it. I have ideas. Just need time and inspiration to execute!)

Don't worry. Don't fret. Just do. I've wasted far more time *thinking* about doing than actually *doing*. *DOING* is so much more fun. I highly suggest it.

Which reminds me: I have an entire garage bay full of "to-doing" to do! Next up? That clever hammock I picked up for $2 last summer at a Beaverdale garage sale. Rustoleum to the rescue once again. And I think a can of red will do quite nicely for the frame. The original sling is, well, frankly, disgusting. Covered in mud, ripped in places, forgotten and forlorn. The seller was nearly ashamed to help me to the car with it. But I'm only using it for the pattern.

I look forward to enjoying some lazy afternoons with the kids in that hammock THIS summer.

No more waiting.

I did my part today

2009-04-23T00:14:00.003-05:00

I rescued things. Saved some space in the landfill. Added to my growing inventory of potential projects.

I justified my junking habit by concealing it in Earth Day. It worked for me.

Urbandale is a gold mine. You should see my garage. And sweet Joel, you didn't say a thing. You didn't even grit your teeth. Thank you.

Here's the rundown:

2 old white painted windows, couldn't help it, but I need to stop with the windows for awhile
chest of drawers, probably 1930's, in very rough shape, but beautiful lines and no mouse droppings
Singer sewing machine and table, I'm thinking 1940's
Underwood typewriter, currently diassembling it for parts; I think I need a degree in engineering to extract the myriad pieces
peach crate complete with vintage labels
train case
Adirondack rocking loveseat, in serious need of TLC, but going to be awfully cute on the flagstone half-patio it's inspired me to carve out by the front porch
rolling metal cart
bed posts, which are going to be holding up something cool one of these days, I just know it, maybe something to do with my salvaged chair springs
metal portable file box
corkboard, TONS of corkboard
metal planter
rusty old white wire hanging basket
HUGE discarded artist canvas, perfect for a huge collage, and since it was free, I feel total freedom in collaging it...I'm thinking some sort of funky family tree
shutters, shutters and more shutters, good for noteholders
frames, big and small, no glass
large shadow box with handle and hinges
Scandinavian butcher block, since my kitchen is taking on this Scandinavian thing now...after all, I AM Norwegian. By marriage.
tramp art frame (why someone would toss out something like this, I just don't know, but THANK YOU!)
rails from a Jenny Lind crib, solely for the spindles
an ungodly blue and white Home Interiors nightmare of a picture frame, flanked in, yes, SHUTTERS, that I think only needs a piece of my found corkboard and lots and lots of creative painting to become an adorable message center

Thank God we have a big garage.

Not big enough for Joel's lack of patience for my junking habit, but I'm actually working on my projects, so I can hold off his disdain for a few more days. I hope.

I stocked up on all grades of steel wool, dusted off my canister of Durham's Water Putty, whipped out the Dremel, and I'm ready to go. The next few days promise to be very nice, weather-wise, so I've got to set aside a few minutes here and there for some fun.

Clive? You're up next weekend. But only if I clear out this round of creativity!

And is this weird? We still have the crib in which our three little ones each slept for a few years of their little lives. I have a VERY difficult time parting with baby things. I can do it, it just takes time (and a baby who needs it more than I do). OH! I forgot to mention...during our Spring Cleanup here in West Des Moines, we actually DID put many baby things out on the curb. BIG things, like those portable high chairs, the Little Tikes art desk, a major safety gate, etc. And we were fortunate enough to know that these things were going to a family who would really appreciate them. They drove up when Joel was in the process of dragging things out to the curb, and he helped them load up some things into their car. They were very thankful, and it warms my heart to think about it. I hope those things make their little one happy. But most of all, isn't it nice when you can share a human bond with total strangers in this day and age? It's a small moment, but a very memorable one.

In all honesty, though, I'd rather share so many of those that they WOULD seem common and I might not remember them so easily.

OK, back to the crib (which I obviously still have in the basement). I saw LOTS of cribs out there on the curbs of Greater Des Moines, but it got me to thinking. What about using the box spring as some sort of picture hanger? You know, slip mementos between the springs? I don't know. Deep down I know it's just an excuse wrapped in junker jibberish. But maybe it would be cool? Who knows?

P.S. Comets won last night, 3-0, against a team in South Des Moines. I witnessed stunning teamwork, graceful footwork, and plenty of pullbacks. One of the Comets is ADDICTED to pullbacks, but we Sideline Moms gently remind her to JUST DRIBBLE!!!! It's getting more and more entertaining to watch these girls play soccer together after all these years. Things are going to change next year, decisions will need to be made as to which direction each girl wants to take, but hopefully most of the team will stick together just a bit longer.

Sometimes you just have to let it go

2009-04-19T15:44:00.007-05:00

Friday. Polk City. Spring Cleanup Day.

I was supposed to be out on a mission for red paint for the front door. And, eventually, I fulfilled that mission. But I went a little out of the way by about, oh, twenty miles, and headed up to Polk City to see what those folks consider junk.

Turns out they throw away lots of good stuff up north. As soon as I pulled into town, I spotted a lovely 1930's vanity, topped with nasty old rugs. I stopped the car, graciously pushed the rugs aside, and although the vanity had a severely damaged top, it was going to be mine.

Until further inspection.

I opened one drawer, a drawer with a lovely carved handle, mind you, and do you want to know what I found? Really? Are you sure?

MOUSE POOP!

Immediately disgusted, I ran back to the minivan and drowned myself in hand sanitizer. But as I sped away, I couldn't help but feel sad. That gorgeous piece of furniture, so horribly neglected that it was allowed to become a mouse house. If it weren't for the mouse droppings, all it needed was a new top. It was so pretty, but sometimes, it's just not meant to be.

These folks also threw out a lovely old rocker. But it violated my ban on upholstered junk. I was tempted to take it for the wooden parts (again, carved loveliness), but given the mouse droppings discovery, I wasn't going to even mess with whatever most probably was living in the cushion on that chair.

I did find some sturdy old boards, weathered and white. A few keyhole cuts and I have a place for the sweet old hooks I found at (where else) Found Things last weekend for 50 cents apiece. I also scrounged a pair of iron brackets that were screwed into solid rectangular blocks of wood, perfect for cutting up into squares for who-knows-what. Two potential projects for the (free) price of one! And a coat rack. I'm not quite sure what I plan on doing with that, but it spoke to me. I also found a smaller version of the plastic container I bought at Home Depot last week to make my own version of Michelle Beschen's Rachael Ray Planters. My pots are square, so this will be interesting. At the very least, I figure I'm out $4 of Quickrete and a few squirts of Pam. At most, I'll have really cool cement planters for the front porch.

(Have you gotten the drift that I'm not the kind of girl who enjoys store-boughtedness?)

Ooh, which reminds me: I had an odd thought about other uses for Quickrete when I was bundling up yard waste yesterday afternoon. Why not use old muffin tins and pop out a bunch of personalize-able edgers? The Quickrete I bought sets up in 20-40 minutes, but my kids are fast. I could pop them out of the molds after ten minutes, I figure, then let the kiddoes go to town with the stamps and doodads I acquired with the stepping stone kit I bought when we still lived in Texas. About time to make use of those, don't you think? And since we ripped out the railroad ties (ACK!) the previous owners used to edge the planting areas around the yard, my au naturel method of mounding mulch, effectively making mini berms around all the irises and daylilies and mums all over the yard, just hasn't worked as well as I'd planned.

Urbandale Spring Cleanup starts tomorrow, or tonight, if you're junk obsessed. I hope my eyes will be discerning enough to discover some more great junk, even though I don't have night vision goggles like some of my junking brethren.

I may be serious, but I'm not *that* serious. Good grief!

I've added a few more locally grown blogs to my list of must-reads over there on the right. Check out JB Knacker and Old Crow Farm. I have yet to make the trip to Gilbert to visit the actual JB Knacker store, but I keep planning to do so. Elizabeth and I visited Old Crow Farm last fall during the Covered Bridges Festival. It was on the way to Winterset, and we couldn't help it (well, at least I couldn't help it). I could have stayed there all day, but Elizabeth was bored so we left far too soon. Maybe she'll be game for Spring Fling in May? A mother can hope!

It just feels a bit lonely, thinking I'm the only person in the whole wide world who finds life in inanimate and somewhat disgusting discards. I'm trying to connect with the underworld of junkers that I just know are out there, nearby, creating in earnest.

Five weeks of my life...

2009-04-18T15:10:00.003-05:00

...and this is the result:

Sit-ups/minute: 24 (five weeks ago, FIVE)
Push-ups/minute: 36 (five weeks ago, FIVE)
One-mile run: 10:12 (five weeks ago, 11:59, and it was mostly walking, not running)

Oh, we had our measurements taken once again, too, and I've lost an inch from my hips and waist, although I've gained four pounds. Four pounds of pure, lovely muscle.

And we received copies of our "before" pictures in a sealed envelope after our run this morning. I'm very glad they instructed us to open the envelopes at home.

Wow, those photos are depressing. I thought I looked just fine. Well, I didn't. Yuck.

I always intended to finish the entire ten weeks of the program, but I have to admit I was skeptical that I would see or feel any improvement, especially this quickly. I thought I had to convert to some kind of fitness freak. Well, I have become somewhat of a fitness freak. But it pays off.

I'm even crazy enough to enlist in the F.I.T. program after I finish the next five weeks. The schedule's basically the same: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday kickboxing (45 minutes); Tuesday and Thursday resistance training (45 minutes); Saturday kickboxing/resistance training (60 minutes); and rest on Sunday. I caught a bit of the F.I.T. class this morning before testing, and it looked extremely intense. No wonder they hide it from the 10-weekers.

I treat myself to Coke on Saturday, my "free" day, along with McDonald's. But I've essentially kicked my Dr. Pepper habit. That's pretty amazing to me, considering I didn't think I could make it through a day without caffiene. But it hasn't been the slightest struggle. I have a new affinity for Zone bars, and although I pay attention to what I eat, I don't fret and fawn over it. It was kind of funny last week when Joel was craving junk food: "Don't we have anything bad to eat in this house?", he asked. Well, no, actually, we don't have any junk food in this house. Sorry, Charlie. We weren't poor eaters before this all began, but we focus on the good stuff even more. I don't feel deprived. If anything, I feel more responsible for making sure I feed myself the fuel I'll need to make it through workouts (especially those Friday workouts!).

I celebrated my numbers by adding to my new workout wardrobe: 2 pairs of Nike trim-fitting pants. Just like the ones the F.I.T. girls wear. The same ones that would have accentuated every lame dimple in my backside just five short weeks ago. I've earned these pants, and I'll wear them proudly. I actually don't feel like a poser shopping at Scheel's. I'll actually use these clothes as intended, not just for lounging around the house. Although they are quite suitable for that, too.

The hardest part is getting started. Shutting out all of those voices in your head (I'm not the only one who hears voices, am I?!?!?!?!?!?) that tell you you're too old, too busy, too tired, too uncoordinated, too WHATEVER. I've tried to find something like this my entire life, thinking I could do it on my own. Well, I need a little push, and that's OK. Especially since I'm now more awake, alert, and alive.

Take it from this convert: life is even sweeter when you can endure it and be engaged in it! Go out there and do something for yourself, however you need to get it done. And give yourself time. I always gave up too easily.

Not anymore.

Dremel those blues away

2009-04-15T10:09:00.008-05:00

I highly suggest it, as often as necessary. Too bad there aren't a few more things to destroy with Cutting Wheel #4 in this house. Destroy for good purpose. Five years ago, I hung a wire shelf under the chute in the laundry room, thinking that if I positioned a big basket under the chute I could safely manage my washables. I chopped off two feet of the shelf this morning with my Dremel and a hacksaw. Oddly cathartic. And now the hope of a manageable basket of dirty clothes that I could tote from chute to machine has become a doable hamper settled on the floor, a few feet further from the hole in the ceiling. No more attacks from falling socks. Dirty falling socks. Gross.

It was a dumb idea in the first place. I tried to solve a problem and created a new one, then sat stuck with it for five years because I was afraid of what life would be like without the comfort of my mistake.

Must be a transition period in my ten-week boot camp or something, because lately I've been feeling rather existential.

Obviously.

On the other hand, I'd forgotten how much I cherish my safety glasses. They're pretty stylish, and, well, safe.

And now my colors, whites and linens are neatly sorted in individual hampers, waiting to be fed into the monster LG and tossed gently with tepid water, lavender biodegradable detergent and steam. Sweet blessed steam.

Steam solves all the world's problems. Or at least that's what it says in the LG Owner's Manual.

Art is helpful, too. After many months of neglect, always doing something else, I rifled through my feeds this morning and stumbled upon ;) Things With Wings and Other Things. Elizabeth and I spent an inordinate amount of time in their booth at the Valley Junction Art Market last spring. It's very happy stuff. Good for the soul!

Up way too late...

2009-04-15T01:38:00.002-05:00

...but sleep's for chumps, right? Actually, I need to have one of these late night solitude things every once in awhile to clear my head. The older I get, the loss of sleep isn't worth the clarity of mind, but I live dangerously.

It's been a frustrating day. I hate to say it like the entire day was a loss, because that's not it. It's just it would have been another perfect day, minus the frustration. The sprinkler service stopped by this morning to officially initiate spring and its water bills, but after two hours of waiting for him to finish doing whatever it was he had to do to make the water run, the morning was over. I think he was new...

I was expecting Mom and Dad around lunchtime, so I called to make sure their arrival was still pending before heading over to Home Depot with Ben. Just random things, like T-cranks to replace the traditional eye-pokers on Ben's windows and some picture hangers. Hung up the cute little wooden plate painted bright red, blue and yellow and decorated with the phrase "tack så mycket". I had a hunch that might be Norwegian for something, so not only would my find look cute hanging by the backdoor, but it would allude to Joel's Norwegian heritage. Too bad he's not Swedish. It turns out "tack så mycket" translates to "thanks so much" in Swedish.

Still, the plate's cute. And I'm still jealous of Joel's Norwegian-icity. Being generally German is sorta dull.

Then computer stuff came raining down just before Mom and Dad appeared. But I was determined to spend my time with them and away from the blasted computer. The last time I visited them at Thanksgiving (YIKES...someone's ungrateful daughter needs to do the driving more often!), I spent much of it on their computer. Same for Christmas here at the homestead. I vowed (and they strongly encouraged) to never let that happen again. So I didn't. And it disappointed people who are not Mom and Dad.

But I don't regret it. Too much. I am, after all, sleepless at this point. What the heck for? It's a thing I love and hate about me, all at the same time. I want everyone to be happy, I feel I have the capacity to do it, but I know I don't have a bit of influence over anybody's happiness but my own. Still, when I feel I've got something worth sharing and someone finds value in it, I tend to overdo it. I need to draw a line somewhere between jerk and pushover.

Anybody got a Sharpie?

I felt INCREDIBLE on Monday, grooving with my garbage. While Sprinkler Man was here this morning, Ben and I mixed up vinegar, water and dish soap, grabbed a squeegee, and polished our windows to the best of our ladder-less ability. It felt GOOD to take care of things immediate to me and see instant results. It felt GOOD to spend time with Ben, not stressing over what I need to get done. It felt FREE. It felt like I should have pulled out the ladder and cleaned every single window on the house, but then it felt like I should wait for my weekend backup (Joel, that's you, honey).

And, selfishly, I want more FREE. Especially over the summer. Now that the kids are all old enough, I plan on taking little mini-adventures with them. Elizabeth and I thought that the kids could point at a place on the map, close to Des Moines, we'll learn what we can about that place and then go and visit, cameras in hand. Iowa has so many offbeat places that we need to take the time to experience. So that's what we'll do. I don't think the kids share my creepy yet genealogical fascination with cemeteries, but we'll have to hit some of those on our way, too, for historical purposes.

I inherited a bit of wanderlust, just the slightest, from my Grandpa Ross, I like to think. He would hop in the car and ask whichever offspring was nearby, "Hey, you wanna go for a ride?" And before you know it, they would be in Oklahoma City or Davenport or some various locale hundreds of miles from home to visit obscure relatives. If I were around, and if I were wise enough to figure out his game, I'd have made sure I was always the Rice kid closest to the car when he made his appearance.

One last salvage item: I repurposed one of my windows and set up a new gallery display in the living room yesterday. I basically just scrubbed one of my heavily painted white windows and screwed on a cute little iron bird's nest doodad I picked up at Jo-Ann's this weekend. I hung it by the front door. The iron doodad has three hooks on it and the nest itself, so I need to hang and stash things there, but what? And I plan on prying the Dremel, the tool I just had to have so many years ago, out of it's nearly intact box and etching something on the glass. I think I want to see a little Bible inspiration when I come downstairs in the morning, so I'm leaning towards Psalm 118:24. Check it out. You'll recognize it. Wouldn't that be a good thing to read when you start your day?

And "gallery display" sounds so high-falutin'. But it's basically a triple frame of each kiddo's newborn portrait with a matching triple frame hung above that containing more recent photos in the same order. Right now, the recent photos are all from a trip to Dairy Queen when Futsal season ended in early March. (Reminder: take more pictures of your kids, you sorry excuse for a mother!) I flanked the two triple frames with portraits of the kids' great-great-great-great-great grandparents. Totally random, but I love those pictures of Hugh and Sarah McGee, Sarah looking all business and Hugh looking all henpecked. I moved my little thrifted sewing table under the frames and placed the double frame of Mom and Grandma Mary on top. And I finally found a place for my Grandma Mary collage. I made an easel out of an old fork, believe it or not, and it's completely appropriate. Even Joel thinks it's cool, so I've really hit on something. Literally. With, like, a hammer and stuff.

Joel says I have to get rid of the bookcase in the living room since it's the only piece of purchased case goods there. Note "case goods". I mentioned before, and it's worth mentioning again: I DO NOT, as a rule, thrift upholstery. I saw something on "Dateline NBC" about the resurgence of bedbugs, and I don't want to send out an invitation.

Bedbugs would most certainly make a day most frustrating, I imagine. I'll stick to bugs of the technical kind and leave the blood-sucking ones on someone else's sofa.

Trash to treasure

2009-04-13T10:24:00.005-05:00

As promised to some of my online acquaintances, here is an example of what can happen when you go out for morning errands and it just happens to be Spring Cleanup day. People throw away cool junk:

There it was, all forlorn and sitting by the curb near Sacred Heart Church. This little solid oak piece is stamped on the back, "MALLARD, IA". It is missing a mirror as there are gaps between the tabletop and the back of the chest. It use to have a door on the front opposite the drawers, which were all missing. The tabletop was split along the curve in the front, but nothing a little carpenter's glue and clamps couldn't fix.

And it was very dirty, of course, since it was intended for the trash collector. I vacuumed out all of the fluffy stuff. I used some old rags and my secret weapon, Howard's Restor-A-Finish. Yes, and some good ventilation. That stuff does the work, but it's so good it's majorly toxic. Consider yourself warned. I followed up with more old rags and Howard's Feed-N-Wax, let the wax soak in for a good twenty minutes, then buffed up to what I consider a dramatic shiny change.

Since the innards were all gone, someone had tried to salvage this before and stapled luan dust shields into the missing spaces. Tile to the rescue here. I just happened to have three pieces left over from a tiling project, and they fit perfectly into the spaces formerly occupied by that nasty luan. Beautiful.

As luck would have it, I had drawer pulls to fit perfectly where the originals were missing. I thrifted the pulls, too, of course, at Habitat for Humanity ReStore; if I recall, I paid something like ten cents for three. Absolutely charming, and I'm so glad I finally get to use two of them on a project.

I laid that monster of a doily I crocheted on the top, then a thrifted lamp on top of that. I placed a small number of my antique book problem, I mean, collection, inside. I used a wicker basket to fill up the space formerly covered by a door. Those three little doodads on the top shelf are rusty old finials I found at The Majestic Lion.

My new old piece of furniture cost about a dollar, including labor. (I work cheap.) All in less than an hour, to boot.

Another man's trash truly is another man's treasure.

Now on to the other ongoing projects in my workshop. I think the windows are my next victims. More later! I have to go play!

Go Comets!

2009-04-10T09:23:00.007-05:00

The first soccer game of the season went down last night. Sam and Ben and I had to shuffle to baseball practice on the other side of town, so all I have is the second-hand play-by-play. But the final score was 4 to 1, a loss for the Comets (I still like Atomic Flounders, but it seems E and I are the only ones partial to that team name!). This is the fifth season the girls have spent together. I can't believe how much they've grown since Cubs!

And I can't believe how snarky they've become, either. Joel told me that during a time-out, he asked the girls why the other team was able to score goals on them. One of the girls shouted out, "Because we SUCK!" Not exactly (they WERE playing against a team of farm kids who may or may not have been in the 9 to 10 age group).

This is probably the last year Joel will be coaching "his girls". They'll be moving up to the competitive league soon. It's bittersweet. He enjoys coaching so much, but he insists he knows too little about soccer to actually do the girls any good. We both know, though, that the depth of his soccer knowledge doesn't really matter. I'm pretty sure all of the girls will remember Coach Joel for the rest of their lives. Good role models tend to stick with you in your memories.

The Easter Bunny spent the morning at Michael's with a hot little 30% off everything coupon in her hand. The Easter Bunny is not a very fun Easter Bunny, in a traditional sense. The LeMar kids get one chocolate bunny each, but the rest of their basket will be filled with art supplies. The Easter Bunny pilfered the Crayola aisle, of course, but also snagged some fun paintbrushes, sketch books, five big bottles of glitter-infused tempera paint, and naked wooden picture frames. Stickers, too, of course. And she has a few other things up her sleeve for Sunday morning, including mixing cement and creating some garden stones for the backyard.

I also stopped in to Jo-Ann. Fifty-percent off all notions, and this girl uses lots of notions. I prefer glass-head pins, and for three little reasons (Sam, Ben, and Elizabeth), they seem to disappear. Poof. Just like that. So I needed more of those. And I treated myself to this while I was at it:

Those Stampington people. Crazy creative. I'm treating myself to a good read after class tonight. And Papa Murphy's (it's my "free time", these next 12 hours, and although I don't go as hog wild as some, I do allow a little craziness with the food).

Ben and I raked through the garden this afternoon. Now, the rake is about five times as large as my little fella, but he wanted to help Mom, so I let him try. He went back to his spade, though, and worked diligently to move scoops of dirt from one side of the yard to the other. My hyacinths and vinca are blooming. And we even dug up a few earthworms. Tiny ones, but fascinating nonetheless. All of my piles of garden rubbish are built up around the plantings right now, and I'm hoping that Grandpa Jerry owns a woodchipper that he wouldn't mind lending to an in-law in need. I could seriously run a mulch manufacturing outfit from my backyard, and that's only counting the branches dropped from my neighbor's rather bountiful (and quite dying) walnut trees.

Costco has a big ugly Eco-Composter on sale next week, and I might actually spring for it if I can find a place to conceal it (Jodie would be so proud of me!). The Habitat For Humanity Re-Store also carries Earth Machine composters, which aren't quite as ugly and whose purchase benefits more than my Costco account. Here in West Des Moines, yard waste must be placed in bio-degradable bags. You buy them in bundles of five at the supermarkets. If they aren't Metro Waste Authority bags, then you have to buy Compost It! stickers for the store brand bags. Gail calls them "extortion stickers". I couldn't agree more.

This summer, though, West Des Moines actually has a new program: buy a container for $100 and a season pass for $100 more, and you can just forgo the bags and stickers.

What. A deal.

Although I totally understand the reasoning behind keeping yard waste separate from recyclables and regular trash, it's almost too much to keep up with all the rules. Why not chuck it all into a big black bug-looking contraption and make my own dirt? Could be fun, right?

Off to order my sinful pizza and then off to be beaten into shape by the "Fitness Nazi". She's this spunky little sadist in charge of Friday Fitness Kickboxing. She looks so sweet and charming. Until she starts barking orders. When she's in charge, I nearly pass out by the end of class. But you know what? I rather like that feeling. Once I make it home and reflect on it while soaking in a bath hot enough to numb my poor body into a muscle coma, that is.

I complain, but it's all in jest. I'm loving this. Next Saturday is our Five-Week Assessment. I already know I can perform in the sit-ups. Now it's just a matter of running that mile, running it the entire distance, and shutting out the thought that I have to walk somewhere along the route or I will surely die. That's the hardest thing for me, and I'm sort of excited to see if I can actually make it happen when it counts.

I just wish I could exchange the run for a 30-mile bike ride. Even 100 miles, I hate running so much. But apparently they don't allow exchanges.

Dang it.

Junk solution FOUND

2009-04-08T12:13:00.003-05:00

Leave it to local creative diva, Michele Beschen. She's been making regular appearances on the Rachael Ray show, and it seems I missed the most recent episode (or maybe it hasn't aired yet? I am a clueless one.). However, the web rescues me again:

Window Shelves

I rescued a few more windows during our recent Spring Cleanup, two HUGE square double panes painted a lovely shade of mint green and two rectangle single panes painted white about a hundred and two times. I was thinking of them as painting surfaces, but I really like the shelf idea so much better. I know I have some brackets around here somewhere, but I know I can figure something out. Maybe some pretty chain and a DROPDOWN shelf, hmmmmm? All I know is I really have to finish my not-so-little website redesign project so I can get to work with all of my new old treasures. It's killing me to keep away from the workshop!

And it's pathetic how many in-progress projects I have in this house. My walls are pitifully bare. They need some art.

P.S. Who knew about those jewelry armoires? Repurposed for the kitchen AND the garage? LOVE IT!

P.S.S. Now if I can just find a really cool idea for the springs I mentioned the other day. They're about five inches in diameter, taper toward the middle, then expand to about three inches in diameter at the top. Quite unique. Right now, I'm thinking art dolls of my family. But I'm sure if I avoid work a bit longer and waste more time on Google, I can find something much more inspiring.

P.S.S.S.S.S.S. My Mom is totally dying over there. How could she have raised a kid who plays with garbage?

DIY Walnut Ink

2009-04-07T18:35:00.004-05:00

This stuff is all the rage in altered art, and Tim Holtz has a lock on the market. But our neighbor has a huge walnut tree along our fence line, so it makes no sense for me to buy walnut ink. What's a DIY girl to do? Make it herself! DUH!

I actually found this recipe in an American Girl book at the IRLC book sale a few weeks ago, and even though the book was only a dollar, I couldn't justify bringing yet another book into the house just for a walnut ink recipe. Hooray for the World Wide Web! I found the following recipe on Historic New England:

Walnut Ink

Materials
Shells from 8 walnuts
Small strainer
Kitchen towel
Small bowl
Hammer
Small saucepan
½ tsp vinegar
½ tsp salt
1 cup water
Small jar with lid

Instructions

Fold the towel in half and place the walnut shells into the center of the folded towel. Use the hammer to crush the shells in the towel.
Place the crushed shells into the small saucepan. Add the water.
Heat the walnuts and water on a stove until the mixture boils. Lower the heat and continue to gently boil (simmer) the mixture for 45 minutes. The water will turn dark brown.
After 45 minutes, turn off the heat and let the mixture cool for 15 minutes.
With an adult helping, pour the mixture through the strainer into the small bowl.
Add the vinegar and salt to the mixture and stir until the salt is dissolved.
Pour your walnut ink into a small jar. This ink dries very quickly, so keep the ink jar tightly covered when you are not using it. Note: Walnut ink stains fingers and cloth, please be careful when you use it.

How fun is that? No more trips to Michael's when I need a fix of vintage color. Just a quick trip to my backyard. And I don't even need an adult's help...I AM the adult in this recipe.

Ben and I went to Jordan Creek Mall this morning for some playtime. We arrived before the rest of the crowd, and we were one of three families there at 9:00 am. Three families, but NINE CHILDREN. Yes, that's right, NINE CHILDREN! A couple pulled in with a five-seater stroller, two sets of twins and three singles, the oldest not even in kindergarten. It made me tired just to see them. Furthermore, the parents emitted this happy vibe that was just contagious. They obviously enjoy parenthood. I wanted to give them a high-five or something, but (a) I'm sure they get that all the time, and (b) I'm Iowan again, and I realize how little Iowans like to have their personal space violated. When they were leaving, though, a mall-walker did stop them, her jaw practically on the floor from seeing all of those babies, and the father stopped to chat while the mother, very purposefully and nearly oblivious to adult human contact, steered that tremendous stroller towards the parking lot.

I was so proud of Ben, too. SOOOO many babies crawling around that play area within a half hour after we arrived, and my dear Ben made sure he didn't frighten or stomp on any of them. He looked down before going down any slide, making sure the coast was clear.

What a sweetie-pie. :)

Elizabeth is absolutely on Cloud Nine because Coach Chapman is in charge of soccer practice next Tuesday. Joel called me from work to tell me that he'd just set it up. Coach Chapman told E in P.E. today, and I'm not sure how we're going to make it to next week! Rob Chapman is the coach of the West Des Moines Valley High girls' soccer team, the same team that's reigned as state champions for the past five years. He's a big deal to little soccer players hoping to someday be a part of that team, too. E even took her new soccer ball to school last week for Coach Chapman's autograph.

Sam is keeping Ben company with a mega art project in the family room. It involves tons of paper (we kill many trees around here). But it's sweet to see how he takes care of his little brother. It's rare behavior, but all the more precious when you see it happening.

Went to the early FXB resistance training session today, sore as ever since I'm "moving up bands", as required. We use Spri Xertubes in class, yellow being for beginners, purple for advanced. I'm in the green/red/blue range right now, and I'm good with that. Lower body isn't as rough as upper body for me. I thought I was much stronger in my arms from toting around toddlers all these years, but those folks at Farrell's introduce you to muscles that you didn't know existed on your person. Today was lower body, so although I won't be able to walk up the stairs to bed tonight without physically lifting each of my legs onto each step, it will eventually all pay off.

Don't be too impressed, but I ride my bike to the gym, too. Why not be impressed? Because the gym is less than five blocks away from my house. It takes longer to get in my car, drive, and park. Plus, you know how I'm practically as green as Al Gore. OK, maybe not *that* green...after all, I don't currently have access to a chauffeured limousine that I leave idling in the middle of summer to maintain a comfortable air-conditioned temperature while I'm inside the U.N. telling the rest of the world to conserve energy, but I'm trying. I really am trying...

More junk

2009-04-06T18:00:00.002-05:00

(Shhh...don't tell Joel. He thinks it's a bad habit.)

It's a rare quiet moment. Joel took the kids to Sam's baseball practice, and in fifteen minutes I hit Farrell's for my Monday dose of kickboxing. I'm playing catch-up with my water before class because today I've been neglectful of my hydration. Too busy deconstructing my junk!

I've had this gorgeous little oak chair sitting in the basement for about two years now. It's very fragile, and I'd already ripped out the seat and cushion. Now, normally, I don't thrift anything upholstered, but this chair was just too special. It looks like it may actually have been handcarved. I just couldn't bear to NOT buy it. It's rather old because the seat was stuffed with kapok, and you just don't see that much anymore. Hundreds of tacks are testament to the fact that someone tried to rescue it several times over the years.

Plus, it has cute little wooden wheels on the legs. A very nice old-time feature for which I am a complete and total sucker.

Joel targeted it for disposal during our Spring Cleanup day last week, but I begged him to let me turn it into something. So, today, I cut out the five huge springs still tied to the seat. They're very sturdy, and I can totally see them as the foundation for some altered project. I lovingly removed every single remaining tack keeping the webbing on the seat and back, and I ripped off the legs. Now I'm left with a curvy carved chair back...I'm thinking some sort of towel rack or other hanger or display. Joel just stared at me and my pieces, saying, "I'm glad you're creative, because I just don't see that."

I also ripped apart a Windsor chair into its spindles. LOTS of spindles on those Windsors. I was flipping through an old copy of Somerset Memories this weekend and spotted a project that used spindles very much like these. The artwork was strung onto them with ribbon. Adorable. Now, totally doable by me for totally no money.

I ripped apart a bunch of silk flowers I've been unable to part with, removing the blooms and leaves from their plastic stems. No use for the stems, although I could have probably stripped off the plastic and used the wire for something, but that just makes me tired thinking of it. I have a box full of pretties now for collage.

My little craft workshop, ahem, STUDIO, is really taking shape. I was sorting some more things out, making room for my new old components, and I wanted so badly to stay there and make things. But I have a website to redo, and I promise myself I can't play until that's finished. April 15 is my deadline. April 15 is always a good deadline, don't you think?

Cleaning, au naturel

2009-04-05T19:11:00.005-05:00

I got to escape to one of my favorite places, the Urbandale Library, for a couple of hours Saturday afternoon. Of course, I filled my tote bag to the brim and wound up carrying a few more must-reads in my arms. I'm quite a sight hobbling up to the checkout counter, but at least it's an easier trek now that I'm all buff and such. I picked up several goodies, notably Sweater Surgery(oh so many cute bags and doodads from lowly sweaters...can't wait to give some a try, because many of you know how many desperate sweaters I've rescued from Goodwill) and
Green Up Your Cleanup. I borrowed the latter book last summer, but never really took the time to delve into all of the cleaner recipes. Well, with sloppy snow falling steadily all day today and no incentive to go out this afternoon, I got to play.

I half-heartedly gave the whole natural cleaning thing a try the first time I read this book. But I have to admit that it's rather painful to give up Comet. I have a thing for bleach. One of my fondest childhood memories is climbing into the bathtub, still a little gritty from the Comet cleansing Mom had given it earlier in the day. Knowing my Mom, it was like that nearly every day. She cleaned constantly. And it wasn't lost on her kids!

Some kids grow up to be comfort eaters. I'm a comfort cleaner. Fewer calories, but more carcinogens.

I've had my steam washer and dryer for a few months now, and I rarely find the need to add Clorox to the wash anymore.

Baby steps.

So today, I grabbed one of the large yogurt containers I stash in the basement for craft projects or other various secondary uses. Tossed in a few tablespoons of baking soda, a big squirt of Dr. Bronner's (rose is my favorite), sealed the top and shook up my Comet-substitute. I was skeptical of using this stuff to clean a bathroom, but you know what? Works beautifully! The secret is that you have to wipe the paste all over the surface (countertop, shower, tub, shower door, etc.), wait a few minutes, then spray it all down with vinegar. I don't necessarily enjoy the smell of vinegar, but it does dissipate quickly and you do need this step to break down the baking soda and eliminate grit.

Eliminate my beloved grit. But since this is baking soda grit and not Comet grit, then it's not as traumatic.

And what's the worst thing that can happen to my children if I miss a spot when rinsing down the tub? They'll smell like salad. Much better than growing an arm out of their back. Not that I know anything about that as a child of a Compulsive Cleaner, but I'm just sayin'...

This stuff also works swimmingly on my glass cooktop. Since I haven't yet gotten the timing down on boiling the milk for my oatmeal, this has become a morning ritual.

And one last hint from a Heloise-wannabe: microfiber cloths. Buy LOTS of them. I find the best-quality ones at the auto supply stores. Plus, they come in huge packs of different colors. And yes, I color-code my cleaning cloths. Orange for the kitchen, blue for the bathroom, green for toilets. Even though I have a Sanitary setting on my washing machine and an Anti-Bacterial setting on my dryer, and I use them more than I probably need to, I don't think anyone would want to wash dishes with the same rags they used to clean toilets, right?

Ew.

Toilet-cleaning. I have my secrets, but that's for another day. Let's just say toilet brushes are disgusting, and I don't own one. Me and the toilets go mano-a-mano with the green rags and, yes, Comet (old habits die hard). I wear gloves. That's all you need to know for now.

DeWalt, you are my homeboy

2009-03-31T23:44:00.003-06:00

One of the best purchases Joel ever made was a real corded drill, not one of those rechargeable doohickies, but the kind that pulls power from an outlet. Hours of unlimited tool time! Which came in quite handy today when Ben and I tackled my "art studio" renovation.

The previous owner of our house was a stained glass artist, and when we first toured the house I was envious of her workspace in the basement. Stained glass debris must really set a place off, though, because my piles of unfinished projects just weren't doing it for me anymore. It's a small workbench, nestled between the deep freeze and the water softener/sump pump/hot water heater. Glamour defined. But it has potential, and it's a great place to make a mess, replete with sturdy surfaces that are meant for nothing else but to be painted on, soldered over, and otherwise damaged.

We made a lot of progress today, mainly clearing off the workbench and moving my paints to a newly installed wall shelf. I also have a place for my soldering tools, which need some love and attention. I have that super-cute Sally Jean Alexander robin's egg blue soldering iron, and I feel a little sad when I see it sitting on a shelf, almost begging me to make something. ANYTHING! And then my incomplete collage projects. So, so sad. But, hey, at least all of my tools are easily accessible now. And I did manage to bring up some items for our Spring Clean-up day, too.

Then I had to go around the corner to my craft room and see all the unfinished projects calling out to me in there, too.

Ben and I walked upstairs, turned off the light, and closed the door.

Tomorrow is another day.

Probably not a day filled with creativity in the basement, but another day nonetheless.

Look at me, I'm bloggin', I'm bloggin'!

2009-03-30T21:08:00.003-06:00

West Des Moines thought they'd discourage people like me by moving Spring Clean-Up from June to March. Sure, June offered more daylight for junkers, but serious junkers are undeterred from darkness.

Or we just wait for the period between daybreak and pickup.

Valley Junction, the oldest part of town, was on tap this morning. Treasure. Trove. I spotted a few antique doors, complete with knobs. I really wanted the knobs to use as hooks, but I didn't have any dismantling tools with me. I have a thing for old wood windows, too, and I snagged a couple of those for future painting projects. I found some discarded shelf organizers (perfect to slide over the shelf under the workbench in my "studio") and an old metal flat of some sort (another organizing find). Just rusty enough to make me smile. A few pieces of corrugated tin, too, that I just know I'll have some use for down the road. Really, Joel, I just KNOW!

The best finds of the day, though, were a discarded dresser mirror frame and an antique oak chest. The frame is curvy, feminine, and HUGE. I immediately thought "bulletin board for E". She insists on breaking the cardinal rule of painted walls in the house of a descendant of Tom Rice: affixing her artwork with Scotch tape. This puppy, when completed, will take up most of her "art wall", so she will have no choice but to use pushpins. Or tape, if she chooses. All I have to do is get cork cut to the shape of the backer board on the frame and paint the dickens out of it. E's requested some spatter paint like I do on my collages, so I'm really looking forward to going hog wild! Oh, and the other thing? That antique oak chest? It's in pretty sad shape: the top is split in two and it has only one drawer. But that drawer is curved, and just too cute. All I have to do is repair that split top, of course, and cut out some surfaces to divide the empty drawer spaces into shelves. It's sturdy as heck, and it will be lovely after I give it some TLC.

After Fitness Kickboxing (yes, I'm using official terms now...afterall, it's Week Three and time to be serious!), E begged to go junking. I can't deny that of her, so off we went in the dark. What did we find tonight? Well, first, more old windows. (What is with me and old windows? REALLY?!?!?!?) These were pretty large, split in two long panes, and painted an adorable shade of green. Snagged two. Then we hit the jackpot. A Singer sewing machine table, complete with the sewing machine and original instructions tucked inside. Do I need a sewing machine? No. But it was sitting there on the curb asking me to take it home and love it. It's in perfect condition, almost like it had never been used, and it had to be mine. Or, in reality, E's. Now she can have something all her own to sew instead of making her mother nervous on the computerized machine.

There is craft time in our near future. I can sense it.

On the way home, we picked up an old school desk for Ben. We have an entire art outfit in the basement, but there's nothing like a sturdy old (and free) school desk of your very own. They can take so much abuse. If I find two more tomorrow, I promised Joel I'd junk the Little Tikes art desk in the playroom on our Spring Clean-Up day.

More junk on the horizon tomorrow. It's one of those art things, I think. I love dreaming of the possibilities of discarded things. I've always thought that things have lives of some sort, that having something means that it's touched your life or means something to you. Even the things we throw away. Maybe that antique chest I rescued today was made by someone a hundred years ago and was part of their family for so many years, so well-loved that it wound up being overloved to the point that they could no longer see any use for it. I'd bet that school desk could tell a few stories about the children who sat at it long ago, learning how to spell or practicing their penmanship. And windows. Those are something special to me. They speak to me in so many ways. They were part of a home for many years, through which the people who lived there watched rain fall and snow blow and flowers grow. (It's late, I'm waxing poetic, humor me!)

And then there's this other side of me now, the oatmeal-eating, roundhouse-kicking side. I am really loving the fitness part of life that I mocked for so long. It's fun not feeling so matronly. It's fun to know I will be able to kick someone's "ya-know" in seven more weeks. It's fun to achieve sit-ups after bearing three children. And I'm looking forward to the moment I finally push through this running issue I have and actually ENJOY running again. I feel more awake and alive than ever, even when I was a young buck (or, rather, that would be "doe").

I get the opportunity to do another run after Resistance Training tomorrow night. You see, 6:30 does homework after each class, we just don't rush out the door into the safety of our cars. Tonight, it was 75 push-ups, 50 sit-ups and a plank. I still have to work in 25 more push-ups, 50 more sit-ups, 100 crunches and two more planks before class tomorrow. That would have slaughtered me three weeks ago.

Today? BRING IT ON. :)

Life is so short. Spend time engaged in it. Don't sweat the things you can't control. I honestly believe that everything will take care of itself. I see so much fret and worry, and while we haven't been *too* adversely affected by the recession (yet...hopefully, NEVER), I have no control over the whims of commerce. All I can do is live responsibly and fully and happily. I'm hoping you all choose to do the same, too.

Fitness FREAK!

2009-03-23T20:58:00.009-06:00

If you ever have the opportunity to do anything like what I'm doing now...

...DO IT!

One week in, and I can't believe I'm already doing double-digit quantities of sit-ups (well, I still have to do them with my arms extended and not folded over my chest, but it's certainly an improvement over last week). And I'm far more into the kickboxing part than I ever would have believed.

Punching stuff is amazingly cathartic.

I even spilled blood.

Just a little. I was SO into the kicking and punching that I didn't even notice that I was bleeding through my little right sock. Ouch. But they have Band-Aids, so it must happen somewhat often.

I'm just such a delicate little flower.

I even had enough oom-pah-pah to ride bikes with Elizabeth over to the Urbandale Library and back. Sure, we stopped at Dahl's to grab Zone Perfect bars. But we cleared 12.1 miles and enjoyed some well-deserved Girl Time. Poor thing, though, E needs a new bike DESPERATELY. We're just shuffling between 20" and 24" (she has an eensy-weensy 16" bike now). I'm just so set on having all my options that we've been shopping for one for a few weeks now. Our first bike ride of the year, though, brought the point home all the more clearly. Time for Mom to make a decision, already!

I look forward to Sam getting on a bike, too. He's just not motivated. Maybe if Joel gets a bike, we'd become the Swiss Family LeMar (inside joke!). Ben is happiest when Mom totes him in the trailer. Heck, I don't blame him. I wish I could ride in there, too. Cup holders, protection from wind and rain. And someone doing all the pedaling for me.

Rock on.

I've been inflicting the Glycemic Index lifestyle on my poor family. One week, and I'm converted. I had my weekly McDonald's fix on Saturday as well as a little caramel corn, and it didn't taste very good at all. And I woke up on Sunday morning with a nausea-inducing headache. While I have to pay attention and plan more, I'm rather sold on the idea of avoiding that sort of pain.

And I get to eat every two to three hours. That's not half-bad.

I've been cooking up a few recipes from Living the G.I. (Glycemic Index) Diet
by Rick Gallop. I finally learned how to cook oatmeal so I can actually choke it down. And we've enjoyed the lasagna, omelets, and steak fettucine so far. I'm making yogurt cheese in the refrigerator right now, although I'm not quite sure what I'll do with it. And I've been dehydrating fruit like a crazy woman for quick snacks (it's the only way I can seem to eat pears). Insanely enough, I've been chowing down on organic sunflower kernels.

If you still have a daily newspaper out there (The Des Moines Register shrinks on a daily basis), you may have noticed that Principal Financial Group slashed all salaries Friday, effective immediately. Here we go again (remember Born?). Joel was hopping mad, holding himself back just enough to avoid throwing his chair out the window. He works so hard, he does such an amazing job, and after his best review ever he was denied a raise. A few short weeks later, and he's rewarded with a "negative" raise, I suppose. Thankfully, we're prudent people and have money in the bank. For whatever that's worth these days.

But we've both had it. This may be just about the dumbest thing we've ever done, but we're done buying Principal stock and we're done contributing to 401(k), at least for now. Last year, after contributing like good little boys and girls, we finally recouped the value of that vanished during the dot com bust. Seriously. Things must be really bad if I can be convinced to stop throwing money in the retirement toilet. We just received a notice from Vanguard today telling us that retirement account holders like us are being booted from their Federal Money Market Fund account and into an un-Federally-insured account. We use that account as our sweep account, basically for capturing our dividends before they're automatically reinvested, but it's now considered too risky.

Money markets? TOO RISKY? SERIOUSLY?

Joel and I are very disciplined at self-deprivation. Now we just get more time to practice. I wonder when Congress will determine that we have more than our fair share and it's necessary to tax it at 90%? That's when I'll know that we've finally made it.

Better log off before The Big Storm knocks out my Internet. It's already messing with the satellite. Joel and I were watching "Chelsea Lately" (the one time we actually were watching it live), but now we have to watch "Glenn Beck" on Tivo. Glenn Beck and all his tears. And it seems his Financial Crisis Jenga.

Two days in...

2009-03-18T13:12:00.003-06:00

...and I'm still alive! It's really not that bad. Not if you dismiss my total lack of coordination. Kickboxing was absolutely hilarious Monday night. I have to admit that it's quite satisfying to beat the living heck out of an inanimate object for the sake of fitness. But I have quite a way to go in actually making that beating more "living heck" and less "what the heck?".

Last night, I participated in my first resistance training session. I've got "muscle failure" down to a science. It seems that failing is what my muscles do best! But that's a good thing. It's just not very pretty to watch. I do have to say, though, that I'm really enjoying myself so far, a whole entire three days into my fitness quest. The staff is encouraging, and they expect you to do well. No whining allowed.

Good thing, 'cause I hate whining!

Although I don't need to lose weight, I *do* need to eat more nutritious food. So I started the FXB "plan" this week, too. It's basically a Glycemic Index program. Total common sense. It involves eating lots of beans (which I love, and Joel insists is the mark of a crazy person), veggies and fruits, oats, rice, basically anything that's as unprocessed as possible. Oceans of water, too (I have a few 1/2-gallon containers to tote around with me throughout the day). I've foregone my daily dose of Multigrain Cheerios for good old-fashioned oatmeal, the kind you actually cook on the stove. After my peaches-and-oatmeal elimination diet horrors, I never thought I'd actually like the taste of the stuff again. But I must be cooking it the right way because I actually look forward to it in the morning. I cooked up some Tuscan White Bean soup for lunch, replete with beans, of course, and carrots and spinach and garlic. Totally my kind of thing!

This also involves, horrors of ALL horrors, giving up Dr. Pepper. My two-a-day habit for the past ten years. Finito. I was terrified, thinking I'd hallucinate or pass out or something! But, no, I'm fine. Actually, I feel AWESOME. For the past I-don't-know-how-long, I've been waking up with a splitting headache. Then the ensuing head rush on top of that by the time I reach the stairs. I'm usually hungry and grumpy and just not facing the world with both feet forward. Not anymore. I cannot believe it. No headaches. No grumpiness (unless you ask the kids...to them, I am always grumpy...that darn grumpy woman who limits their video game time, that is!). Since I had my gall bladder removed in October, I've been having icky feelings in my tummy, probably due to all that sugar. Tummy problems? GONE. In the span of three days of paying more attention to what I put in my mouth I feel remarkably different. This might not work for everyone, especially if you think you can only survive on white bread and chocolate cake! But it's been just about the easiest thing I've ever done, health-wise, for myself. Golden!

I'm so excited about the next ten weeks. REALLY. This is definitely the kick in the pants I need to get back in the game. Not that I was ever playing the game, but I just feel like throwing out the odd sports metaphor.

In other news, my Cousin Beth mustered up the guts to contact another cousin, Genie. Genie and Beth and I all share the same ancestors, William and Elizabeth Hushman Rice. Beth found photos of Genie among her mother's things, and after a little Googling, I got a little goosebump-y to discover that Genie has a brick on the Plaza of Heroines at Iowa State University. As does my Aunt Marcia, Genie's cousin. "It's just a couple of bricks!", you say? Yes, it's just a couple of bricks. A couple of bricks on the way into my Cousin Dianne's office in the Catt Center. Dianne, Marcia's daughter, is the Director, Catt Center For Women and Politics. Interestingly enough, too, Genie's son is an ISU alumnus.

Yes, Iowa's a tiny place. But my Grandpa Ross left his hometown, Davenport, in the 1920's, raising his family in eastern Nebraska. Dianne worked for years at The University of Oklahoma, returning to Iowa in 1997. It's just a wonder how things come full-circle. Genie has some vivid memories of the clan in Davenport, and I can't wait for her to fill in so many of the missing pieces.

It's Spring Break, and I don't hear any screaming. Endured a huge fit this morning, courtesy of Ben and Sam and Nintendo DS. But that's all subsided now. At least until right before Joel comes home from work. We're due for another catastrophe any minute here. God love 'em, my little Tasmanian devils. Poor Elizabeth and her lack of solitude. She did manage to author "Imagine You're a Cat" this morning, editing and publishing to boot. I know I'm her mother and all, but I do have to say that she's got a way with words. I keep telling her she paints pictures with her words because, well, that's what she does. She's very good with the adjectives and active verbs. She would make Mrs. Schulenberger very proud!

Life as a fat skinny person

2009-03-15T21:46:00.003-06:00

Well, not fat. But definitely flabby in places.

(Which reminds me of a magnet my Grandma Ruth hung on her freezer door for years: a foam sheep with "Ewe's not fat, ewe's just fluffy" written on it. I still get a kick out of that. Wonder where it ended up?)

Anywhooooo, I started Farrell's eXtreme Bodyshaping Saturday, semi-officially. Friday, technically. Friday was when I had my "before" picture taken. Wore the two-piece I last wore 12 years ago on our honeymoon. I haven't had the nerve (or the abs) to break it out since Elizabeth was born. But this was for a "before" picture, so I braved it.

Saturday, we were measured and weighed and otherwise assessed. I wasn't horrified. I wasn't even a little disappointed. I was right where I thought I would be. And if I make progress after ten weeks in the they way I want to make progress, I'll share those numbers at that time.

But I *DO* have to share the results of my sit-ups assessment. FIVE. Yes, I can do FIVE sit-ups in one minute. It was crazy. I could feel my brain yelling at my body, telling it what to do. But I couldn't feel a single thing in my mid-section. It's almost like I have NO muscles at all, whatsoever, in any way, shape or form there. Which is impossible, because I do walk upright, after all. I tried and tried and tried, but no dice. I could only squeeze out a measly five.

And that's being generous.

Push-ups, though? I could do those all day long. Carrying around three not-so-little ones will do that for you. Lucky I did the push-ups assessment first, though, or I would have had such a sour attitude going into the sit-ups.

Five sit-ups. I still can't believe myself.

We also ran one mile. The gym is only two blocks away from our house, so I knew the route. I just get so, well, FRIGHTENED of running. I ran track (somewhat) in high school, for about a season and a half. I have a serious mental issue with it. First of all, I'm generally uncoordinated. So I worry I'll be mistaken for a person who escaped her padded cell and some Good Samaritan will feel compelled to return me to the nearest facility. Then, we were running along one of the busiest streets in West Des Moines, so the chances of being picked up were that much greater. I did it, though, in a half-ass 11:59. Good grief.

But this is why I signed up, right?

They told us 70% of the program is nutrition. Six meals a day. Glycemic Index. All the things I love to eat already, but no Dr. Pepper. Good proteins, good carbs. (Oh, dear, I'm beginning to sound like my dear sweet Joel who refers to foods by their chemical makeup!). I'm all over that.

The other 30% is resistance training with bands and kickboxing. This will be hilarious. As for the bands, after I get started I just know everyone in my class will be wearing helmets because of me by the end of the week. As for the kickboxing, I have a spiffy new pair of gloves that make me feel like a kangaroo. Hopefully this will only help find that latent morsel of coordination that I just know HAS to exist somewhere deep inside my inner being. Or inner ear, I think. And I hope I don't injure anyone in the meantime.

Needless to say, I'm rather sore today. But that's good. It only hurts when I move. And "pain is weakness leaving the body." Saw that on a t-shirt at the gym yesterday. That would be so much better wrapped in a Chuck Norris fact.

I sound like such a whiner, but that betrays what I'm really feeling: excitement. REALLY! I'm so looking forward to some discipline. I don't do well without a goal and someone or something holding me to that goal. I'm not looking to become Ms. Universe. I just want to be fit and healthy and mostly un-tired. If we're just talking about dress size, I'm cool with Size 8. But what if what I *think* is my dress size really isn't my dress size? What if I'm a fat skinny person?

(And why do I muse about this when I rarely ever wear a dress?)

Ten weeks, and I'll find out. As long as I have a regimen, it's on. After all, I ate nothing but peaches and unprocessed oatmeal for six weeks at one point in my life. That wasn't for me, that was for Sam, who the pediatrician told me wasn't tolerating something in my breast milk so I should try an elimination diet. Yep, elimination is the word, all right. Peaches and unprocessed oatmeal eliminate pretty much any joy in eating meals. But I did it because it needed to be done. Sam was my motivation then.

And Sam and E and Ben are my motivation now. Joel, too. And it seems I'm Joel's motivation to get back into his routine, too. It's all crazy motivation-istic up in here!

By the way, anyone know where I can score a good deal on a 20-pound bag of short-grain brown rice? That's a good carb!

Megan Joy? Oy!

2009-03-12T10:12:00.003-06:00

Elizabeth is sincerely addicted to "American Idol". Good thing or bad thing? I play my Responsible Mother card, and we only sit down to watch after our daily requirement of reading and tidying up. Truth be told, I look forward to watching with her, shouting at the TV and all. She gets VERY animated!

And boy, did she get animated after last night's episode. I think Megan Joy is absolutely beautiful, but can she sing? OK, sort of. But she looks SO uncomfortable on stage that it makes ME uncomfortable. Sorta like watching a car wreck. Had the same feeling about Anoop (Joel even covered his eyes during his "Beat It" performance), but that was mostly because you can envision no one but The Gloved One himself singing that song. Megan Joy's "Rockin' Robin" took me back to junior high school...I was just as awkward in everyday life as she was singing that song. If only I were that much of a looker when I was 12...maybe I wouldn't have been picked on for being such a square peg?

It's freezing cold here again today...the sun says its spring, makes you think you can run outside in your flip-flops. But think again. It's 17 degrees right now. That's bitter, even for March. I do see flocks of plump robins pecking at the ground, so spring WILL arrive here soon. I just know it.

I started knitting again! YAY! I know a certain couple (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!) with a little bun in the oven (SSSHHHH! It's still a not-very-closely-guarded secret!), and I knew I'd better get on the sticks now because it will probably take me nine months to finish. All I can say is that Little Bun will have a cozy off-white cotton blanket to come home in. As soon as you find out whether Little Bun will be pink or blue, I'll get cracking on some booties and caps and sweaters. I promise they won't be dorky, even though you know how much I like my dorky vintage patterns!

I have this thing, though, that I never set off knitting without at least one major goof. Last night, I cast on 212 stitches for this blanket. I took the time to mark off the stitches in increments of 10 so I knew for sure that I'd have the required amount for the rest of the pattern (although I have been known to sneak an increase or decrease in that first row of knitting...nobody knows but me, but it does bother the heck out of me, so I try to avoid doing that). I happily knit along, oh, about 190 stitches until I realized I was knitting with the tail end of the yarn, not the end coming from the ball of yarn. And I didn't have enough of the tail left to finish those last 22 stitches.

ARGH!

I didn't want to lose my cast-on, so I "un-knit" all of those stitches, getting me back to Square Two instead of all the way back to Square One.

At the very least, I can now say I've had my one allowable major goof for this project. No more mistakes imminent.

I hope.

Tomorrow is the big day! I'm going to don a two-piece and be photographed for my "before" picture. I do have to say I was rather happy I could still fit into my two-piece...I haven't worn it since our honeymoon nearly 12 years ago. I still wouldn't feel good about wearing it to the pool, though. There are ALOT of mothers there who somehow ROCK their two-pieces.

All I can believe is that their kids must be adopted.

Although I do know of some mothers who've gone the surgical route to make their tummies spring back into shape.

But that's way too vain for me. And I'd rather suffer through ten weeks of body bootcamp anyway.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? I just need a serious kick in the behind to jump start some regular physical activity. Joel has been quite the role model over the past few years, getting up five days a week at 4:30 in the morning to head to the gym and lift weights (he loves) or run on the treadmill (he hates). I could get away with doing nothing at all...I've been blessed with "lazy genes" that don't require cholesterol management or the like. Joel DESPISES that, but I realize that even with these genes I'm going to run out of luck as I get older. I'd better start preparing. Ladies in my family live way beyond the average lifespan, and I'd plan on walking into my 100's. Heck, maybe even RUNNING into my 100's, if I get disciplined.

Let's face it: I can only count laundry basket runs up and down the stairs so many times as "exercise". Even I don't believe that anymore.

And no "before" picture for you until I have the "after" picture.

Playtime for Mommy!

2009-03-09T10:16:00.009-06:00

I was so nervous to actually take an art class...it's been, oh, what, 25 years? I still fondly remember my trips to the Sioux City Art Center, the kneaded gum eraser, and the oil pastels that were my very own. I felt so authentic.

So, yesterday, I finally made the trip back to class, "Collage on Vintage Surface", to be exact, taught by Brandie Butcher-Isley. It was the perfect day to stay warm and cozy inside making art since it was rain-slushing outside! It was completely laid-back, and Brandie generously let us pick through her ephemera collection. Here I was in a place where I was encouraged to make art from what is essentially garbage, cut photos, rip stuff, and slop paint over it all.

Heaven. Absolute heaven.

Here is my first go at collage is a very long time...the last time I did anything like this was in junior high, I think, and back then I only used magazines and a glue stick, so this is entirely something different:

The background is a 5x7 cover of a book I thrifted at the Iowa Right to Life book sale last September (anxiously awaiting the next installment...now that I have a purpose for my book hoarding, I mean, RESCUE, habit). I painted clear gesso on the cover and coated it with blue paint. I didn't really like it as it was, so I went to rub some down and it wound up rubbing OFF. AND I LOVED IT! Red is my favorite color, and I think I was a bit bummed that I covered up all the fabulous red on the book cover. Brandie suggested I make a place for Grandma to sit, like a hill or a swing. "Hill" seemed easier to me, so I ripped some lining paper from another old book for that and painted with green.

The single most important thing I learned? TOOTHBRUSHES ARE FOR MORE THAN JUST CLEAN TEETH. I've seen Brandie's work up close before (I posted about the pieces she created for my in-laws last year), and you would swear that there was some glitter in her pieces. Nope. That's splatter paint, as in splattered from a toothbrush. It adds sooooo much oom-pah-pah, it's unbelievable.

So then I picked out a few pieces of ephemera from Brandie's stash...I don't like the hard edges you get from tearing dry paper, even though they're better than straight-up scissor-cutting. So I dipped the paper in water and then tore it. I laid it down with fluid matte medium and burnished the heck out of it to make it sort of melt into the background. The wet paper wears away in places, and I like it that way.

Brandie suggested a tree, so I painted one in white. I used some of her butterfly stamps and chocolate ink (no, don't eat it, it doesn't taste the same as the real thing), and she offered up yet another trick of the trade: stamp a fluffy brush into the ink and swirl it here and there to create shadows. Now, you'd think I would be able to do better shadows than this, considering all the time I've spent shadowing in digital to make things more realistic. But you know what? I really don't care. I sorta like the way the shadows add depth, even if not in the most realistic of places.

I cut apart a little silk flower into individual petals, dipped them in red fluid acrylic, and fashioned a little heart. I traced around Grandma with graphite, and when I got home, Elizabeth helped with the finishing touches, like tracing Grandma's shoelaces.

The only thing I regret is the fact that I globbed on those cool metal letters with so much gel medium. Oops. But you know what? Maybe I can rip those out with my trusty X-Acto and replace it with something else, like some of Brandie's vintage lined paper and some journaling.

OK, now for the symbolism...the text along the bottom reads, "Do not say anything". The text along the side reads, well, I don't remember exactly what it reads now...I messed it up but good! But it's along the lines of "unless it is true and kind". They were part of an exercise in a second-grade reader. "Do not say anything" represents the fact that Grandma was an illegitimate child; her mother never told her who her father was or even who he may be, and Gram's sisters wouldn't even speak of it. EVER. I've never known a single woman, much less a gaggle of them, who could keep a big secret like that for so many decades, much less a week. The calendar bits go along with this theme; Grandma only knew her birthday from her birth certificate, the birth certificate Gram got when she thought it was time for her daughter to start school. Grandma's birthday was August 12, 1920. Or thereabouts.

The wings and the heart represent the fact that, while Grandma was no saint, she had the most loving of hearts and she was able to "fly away" from the cruelty and neglect she experienced as a child. She had every right to be bitter and cruel herself, but she tried her best not to go that way. I'm still in awe that she cared for her same mother in her old age, the same woman who treated her so badly as a child. The times she grew up in were so different, though. People didn't talk about feelings and disappointments and regrets. I'm pretty sure Gram did indeed regret being a bad mother because she was a very indulgent grandmother to my Mom and aunts and a very willing enabler to her deadbeat nieces. But neither Grandma nor Gran ever apologized with words; they did it by deed. It's impossible to hold grudges against either one of them. They were tough ladies.

Last night, I still had the bug, so I tried to finish up a piece I barely started in class (and that probably made Brandie wonder, "WHAT THE?":

This one was sincerely messed up in class. It has a few layers of paint under the mess you see here. I couldn't get it right, and it was just about time to clean up and go home, so maybe I was stressing a bit. Dunno. But last night Elizabeth wanted to play, too, so we set ourselves up downstairs and let it go.

(That's the secret to all of this...LET IT GO!)

The background here is a 14x18 back of the scrapbook I bought at Found Things last fall. This was a little uncomfortable. I mean, the scrapbook is from 1883...do I really want to tear up something from 1883? Well, it IS sorta tearing up on its own, so that made my decision a bit easier. It's such a delicious surface, too, with embossing and so much texture. I heavily employed the old toothbrush here, and I used some plastic canvas overlaid with a heart stencil to add the red heart in the middle. I LOVE black and white...they add so much pop to whatever you add them to, so I had to put a few stripes here and there, sorta like a frame. I swirled on some white, blotted, swirled a bit more, blotted, etc.

The flowers are pressed daisies Elizabeth and I preserved this summer. I'd forgotten them in my flower press, and when I opened it up to see what was inside, I found that the daisies had pressed so beautifully but were downright fragile. Soft gel medium is very gentle on them, though. I love how they're almost transparent in places...they really blend into the surface well.

I used a paisley stamp with ink and then just ran it over the wet black and white stripes to make a total mess.

I like messes.

The swing is actually a tab from Joel's dry cleaning. I torn it in half and slapped it on. I stamped the swing ropes with jute soaked in black paint.

Now, for the story behind this one (that's the most important part, after all!). The little boy is my great-grandfather, James Gordon Forbes Robertson. He's related by marriage, not blood, but I always called him my Grandpa Jim. (I was a kid, I wasn't concerned with particulars.) The girl is Grandpa Jim's sister, Fanny. I don't exactly recall where this picture was found...it was either in or on Grandpa's desk, but regardless, how gorgeous is this girl? I don't recall seeing a smile like that or a braid like that in any picture I've ever seen from this era. It's precious, and she looks so happy and content in her world.

Sadly, Fanny died shortly after this picture was made. She had "female problems", which most likely meant she suffered a hemorrhage. She was only 14. The photo of my Grandpa Jim is actually from the front of a postcard he mailed to Fanny when she was in the hospital. I'm planning on copying the text from the postcard and layering it on at some point. There's much left to be done here.

I feel so energized now...I SO needed this boost. I'm dying to print some of my digital stuff on vintage paper, another suggestion from Brandie. I can really see all the things I love about creating coming together now. It's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

One last thing: I was worried, going into class, that I would be copying Brandie. I kinda see it among Kelly Rae Robert's admirers...lots of nodding pretty lady faces. They each look a *bit* different, sure, but still, there are too many similarities sometimes and it makes me uncomfortable. Brandie says, "You are never going to get inside my head." So there. Your art is in YOUR head, not in anyone else's. What you express is truly yours. Don't be afraid of it. You CAN'T copy an artist you admire, no matter how hard you try (well, unless you TRACE, but c'mon...). Your art is as unique as your fingerprint. Go forth and make some. :)

Should I go to eXtremes?

2009-03-07T11:56:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, I volunteered to tie-dye t-shirts with 100 or so first-graders. (And, yes, I am a crazy person.) I was on wringing-out-the-extra-water-and-bagging-in-a-Ziploc duty with another mother, and we started talking about how are husbands are fitness fiends. She runs, I avoid running in favor of the Trek. But we both are kicking around the idea of signing up for Farrell's eXtreme Bodyshaping. I'm not one of those girls who's constantly checking the condition of her backside in the hall mirror, but I could definitely use some strength. It's all the more obvious the older I get. Joel bounces around like a schoolkid when he returns from the gym (only to suffer for it later...old dudes are funny!), and I have to admit I do want some pep in my step. Maybe this would be just the push I need to get back to some sort of disciplined regime. The only part I don't look forward to are the before-and-after photos...I think they're required. I'm not as worried about my physique (do I even have one?) as I am about the corduroy belly skin I'm left with after three very large babies...

I drive by the darn building nearly every day. I should probably just get it the heck over with.

And then I will let you bounce quarters off my six-pack. Later, though, because I have to practice a sincerely pouty face and really bad posture for my before photo...

"Coraline" is freaky-deaky!

2009-02-09T09:53:00.023-06:00

Elizabeth and I enjoyed a girls' night out Friday. I whisked her away to the movies right after school, the 3-D premiere of "Coraline". We loaded up on Icees (FOUR BUCKS APIECE, for crying out loud!), donned the 3-D specs (which are infinitely fancier than the paper ones I remember), and settled in for what we both hoped would live up to our expectations.

We tried really, really, really hard, but it didn't.

I know it took FOREVER to make this movie, what with the stop-action photography and all. And E and I both enjoyed the soundtrack, which I believe was an assortment of creepy French lullabies. But the movie itself was disturbing. Most notably the buttons-for-eyes theme. Ick.

We dusted ourselves off and drowned our sorrows at The Cheesecake Factory, though, so the night wasn't a total loss.

It was a thirty-minute wait, so we camped out at the fireplace in the Food Court. Every teenager in the immediate area was in attendance at Jordan Creek Town Center. I got a big kick out of E's observations.

"Wow, look at all those crazy teenagers, Mom. I bet they're all on dates. Oh my gosh, Mom! That girl is wearing shorts, SHORT shorts! That's EMBARRASSING! Look, Mom, they're texting. ALL OF THEM. I won't be like that when I'M a teenager. I promise!"

You read it here first. E promises to defy genetics and spend her teen years as a responsible, well-dressed, polite and non-texting young adult. I tell her that teenagers are weird because that's just how they are, and it's OK because you eventually grow out of it. She doubts she'll ever grow into it in the first place. Which would be nice, I'm sure, for her parents. It's a very sweet sentiment, but I don't think you can avoid teen angst without a frontal lobotomy.

Our restaurant buzzer snapped us out of people-watching, and E got down to business by ordering a mega-omelet. Does The Cheesecake Factory serve un-mega portions of anything? She took a few tiny bites, and pushed the plate away.

"Still have room for some cheesecake?"

"YEAH!"

Wow, what a shock.

We partook of the Godiva chocolate cheesecake. Well, E did. Most of it. For someone who was supposedly full, she sure did wolf down dessert.

I've said it before: if sweets were nutritious, E would be the healthiest health nut of them all. Her sweet tooth awes me.

We rolled our cheesecaked selves to Barnes & Noble for a little browsing. I was hearing Mrs. Jaros' voice in my head, prodding me to push Elizabeth to the More Challenging Books section, but she skillfully meandered to the Disney Fairy shelf and picked up a copy of "Rosetta's Daring Day". And me, setting an excellent example, chose a stack of books from Crafts & Hobbies. And there we sat, mother and daughter, enjoying each others' company free of our noisy boys.

According to Joel, the boys were, well, NOISY! But they enjoyed pizza and ice cream at home, so no harm done.

We've been graced with beautiful weather for February. Saturday's high was 54 degrees! I had to get outside and get me some of that. So I decided it was time to bite the bullet and prune some trees. I grabbed my clippers and headed to the backyard. I intended to clean up our Japanese maples a bit...they're taller than they are wider, and they're supposed to be wider than they are taller. Armed with my limited knowledge of what I should and shouldn't cut, I started clipping away. Three hours later, I realized I'd forgotten gardening gloves. For the manly-looking things they are, my hands are actually quite delicate. Especially after three hours of hardcore pruning.

Let's just say I'm going through a lot of Band-Aids.

I don't know what in the world I'm supposed to do with the clippings. Yard waste pick-ups don't start until March, so I guess I keep the bags by the side of the house for a few weeks. Or maybe I call Grandpa Jerry and truck the stuff out to his place for some good old-fashioned burning?

TANGENT: Sam tells me today he likes the smell of fire. It reminds him of marshmallows. Should this scare me?

I'm going to stop being a chicken and sign up for an art class. This one in particular: Collage On Vintage Surfaces @ The Art Store. I'm chicken because I'm not a "real" artist, remember. Not brooding or dressed in black or in any way otherwise credentialed. I want to do this sort of thing so badly, but I'm just not sure where to start. Once I get the hang of it, though, I think I'll finally gesso and Mod Podge all the scraps of ephemera I've been hording since God-knows-when. I'm also a chicken because the class instructor is none other than Brandi Butcher-Isley, who I've mentioned here before. I'll feel like a total poser, I know, but hopefully I'll remember to take my attitude with me March 8.

Before I go, I'd like to share a prayer with you that my little Fire Starter Sam drew in Religious Education class last week:

I hope Jesus doesn't feel slighted by being crossed out. I bet he understands. God is, like, totally AWESOME, dude!

And one more, Ben's first piece of non-abstract artwork:

I finished Twilight (The Twilight Saga, Book 1) last night. And I read it to E. Now, before you go and get all moral on me, I casually skipped over any of the parts that I deemed a bit too risque for young ears. And she really got into the story. We started reading last night about eight o'clock, and E kept begging for just one more chapter, so we finished the entire book from about page 300. The tingle-inducing stuff is more contained to the first 300 pages, afterall. I ordered New Moon (The Twilight Saga, Book 2) this morning. You'd be impressed with how I can censor on the fly!

Now I'm going to get ON my butt :) and Photoshop some of my knitted and crocheted bits (hearts and vines), which might actually become some sort of element pack at ScrapArtist tomorrow. We'll see. It's a pain to extract fuzzy things, but it's doable. Just takes a long time. I'm spending more time trying to discover some unknown trick to make it happen in a couple of clicks, but I'm not there yet. Might as well just succumb to the Pen Tool and get it over with, I think.

And with that, a happy Monday to you!

Good grief

2009-02-05T11:07:00.005-06:00

I am such a complete and total nerd. So, I'm checking out some new e-commerce software, right? But I can't just get a quick overview. No, not me. I must know EVERYTHING. Now. No, scratch that. YESTERDAY.

I have to get my hands dirty and rip it apart so I can figure out how to put it back together. That's when I start wondering what else I can make happen. Tangents. Oh, so many tangents. What about Subversion? What about data maps? What about Flash for this? What about some cool Etsy-ish setup for that?

See my problem?

I really wonder how any of the web designers I follow around get anything done. Do all creatives have this problem, or is it just *my* own special recipe? There are too many things I'm curious about and too little time to become an expert in them all.

And the result?

I have a basement full of skeins of beautiful yarn. Just the yarn, not the sweater, socks, blanket, tea cozy, etc.

I have craft tools out the wazoo. Heat gun? Check. Woodburner? Check. Soldering iron? Check. Fancy-schmancy computerized sewing maching? Check. Glass cutter, needle-nose pliers, yo-yo maker, darning foot, pom-pom maker, needles, paint, pins, hooks, scissors, even a rotary cutter that slices through a single layer on top of multiple layers? Check.

All beautifully organized, and still rather shiny.

What's holding me back, preventing me from playing? Maybe I'm afraid of failing?

Who fails when they play, though? (Well, if you would have seen me as a child, you would probably have an answer to that one. My Mom punished me by sending me OUTSIDE. Instead of "Go to your room!", it was "Get out of the house and interact with your peers!")

I'm finally at the age (yes, that magical number you're waiting for is 36, ladies...that's where it all starts coming together) where I couldn't care less what people think about me. I mean, I want to be a good person, kind and generous and supportive and loving. But if I make something really lumpy, stupid, impractical, or plain ugly, who cares?

I gauge my success by my Mom's rating. I'm afraid of not making her eyes pop out of her head in amazement. She would NEVER tell me I'm a failure or a crappy artist, but I always feel I have to impress her since she fed and clothed me for 20 years and all.

Ironically, of all the things I've ever made for her, Mom proudly displays a very lumpy, stupid, impractical, and plain ugly doily I crocheted for her when I was ten and rather handicapped in my yarn-manipulating skills.

And, um, I have kids. I would never criticize them, either. I keep every single shred of art they ever produce. And I mean EVERYTHING. Organized in a manila envelope by each month of their lives, intended to be bound into beautiful and sentimental hand-bound books.

Someday.

I spend too much time wondering about what *could* happen, and that way I don't have to think about the time I'm wasting *not* playing. Afterall, I'm *doing* something. I just don't have anything but a rambling blog post to show for it when I'm done.

I think I need to burn some wood...

Happy second day of the new year!

2009-01-02T10:35:00.004-06:00

I procrastinate.

Just read Nan's blog post, and I figure I'll take her up on her challenge to stick with Project 365 this year. Especially since I only made it to Day 3 in 2008. Not a very good showing.

I figure one photo a day isn't *too* challenging, right?

We'll see. Keep me honest, OK?

The kids return to school on Monday, sufficiently gorged on Christmas electronics and too much Nickelodeon. We finally got E's room arranged to her liking, but still need to find drawer pulls for her funky little desk (it's nearly impossible to find hardware with a 2 1/2" offset, lemme tell ya). We moved the huge dresser into Ben's room (he doesn't need a desk yet, right?) and in the process created a cozy little reading corner for E complete with her butterfly chair and lots and lots of Webkinz.

Speaking of Webkinz, one of the gifts E received this year was a certificate to Angie's Kid Zone from Aunt Mi. It's an AWESOME little toy store in Valley Junction, owned by the parents of one of Sam's preschool classmates. (Shop local, people!) E chose a unicorn for her cousin, Rachel (she gets all that giving stuff from her Grandpa Tom), a baby seal and a triggerfish. Sam picked up a bottlenosed dolphin, and Ben chose a Siamese cat. On the way home, the kids all chose names for their new pets: baby seal is Snowy, triggerfish is Shooter, bottlenosed dolphin is Flipper, and Siamese Cat is, well, SIAMESE CAT.

Sam and I have been reading "The New Essential Chronology of Star Wars". I know WAAAAAYYYY too much about the history of the Republic, even more than the Grand Poobah of "Star Wars", Joel himself. I can't believe that a six-year-old has the attention span to listen to Mom drone on about Nomi Skyrider and Darth Sidious (yeah, I can throw down the names), but Sam is absolutely entranced.

We spent New Year's Eve with our friends, the Grobs. Beth said that she and Chuck were sitting around last year wondering if anyone else celebrated New Year's in such a lame manner, and she thought of us right away. Compliment? Didn't think so. But the kids all played Wii and stuffed themselves full of snacks until the ball dropped at 11 P.M. CST.

Ryan Seacrest is no Dick Clark. But Dick Clark isn't even Dick Clark anymore. :(

OK, since I committed myself to this thing, I oughtta actually take a picture or two today. Maybe I'll fudge a little to catch up on yesterday. Shhhhhh, don't tattle!

Like what you see?

2008-10-21T18:04:00.006-05:00

I've been fussing around with Ye Olde Blog today, just for fun. Did you know since I last posted in June that I've become, well, a digital designer? Now, a couple of years ago I would have been slobbering all over myself to announce that sort of news. But it's been done to death by everyone else, and, frankly, it takes the fun out of it!

Nancie Rowe-Janitz has been gracious enough to let me mess around at ScrapArtist. I don't consider myself top shelf material, and I'm really just desiging to justify bringing home all the discarded junk that speaks to me when I'm out and about. You know, all that neglected stuff that sits around gathering dust at the flea market? I'm all over it.

So, I actually whipped up a kit of sorts, and it's available for sale starting today. Here you go:

Kinda weird, seeing my (fake) name up in lights, but it's there. I've been having fun rescuing treasures and preserving them in pixels.

It's what we do.

Yeah, oddly enough, that there is a scrapbook page. Didn't think I still remembered how to throw one together, and I forgot how much fun it is. Oh, the time when I cranked one out on a daily basis. There's a bit of a lag in my memory-keeping for 2008, to say the least!

And I actually used some of that junk I was talking about. I picked up a treasure trove of vintage (yeah, Mom would call it "used") books at the "alternative" book sale in September. I was stunned by what I found there: Latin, French, and Spanish primers, hymnals, discarded library books, all published way before 1923 and therefore copyright-free. Heaven. It feels somewhat evil destroying books, but they were headed for the garbage so I suppose I'm going them a favor.

You can see bits of the book peeking out from behind the green floral paper there. And the green floral paper is a pretty common lining paper in the books I brought home.

Did I mention they only cost about 50 cents apiece?

Heaven.

Also cruised over the our local ReStore which supports Habitat for Humanity. Another heavenly place for scroungers like me. They have an entire section of odd hardware bits and bobs, and that brass doodad was one of my finds that day. It's a warehouse full of possibilities. They probably do a brisk business in junk because they actually have a bulletin board hanging by the register displaying art created by their customers.

Big news in dentistry today: Sam lost his first tooth! Well, he didn't LOSE it, but it fell out. His friend, Andrew, was hopping up and down encouraging him to get it over with. "It's SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO loose! It's SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!" One yank, and his bottom left baby incisor was history. He brought it home in a tiny yellow plastic treasure chest.

His top two incisors are hanging by threads, too. The Tooth Fairy would have paid a premium for a three-fer! Standard rates apply to one tooth. But they're still pretty good rates these days, with inflation and all. :)

Little Miss Gallbladder-less is going against doctor's orders and serving Papa Murphy's for dinner tonight. Should be interesting. I'm not exactly pigging out on anything other than copious amounts of ice water, so I feel I'm due something more substantial. Plus, it's Terrible Tuesday. The LAST Terrible Tuesday of the season, since our last soccer games are this weekend. Two practices in a row every week for the past eight weeks, right around dinner time.

The older I get the more comfort I find in just staying put. I somewhat admire folks who are constantly running, but I really don't have any reason to be in such a hurry. We'll all be dead sooner or later, so why rush it?

The Germans invaded Holland!

2008-10-21T11:42:00.002-05:00

The kids and I have been alternating between reading "Wind In The Willows" and "The Diary of Anne Frank". So, the other night it was Elizabeth's turn to choose, and she chose Anne. Sam snuggled in on my left, Elizabeth on my right, and Ben next to Elizabeth. Of course, Ben wasn't very interested in the book. He was more interested in tickling Elizabeth. So when his antics interrupted the reading, I would ask him, "Do you want to go to bed right now?" And he would reply, "No! The Germans invaded Holland!", or "No! The meat is rationed!", just to show me he was truly paying attention.

Darn kids. Always messing up the dispensing of my discipline by making me laugh.

My Dad

2008-06-03T10:12:00.002-05:00

My Dad is a rock star to me. Always has been. Always will be. I sit here this morning a wee bit misty-eyed, just having read some mail from Pops. He sent me this picture today:

(FYI, Dad's office is in that building on the right, in the foreground, with the red roof. No, not that one. Yeah, THAT one! Lewis Hall.)

Now, when YOU look at this picture, you see an aerial shot of a Midwestern college campus.

I see a man's life work, set in bricks and mortar for generations.

Dad's always been a very hard worker. I've always admired that. He spent alot of time in meetings and on business trips when Jeff and I were kids. But you know what? I only remember him cooking blueberry pancakes, cutting out and glittering paper snowflakes, painting suncatchers, macramé-ing owls (we were entrusted to tease out the yarn on the bellies and make them all fat and fluffy), building the world's biggest sandbox and more than one aluminum swingset and bicycle, watching "Roadrunner" cartoons with us on Saturday mornings, and on and on and on. He always made me feel important, eventhough I'm sure he had work on the brain and the weight of a sole breadwinner on his conscience.

Now his career is winding down. I don't know how my Dad will ever completely retire. I just don't think that's possible. That's in the future, though. Look at what Dad's done with his life. All that hard work has built these buildings, which will be here long after we're all gone. They represent the relationships he's cultivated over three decades, the trust and respect people have for him.

When Dad started working at Morningside, the most significant landmark on campus was the TKE house, a dilapidated rental with a naked mannequin hanging by her neck off the front balcony.

He's changed things *just* a bit. :)

His landmarks represent something else, too. The countless number of alumni he's mentored and helped find their first jobs. Some have been grateful, some not so much, but Dad has always done things with no expectation of reward.

Dad's shoes are big and hard to fill. Hopefully, though, we can live up to the example he set for us. He's certainly given us the tools to get the job done.

(Except for his joke collection. He's amassed quite the volume of groaners over the years, but they wind up being funny just because they're so awful!)

I'm exceptionally proud to be your daughter, Pops. Thank you for always being my Dad, first and foremost.

And Mom? You ain't too shabby, either! I'll get to YOU tomorrow! :)

I am one lucky girl...

I'm a gardening FOOL!

2008-04-20T15:20:00.002-05:00

Emphasis on the "fool" part. Our house came with an absolutely gorgeous Better-Homes-&-Gardens-type garden. Five woefully neglected years later, it's not so gorgeous. It was way too much garden for us, so the past few years Joel's been cutting down trees and uprooting shrubs and ripping out edging. And Bishop's weed.

Man, I hate that stuff.

I've spent parts of the two nice days this month raking and stuffing yard waste bags to bulging. Today was the fun part. I tried my hand at transplanting bulbs. See, Joel was hoping that the lawn would just grow over them and he could mow them down. I think they're pretty and want to try to keep them. So, I put my money where my mouth is.

Sad thing is, those poor tulips and what-not (yeah, "what-not" coming from a lady who's digging up plants willy-nilly is probably not a good sign for the plants) are at the mercy of a gardening idiot. Hopefully, I didn't kill anything. But at least I saved them from the mower blade!

Hey, maybe one of these days we'll have a garden again!

Ben and Elizabeth kept busy digging up big fat juicy earthworms and playing "tornado" with them. As in pinching them by the tail (or the head...how can you tell?) and letting them twist and twirl upside-down (or right-side-up?). E swears the "wormies" think it's fun.

But they ain't talkin'.

Oh, and before I wipe this picture from my memory, I saw just about the most horrible thing today while raking. I saw blood and fur and what looked like bone. E was right behind me, coming up fast, so I quickly poked it with a stick and tried to flip whatever it was back into the garden. Too late. It flipped over and revealed its identity.

A little baby bunny FACE. No skull, no head, no brains, just it's FACE.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

It was so FLIPPIN' disturbing I'm still weirded out by it.

E just stood there, just as stunned as I was.

E: "What do you think happened, Mom?"

Me: "I don't know, maybe it was a cat."

E: "I sure am glad I'm not a cat."

Me: "I sure am glad I'm not that bunny."

Word.

I'm gonna get back to enjoying a 65-degree bright and sunny day now. That little episode I mentioned up there is going to make a psychiatrist independently wealthy someday.

Hey, I figure...

2008-04-04T13:51:00.004-06:00

...it's been about a month. Time to blog!

Have you seen the newest photographer on the web? Check this out: Denise Steim Photography. I am simply BEAMING because a) Denise is my sister-in-law, b) she's been dreaming about a new career for awhile now, and c) I think she's got what it takes. Just look at her progression from point-and-shoot to her most recent portraits. I'm impressed, to say the least. And proud as punch.

Hey, Denise, I have three photogenic kids who are easy to bribe with some extra Webkinz time, too. Gimme a call. ;)

Knee-deep in website "plumbing and wiring". I just wish I had about FORTY-SEVEN hours in the day. Then I might be able to actually finish a project before moving on to another one. I have quite a long list of partially completed tasks, but I'm a doer. They'll get done. After three babies, I no longer need that much sleep.

YEAH, RIGHT!

Well, OK, so I "nap" between 9 p.m. and midnight. Then I'm refreshed for another go in the wee, undisturbed hours of the morning. And I conk out again.

I have a feeling I'll be paying for this someday, but for now, it works! So why question it?

Today is the FIRST DAY it finally feels like spring. It actually snowed yesterday. I felt myself being moved by the beauty of the big fat flakes showering over my backyard. Until I snapped back to reality and felt betrayed by Mother Nature. Doesn't she know it's APRIL? She cheated us out of our usual technicolor spring last year, too. She's not on my good side. But I suppose I don't count for much when you're talking about Mother Nature.

It's not like I have her phone number.

But if I did, I would so totally be calling her and hanging up as soon as she answered. Over and over and over and over again! So, take THAT, Lady!

I hate to say it, but I'm grateful that R.E. is winding down. I am NOT cut out to be a teacher. I really and honestly and sincerely appreciate teachers in general now, though. The patience! I couldn't handle the stress of 26 little people and all of their wiggles forty hours a week. I would be running down the street screaming.

Much like I do Wednesday nights around 8:15 p.m. Call Ticketmaster for details!

Elizabeth will take her First Communion in May. Can you believe that? Feels like only yesterday I was going through the very same rite of passage. Only she's much more prepared than I was at her age. I was so terrified of my C.C.D. teacher that I shut up and asked no questions. Somewhere along the line, the Church got all New Age and preaches only how "God is Love." I think I'm learning more this time around than I did when I was a kid. Hopefully, some of it sinks in with Elizabeth, too. I find it all very comforting and not one bit scary. I want my kiddoes to always have a soft place to fall (credit, Dr. Phil). If you can't depend on the Big Guy (God, not Dr. Phil), then who can you depend on?

I think E's biggest struggle will be finding a white dress with no bows or roses or beads. I told her she'd need a new pair of white shoes to go with this unknown quantity of a dress, and she said, "But Mom, I already HAVE white shoes!" As in her Skechers. I love E's "whatever" attitude. She really doesn't fuss about a single thing. But when it comes to dressing up, it's always been a struggle. Heck, when it comes to brushing her HAIR, it's a struggle! Joel assures me that she'll care enough about all that hygiene stuff in due time. But that means that she'll be caring about it because of boys, most likely, so we shouldn't wish for it too soon.

Boys. Yikes.

That's already started, anyway. A.M. He will only go by his initials here. But I do believe he is E's first crush. He's the class clown, and he calls her "Little Me". She just lights up when she talks about him. It's kinda cute, but scary at the same time.

Thank God she has a good Daddy. Hopefully that'll be the thing that prevents her from ever disrespecting herself.

And, no, I don't worry as much about that whole deal with the boys. Double. Standard.

Sam is a reading phenomenon. His class has five reading groups: A, B, C, D, and I. Sam is in I, especially created for him and his best buddy, Ryan H. They're reading at *almost* second-grade level. He LOVES to read. And I love reading with him. Especially now that he's moved on to "Captain Underpants". Elizabeth's obsessed with Ramona Quimby, which I loved as a kid. And now could probably recite word-for-word, we've read each book so many times. When Joel puts Ben to bed, the big kids and I snuggle on the couch in the living room, away from all the noise in the recently converted "theater room" (more on that in another post!). We nestle under the Stinky Blankie and read a few chapters of whatever trips our trigger. Right now, we're reading "Oh Me, Oh Maya" by Jon Scieszka in the Time Warp Trio series. VERY quick to read and pretty funny to boot.

OK, I'm literally just rambling at this point, and it's almost time for school to get out, so I'll leave you with a layout. Yes, believe it. A LAYOUT! I shocked myself, even. It's been a month since I did any scrapping, too. So, here you go. My Aunt Joan (she's my godmother, too). A seriously adorable picture. Which wouldn't be so cute if you were, like, 57. Or as safe! (Think of all the candles.)

OK, am I just a moron, or...

2008-03-07T09:35:00.012-06:00

...does it take awhile to get the hang of a Wacom Bamboo Fun? Granted, it arrived just this Wednesday and I've only spent about half an hour with it, but I feel so uncoordinated. I thought I'd be like Van Gogh as soon as I plugged it in.

Whatever.

Someday, maybe. Just not anytime soon!

Check this out:

I think I've mentioned before that I don't usually buy digital scrapbooking doodads unless I absolutely must. This one is a must. I've wanted this very thing ever since I saw these:

Aren't those COOL? Michelle Beschen featured Brad and Sundie Ruppert on b.original a few months ago, and these works of art have been permanently implanted on my brain ever since. Best of all? They're Iowegians! They live just south of here in Norwalk. Wouldn't it be a blast to hang out in their junk room? Or do you call it "junque" when you make it into art?

I continue to be amazed at the level of creativity in my fellow Iowans. Who knew? Maybe our obnoxiously long winters leave us no other option than to make stuff. Soon, Spring Clean-Up will be upon us, and you may spot me out on the streets of Des Moines and its various suburbs gleaning through your garbage for potential art of my own. I'm not beyond getting all "Sanford & Son". As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy it. And I think Jack Johnson would be very proud of me.

sPaRKYouRiMaGiNaTioN

2008-03-05T10:17:00.006-06:00

I've developed a somewhat serious Flickr addiction. I shamefully admit I spend the wee hours of the night flipping through all of my groups, anxiously awaiting some new form of inspiration. This particular artist, though, KNOCKS MY SOCKS OFF. Check it out for yourself:

Just about everything sPaRK*YouR*iMaGiNaTioN creates, I love. Pink, pretty, sparkly, vintage...all the things I wish I could be in a house outnumbered by men!

Now, if I could only find a few million hours to play like that. Her house must be deliciously messy. Consider me jealous!

I *do* have a DVD full to the brim with vintage images and ephemera I've been downloading from Flickr for a long time. I go in spurts so they don't kick me out for chewing up their bandwidth! Hopefully, I'm under the radar so I can keep feeding my habit!

Oh, and did I mention I'm famous? ;)

Sam thinks I'm famous

2008-03-04T16:35:00.004-06:00

That's my nose, right by the pink butterfly, above the apple. And inside? Two of my layouts. SWEET! I was soooooo excited when I pulled the big fat envelope from Stampington out of mailbox. I'm published. I'm published. I'm PUBLISHED! :)

Sam serenaded me with my new theme song. It sounds like the song Will Ferrell sings to James Caan in "Elf", just substitute "mom" for "dad". And Elizabeth wants to take the magazine to school tomorrow for show and tell.

Scrap Artist is REPRESENTIN' in this issue. That apple there? That belongs to Denise. Robyn, Laurie and Denise each wrote an article. You know how you just think everything's been done to death and there just can't possibly be anything else creative to be done in the world? Well, take a look at the eye candy in this sweet book, and you'll stop thinking like that.

Meanwhile, I'm knee-deep in Java. The upstairs could really use a good thorough vacuuming. And tomorrow is Wednesday. Woeful Wednesday.

I hear the Girl Scout cookies are here, though...

Budding scrappers

2008-03-01T14:41:00.006-06:00

So, what happens when you whip out the laptop and declare that you just downloaded a ton of new goodies and you can't wait to play?

Your children come running, attracted like magnets.

I present to you our latest collaborations. First, Elizabeth's "Herman & Mattie". Herman and Mattie belong to Cousin Rachel, and since Mom, Dad and Sam are horribly allergic to cats, that's about as close to pet ownership as Elizabeth will get until she's out on her own. These photos are a year old...Elizabeth doesn't look much like this now!

And here's Sam's effort. Again, an old photo, Sam was three years old here! But he thinks he looks like he's running away from the aliens with that pose, so that's what he set his heart on.

Funny story (sort of). Yesterday, I picked the kids up from school and headed to Hy-Vee. Those wicked car carts...Ben wanted to drive one, but Sam did, too. So, Ben wanted his own car cart. The cart boy was trying to put away a long line of carts he retrieved from the parking lot while Ben threw a full-on tantrum. Just had to grab and go, like ripping off a Band-aid! About an hour later, we'd barely made our way through dairy when I stopped to pick up some of those GE Reveal bulbs. The packages sported rather well-adhesed coupons that I was trying to pry off when Ben dropped his organic chip from Aisle 1 and proceeded to eat it off the floor. I dropped a light bulb, shattered everywhere.

Clean up in Aisle 3.

We finally got home, and I was really praying that the garage door would open to reveal Joel's truck. But no, the garage door only opened a foot high! Aw, maybe it's just a glitch. So, I tried again. Still, only a foot high. Front door, then. Oops, storm door locked, no key. OH! Back door. OK, gate frozen shut. Try the other side of the house, trudge through the snow up to the deck. No keys work in the back door. We disabled the opener on the third bay because that one doesn't have sensors to prevent crushing people. So, the only alternative?

Do the limbo.

The kids in the minivan, Sam bawling his eyes out, I told them to stay put and quietly prayed for God's assistance in the stupid feat I was about to undertake. I keyed in the opener code, waited for the door to go as high as it would, and scooted myself under the very heavy, definitely broken, God knows how broken garage door and made it inside before my guts were crushed. Even in the middle of executing my plan, I was thinking how stupid I was acting, envisioning the garage door slicing me in two right in front of my kids. And I swear I heard God whisper the word "locksmith" in my ear at one point.

Turns out the tension spring is broken. So, we're old school parking in the driveway this weekend. I have a feeling this one's gonna cost us. Again. I love this house, but it does suck to have to repair all the things ignored too long by the previous owners. Siding, paint, roof, now garage door.

The joys of home ownership. I used to dream about how fun it would be to be a grown-up with a job. I was gonna buy everything I ever wanted! Little did I know how much boring stuff would take up in a budget. No fun!

Today is a busy one. Conferences this morning, haircuts this afternoon, then soccer, then birthday party. Crazy. At least the weather's taking a turn for the better! Forty degrees today! You don't even need a coat today. And the snow is melting off the house in tremendous (and loud) clumps!

Chuck E. Cheese's for dinner with the Knight's after soccer. Ora. Pro. Nobis.

Books, books, more books

2008-02-27T09:57:00.004-06:00

Please, SOMETHING has to tide me over through these last agonizing days of winter. I indulged in this:

and this:

(You can blame Mrs. Janitz for that last one!) Anyone who's ever been to my house and has seen my disgustingly extensive collection of books and magazines is now thinking...HUH? I think the real reason we even bought this house was because it came with built-in bookcases liberally scattered throughout the living areas. And, my apologies, because I'm personally responsible for the destruction of at least a forest or two. I know I have a problem, but you do have to admit it's better than some other addictions. I've avoided the rich family legacy of alcoholism by channeling my compulsive nature into reading material (oh, and by having parents who raised my brother and me stone-cold sober. If you knew me and my brother, you would know how much of a feat that was!).

Ben discovered a new toy this morning at Barnes & Noble. The escalator. We rode up and down and up and down and up and down more times than I care to count. I couldn't help it! Ben was pretty good at figuring out how to keep his feet away from the dangerous parts, and he screamed "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" all the way up.

Escalators bring back terrifying memories for me, the Uncoordinated Fat Kid in Sandals. I was always afraid the escalator would eat the toes exposed at the tip of my shoes, shredding them to nubs. I've found you can't really move on an escalator when you're white-knuckling the rubber handrail. Elevators? Don't even get me started. Stairs? I was a fat kid. Need I say more?

(See, my folks did deserve a good hard drink now and then. What a spaz I was!)

One hour later, less enthusiastic about the electric stairs than Ben, I relied on my usual mode of discipline to coax him out of the store. The promise of Sponge Bob frooties. Works every time.

That little darlin' is keeping me on my toes, I tell you. The old Steam Vac has never seen so much action. Yesterday, it was strawberry sorbet Ben smuggled out of the freezer and Hansel-and-Gretel'd all over the family room. But, hey, at least he enjoys vacuuming with me! Whenever I even start to say the word "vac....", Ben springs into action. He runs to the coat closet and grabs the central vac attachments and gets to work. Well, mostly, he plays Bumper Vacs with me. But I have to admit it makes the job more fun.

Elizabeth has moved on to subtraction now after a grueling 26 iterations of Mad Minute. This is how she learns addition in second grade. One minute drills, 40 problems, 26 worksheets. She has one of the highest goals in the class; she has to correctly answer 39 problems out of 40 to move on to the next level. She started subtraction on Monday, and Sam even made her a little sign to mark the occasion (Happy Subtraction Day!). Oh, and don't forget his interpretive dance, either.

Sam is very easy to please. He's decided to make the switch from briefs to boxers, and he asked for white undershirts "just like Daddy's". Three days later, Sam's still thanking me profusely. Who knew there was so much joy in two pairs of Sponge Box underpants and a five-pack of Hanes tees?

Those are the moments you want to remember as a Mom. The moments that you seem to be capable of doing absolutely no wrong in the eyes of your children. I'm gonna savor this as long as I can. And remind myself often of times like this when the kids are in high school.

This dusty old brain still works

2008-02-25T11:10:00.007-06:00

Believe it or not. I'm doing some programming again, and I have gotten back in touch with my long-neglected inner nerd. You know, I'm VERY fortunate. I don't have to work ever again. But there's something about having skills and interests and using them to earn extra income. That's just what it is, extra. And, MAN, is it burning a hole in my pocket. (I think I get that from my Dad!)

After I do some responsible things with my earnings, this is what I'm gonna indulge myself with:

What the heck is that, you ask? Well, they call it a Bamboo Fun. It's not made of bamboo, pandas don't eat it, but I do think it would be fun. It's a graphics tablet. You can use that pen there to draw on your computer. I'm not very adept with the mouse, and I've been dying to kick up my art a notch or two, and hopefully this will do it.

And it matches my laptop. A girl's gotta color-coordinate. Ask Joel about the time I bought my first VCR. He still gets the biggest kick out of me not minding a bit about any of the specs, just concerned that it matched my TV. Twelve years later, and that incident still has legs.

Now, don't be disturbed, but I picked this puppy up at Barnes & Noble last week:

And that's how that Bamboo Fun got stuck in my head. I don't necessarily want to jimmy up a portrait like that, but this book has tons of cool secrets to digitally achieving painterly effects.

OK, then, on to real life. Ben had his well-check this morning. Thank GOD those are only annual. The poor child knew exactly what was about to happen, even though we haven't stepped foot in the doctor's office since August. He clung to me like Saran Wrap, screamed the entire time, even through the easy parts of weighing and measuring. Dr. L. is kinda obsessed with his boy parts. He performed his routine check, ensuring that "both cars are in the garage", and (men, you might want to skip this part), detached an adhesion. Let the pain begin! That did not improve Ben's mood. After that, here comes Nurse Tammy with the finger poker and collection vials. "It hurt! It hurt! It hurt!" Dr. L. felt bad for the little guy, so he let him take home three stickers from the treasure box.

At least his vaccinations are up-to-date, right?

So, the stats. Ben is around 32 pounds (it's hard to weigh a screaming toddler) and he's about 35 3/4 inches tall (again, maybe more, maybe less...Nurse Tammy lowered the marker onto Ben's head and he went ballistic). That puts Ben in the 90th percentile. And that makes me wanna stock up on a lifetime supply of frozen pizza and burritos. Please send donations to this address...

We're gonna get socked with 3 to 5 inches more snow today. Sure, it's all humid and rainy now. But by rush hour the flakes will be flying. I am sick to death of snow. This is the time of year where all that white stuff does is collect street grime and pile up in big ugly lumps. It's lost all of its enchantment. Joel and I were talking about the little routine we started late last summer: tucking the kids into bed, grabbing books and drinks, and retreating to the deck to read under the stars. Poor guy actually closed his eyes and started visualizing, almost to the point of tearing up! It's hard to believe it ever gets warm and sunny here. Winter sucks.

Here's a layout of my Aunt Joan. I am such a lucky girl to have copies of these photos! See, my Grandpa Ross ran away from home when he was pretty young and set off across the country showing cattle. He wound up in Bancroft, Nebraska, met and married Grandma Ruth, and to my knowledge never looked back. He didn't have much contact with his family back in Davenport, with the exception of his sister, Rilda, and his brother, Russell. Fortunately, Russell was quite the detail man and kept extensive history of the family and his onion farming operation. This man was utterly meticulous. Rilda died in 1954, and all of the family memorabilia she saved over the years passed down to her daughter, Marjorie. In 2003, I ran into Marjorie's daughter, Beth, after posting on a genealogy board about my great-grandmother. Lo and behold, Beth found the post, replied, and started sharing her treasures with me. Unfortunately, her mother passed away before I was able to meet her. Sorry thing, too, because she lived in Kansas City, not too far away. Beth's father passed away on Halloween last year, and now Beth is madly scanning all of the papers and photos her parents left behind. This was one of the first photos of my direct line that she shared with me. And I literally cried when I saw it for the first time. What a gorgeous baby.

Human Food Processor

2008-02-08T00:51:00.003-06:00

That's me. Give me a butcher knife and a cutting board, and I will process you some pico de gallo like nothing you've ever tasted. Tonight was Pappasito's-style steak fajita night (one part soy sauce to two parts pineapple juice, pour over skirt steak, marinade all day). I keep resisting the urge to buy a Cuisinart like Rick Bayless keeps pressuring me to do. I've been using a blender. Yes, pureeing my pico. But not today. No, today was different.

I woke up this morning, hopped in the shower, and came downstairs all ready to go to the sound of a screaming Sam. "I'm soooo hungry! I'm sooooo hungry!," he wailed. Over a bowl of Frosted Flakes Gold (yes, I'm a whole-wheat Mommy) and a plate of peanut butter toast. It wasn't exactly what he wanted. Translate that into Elizabeth helped him with his breakfast, not Mommy. Sam's hunger trauma sent the rest of his morning into a timewarp tailspin. We barely made it to school before the last bell due to someone not being able to find both of his shoes at the same time.

I don't get it either, but I still love that kid.

Ben and I headed out to Fareway after drop-off. One hour and $140 later, we arrived home. (Tangent: I find myself asking myself more and more frequently these days: $140 and only this many bags?) Ben tore into the chocolate yogurt (yes, a product only kids can enjoy). All four cartons were gone by 4 p.m. Ben 3. Sam 1. Gastronomical advantage goes to Ben. Oh, and the two pounds of strawberries we bought this morning? Ben practically wiped those out by naptime.

Tossed the cheapest, toughest steak in the world into a Ziploc with that top-secret marinade, read some stories, tucked Ben into his crib with four Hot Wheels, his cat, his mouse (which, in fact, is a cheetah Beanie Baby), ran downstairs to fill up a sippy cup of water (by request), and settled down for a little peace and quiet.

Ha.

I frittered away the afternoon puttering around the house, picking up errant papers, folding laundry, dislodging small toys parts that had been impaled into my foot.

Then it was time for pick-up. And another pick-up one hour later at Girl Scouts.

Oh, and did I mention we have eight inches of snow on the ground? And that it's supposed to be 20 below zero all weekend? And that the high temperature in Dallas on Tuesday was 79 degrees?

I took out my frustrations on two pounds of unsuspecting Roma tomatoes, garlic, jalapenos, cilantro, and onions. This stuff took about 30 minutes to make. And it was worth it. Best stuff I ever made. And I find myself just wanting to spoon it up all by itself, it was that good. No chips, no tortillas, no nothing. Just a spoon and a big bowl and my pico.

Susan stopped by to drop off her tax information. Now, another weird thing about me (I'm really just an odd collection of weird things, essentially): I LOVE to do taxes. LOVE it. I have a thing about filling out forms and lining up sums all pretty-like. Seriously. And that Mike Huckabee talking about abolishing the IRS. Fun-hater. Anyway, Susan went to an accountant for many years to file her taxes. The idea of me filing her taxes is that I save her a big chunk of change. Plus, I have a long history of never having been audited, so she's safe.

Oh, and just for anyone who didn't know this: if you are a State Farm Insurance customer, log into your account on their website. You get to use Turbo Tax for free. Completely free. Why feed the IRS engine any more money if you don't have to? You shouldn't have to pay someone to pay the government. I mean, really, how logical is that?

Patiently waiting for our loan to the government to come back to us, interest not included. I take about, oh, 37 exemptions for Federal and State, but it's no use. I have yet to crack the code that the government uses to calculate the involuntary loan they demand from us each year. I think there's some fancy trigonometry at play so that the amount can never possibly be zero.

Yes, trigonometry. Leave it to the government to make things complicated like that. You didn't think taxes and isoceles triangles had anything to do with each other, didn't you? Well, think again, my friend.

And speaking of "my friends", it looks like John McCain will be our nominee. Blech. I almost cried watching My Man Mitt's "suspension" speech this afternoon. (Yes, that was one of the other things I did to fritter away that precious naptime!) I'm secretly wishing that Mitt gives his delegates to Ron Paul. Just to say, "Take that, you conspiring weasels!" If not, though, I'll just wait to vote for him in 2012. Maybe sooner, if McCain is elected, dies of old age next year, and the path of succession takes a detour of some unknown kind.

Sam told me that I made him "very, very, very, very, very, very sad" when I announced that Mitt dropped out of the race today. That's my boy. All of five years old. And totally indoctrinated. He said, "Now we have to vote for Obama, or that DUMB John McCain."

Maybe Mom and Dad should tone down the political rhetoric a tad, you think?

I honestly don't think whomever is elected President will make much difference. I hope I'm wrong, but if Obama wins (...Yes, I'm presuming he's the nominee; he's got Oprah on his team, for crying out loud. Everyone does what Oprah says. It's like, the law...) then conservatives will rush in and elect a Republican Congress. McCain will get a Democratic Congress. And guess what? More gridlock.

Pass me the spoon and the pico. It's a long time 'til November.

Hell hath frozen over

2008-02-01T12:01:00.000-06:00

WARNING. POLITICAL RANT FOLLOWS. COME BACK TOMORROW IF YOU WANT TO READ ABOUT MY KIDS' ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS AND SCRAPBOOKING. Now, for those of you who chose to stick around, the proof that Hell has indeed frozen over:

Joel sticks his fingers in his ears and goes, "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!!!!!!!" when I confess I can't vote for McCain and may switch sides. He doesn't do it for me. In fact, he repulses me. It's funny how the media was all over Dubbya eight years ago for his verbal flubs, but they're practically handing the nomination to a man who seems to be capable of only saying "surge", "foot soldier in the Reagan revolution", blah, blah, blah. I think it's honorable he served years in a North Vietnamese prison, enduring torture and refusing to accept help from his father. But that doesn't mean he's fit to be president. Remember S&L's? Remember McCain-Feingold? McCain-Kennedy? How he's now saying what voters want to hear just to get elected? But still accusing his fellow candidates of being flip-floppers? Oh, and my favorite. "I come from a border state, and I know how to secure the border", a line from a recent debate. Sen. McCain, you've been in the Senate for 25 years and failed to unleash your knowledge on securing the borders. Are you keeping it a secret until you're in the Oval Office? Do we have to wait 'til then to see your big idea?

I just can't stand him. And say what you will about Ann Coulter, I felt the same way about Sen. McCain before her appearance on "Hannity & Colmes" last night. Oh, you can tell me he's racking up all the endorsements. So what? From whom? ELECTED OFFICIALS. The endorsements are basically investments in the endorsers' own political careers. Essentially, by paying heed to those endorsements, voters are letting Arnold Schwarzenegger, Rudy Giuliani, and the like vote on your behalf. They're all career politicians. Of course they want you to extend their careers, too. By way of landing a spot in the McCain administration. No-thank-you-very-much.

Where's my "Obama Girl" t-shirt?

Update: It's gotten so bad that as of dinner time even JOEL is contemplating switching teams. Hell has frozen over and pigs are flying!

Joel's been playing basketball to break up his work day. The other day he came home with his first injury: "jersey" finger. The flexor tendon in his finger is damaged, so has no control over the tip of his finger. He middle finger. It's currently wrapped in a splint that cradles it like a spoon. And he's inadvertently offending people left and right.

That's all for today from the Land of LeMar! "Hannity & Colmes" comes on in 30 minutes. I'll pop the corn! You bring the Cokes!

(SOMEBODY needs to get out more often...)

Becoming an artist, eschewing fairies

2008-01-27T15:10:00.000-06:00

Yup, that's right. That's my goal. That's what I'm gonna do with my life.

Watch out, Disney fairies! (More on that later.)

Now, Mom and Dad, aren't you happy that you packed up and moved us across town just so I could take attend the one high school that offered Advanced Placement classes, schlepped me to all those special activities, and invested in four years of college for me to say that? The part about "becoming an artist"?

I remember very distinctly in fourth grade. I made a birthday card for one of my teachers, can't remember if it was a past or present teacher, but I do remember that Ms. Day sent me a note. (And she wasn't even the teacher for whom I made the card!) She wrote that the card was good enough for Hallmark. And I remember how artistic I felt right then. I was ten years old, so I can't imagine it was really good enough for Hallmark, but that was probably the most encouraging thing to say to a kid like me at that point in time.

Somehow, I wound up with a scholarship to attend classes at the Art Center in downtown Sioux City. I don't remember much of that except, as would often recur in the future, I felt out of place. I always considered artists to be the like a secret society, and I didn't have the password. But I DO remember my SWEET art gum eraser. It was blue, squishy, and smelled very weird. And it was the first time I used HB pencils.

I felt so cool.

Fast forward to junior high, where the only highlight of my early teen years at Herbert Hoover was drawing an extremely detailed over-the-top koala bear in pencil. It hung in the main hallway by the office for quite a long time, and I felt like such a big shot walking into school and seeing it every morning. I think I still have it somewhere, although the last time I saw it, it was rather beaten up and faded.

And that's the only time I felt like a big shot in junior high. If you don't count my two (count 'em, TWO!) years as reigning spelling bee champion!

Nerd.

Then came high school. More torture. But I was all about getting a hefty scholarship by then, and the way to do that was to study something practical. Not art. I couldn't relate to the art kids, anyway. They all wore black tees and ripped-up jeans and clunked around in rather intimidating army boots. They were all very brooding, too. Creative, but they always seemed to be tortured souls. Too serious for me, and, as I mentioned before, high school was enough torture without suffering for my creativity. I finally took an art class my senior year, but the art teacher was really brooding, too, and way too into getting his inspiration from "Interview" magazine. A publication I never quite got my head around.

Don't even get me started on college. If the art students at North High were brooding, the art students at Morningside were obsessively brooding. I was familiar with Eppley Auditorium, where they held campus art exhibits. But, quite frankly, I thought all that stuff was weird. I was VERY practical during this time, and I continued needlework to cover the walls of my parents' house and forced myself to teach myself how to knit. That took well over five years.

Then what did I do? Programmed computers. Yeah, artsy-fartsy, me.

Becoming a mother, though, taught me something. It taught me that you can't (and probably shouldn't) plan all the time. Now, if I had triplets or something, I would be singing a different tune. And it took a good long while for me to get to the point that I don't have to follow a pattern or copy a style to make something. Kids try everything. Why shouldn't grown-ups do the same?

And if I can bring three lives into this world, then I can sure as hell make stuff without regard to anyone else's opinion.

So, there, I'm an artist. I like old pictures, even if I don't know the people in them. That's me in the back of the antique store sifting through the nameless piles of history. And I'll wind up taking them home with me and wondering why they were abandoned and who they used to belong to. And I'll make stuff with them. I like junk. I'll make stuff with that. I don't care if people think I'm weird.

I may not have street cred with the Brooding Artists Club, but I'll be very happy doing what I love to do the most and feel happiest doing...creating.

In other news, Ben has gone nearly 730 days without a single trip to the ER. Unbelievable. I know! We've lost Elizabeth and Sam to Webkinz. We've limited them to 15 minutes each online every day, which they promptly start at 7 p.m. But they talk about Webkinz incessantly and worry that their pets are lonely, hungry or sick. Webkinz don't actually DIE, like the goldfish my kids neglected to the point of no return. But they would mourn the loss of these virtual pets so much more than the living kind.

I just wish I was the person who invented those darn things. You can bet that person's sitting on a pile of money about 50 feet high.

What a bunch of suckers we are. Pet rocks, anyone?

Today's the big day in Florida. What? Free admission to Disneyworld? No, the PRIMARY, sillies! Don't worry, in between Webkinz sessions, Joel has been hopping online to scour the blogs and mine them for the inside scoop. If you have any questions about the election, I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a piece of his mind. Still hoping that Our Guy makes the cut. I really don't think I could vote for McCain. He just gives me the creeps.

I *DID* scare the shorts off Joel when I told him that I'd heard snippets of Obama's victory speech in South Carolina. I have no idea what he was even saying, but I felt myself getting all teary-eyed and inspired. I went so far as to warn Joel that I might swing Barack's way if McCain gets the nomination. What's the difference? They're both essentially liberals. Obama's at least honest about it.

All right, enough election talk.

Lots of exciting stuff in the works at Scrap Artist, people. I've been forging a friendship with the owner, and she is an absolute HOOT. I had created this whole impression of her before talking to her, and I was completely and utterly wrong. (Again, this all goes back to the recurring theme of me stereotyping artistic people and believing they must be from a different planet.) Now I'm utterly invested in my digital world. And I'm loving every minute. Looking forward to our chat today, too!

Another thing I've been doing lately is reading like an absolute fiend. As in reading with Elizabeth. I coerced her into letting me read an old Ramona Quimby book of mine to her one day, and we finished it all in record time. I forgot how funny Beverly Cleary is (or was...she must be about 100 years old, but anything I've read about her speaks in the present tense, so I suppose she's still among us). We've checked out every single Ramona book from the library, and then Elizabeth received nearly every single Ramona book for Christmas. She's also very much into the Disney Fairy series. Which I can't stand. But I do enjoy reading with her to the extent that I don't care if it's the back of a cereal box.

I just don't think I would be happy being a dish-washing-talent fairy. If I were going to be a fairy, I'd better darn well have an enviable talent. Geesh, even Tinker Bell got the shaft. She's a pots-and-pans-talent fairy. Imagine, being all glittery and glamorous and ethereal. And pounding the dents out of pots and pans with your magic hammer. That's it. For eternity, or until kids stop believing in fairies. That's kinda dark, but part of the whole story. Not clear if all the fairies would just keel over or if they'd be targeted for execution one-by-one.

If I were a carpet-stain-removing fairy, I would put myself front and center and be the first to go.

Lauren Child is probably the best stinkin' writer of juvenile fiction ever. Clarice Bean books would probably be even better if I could read them in a British accent, but Elizabeth cringes when I try. I've learned quite a bit British slang, though. "Beetle off" is my favorite, as in "there goes Ben, beetling off down the hall in Sammy's Nikes and clutching Elizabeth's stuffed cat in a death grip." Or something like that.

On that note, let's flashback to the good old days. Here's a layout featuring my well-dressed husband (the boy in the blue striped suit) and his brother and sisters. (Click on image for credits.)

No pictures of famous people in this post

2008-01-06T23:44:00.000-06:00

Nope. Not a one. Everybody famous has left Iowa. They all took the first plane out before midnight Thursday and won't be back 'til the State Fair.

I seem to write really silly stuff when I blog late at night, so bear with me. I may be wacky. I may just not make any sense. Come along with me and we'll see what happens.

I've been delving into computer stuff again. Deep, dark, scary stuff that I thought I'd escaped eight years ago. But it keeps calling to me, and like all my other obsessions, I just can't let go of wanting to master it. I never will, but I like the trying. Anyway, it's been fun, in a sick way, to tinker again. I've always been fascinated with how computers work, at least in the ways I can see. We're not into binaries and stuff over here. Back in the day, we had a Commodore 64 hooked up to a black-and-white T.V. Here's what that looked like:

That's a mighty fine setup, don't you agree? Dad used to buy programming magazines for his favorite nerd (me). I remember one of those in particular that contained the code for programming that all-time carnie classic Whack-a-Mole. Line-for-line. I typed every one of those lines on that Vic 20, page upon page, and wound up with a quartet of pastel-colored moles that hit each other with clubs. Since I was a remarkably unpopular twelve-year-old, I could afford to spend the three days it required to get the job done.

A programmer was born.

Things have changed tremendously since 1984. In many ways, thankfully, including the disappearance of baby fat and unfortunate wardrobe choices. Things have changed tremendously since 1999, my last year as a working stiff. Back then, a 1GB hard drive was pretty big. I knew about the internet, but now EVERYTHING is about the internet. I knew about Java, but I didn't know that you could practically program the space shuttle with it from your home computer. (And, no, I have no clue if that claim holds a drop of water. It's just a literary device.) But I'm glad I have this opportunity now to get back in the swing of things. After all, I have three children who, while very smart, will still need about $4 million to get their college degrees.

And they only have two years each to do it. The rest of us have to eat.

Due to that post-caucus shindig with Mitt the other night, I'm now completely obsessed with the presidential race. Joel is so happy to have someone with whom to watch every single debate and Sunday morning talk show. You start hearing the same old lines after a very short while (Mitt, no more jokes about your impeccable coif, ok, dude?), but there's a part of me that really enjoys watching grown-ups duke it out.

Don't even get me started on Frank Luntz and his Preference-o-Meter thingie. Maybe I'll ditch the computer stuff and be a political statistician? Oh, wait. There already is one. Nevermind.

Well, it's past midnight, and my coach is quickly turning into a pumpkin. Hope you enjoyed my blast from the past!

Had ourselves a runny little Christmas

2008-01-04T23:57:00.000-06:00

If it's Christmas, the LeMar family must be nursing an illness of some sort. For the past two weeks it's been nothing but hacking, wheezing, fevers, and runny noses. Six boxes of Kleenex. Three boxes of thermometer shields. A bottle of Tylenol syrup. And several loads of laundry.

I resorted to snorting Zicam after Aunt Michelle insisted I at least try it. It just felt weird, and then I lost my voice, so I couldn't even put into words the strange sensation of goo going INTO my nose. Elizabeth likes it that way, because when I yell about stepping on a toy and sliding down the stairs, she thinks it sounds funny.

So, we didn't get to enjoy the Griswold-style Christmas festival it seems Dad planned for us in Sioux City. We planned on going last weekend, but we were still sick. Now Dad is sick. And guess what? We're STILL sick. Fun times.

At this rate, we'll be in Siouxland sometime in mid-March. Maybe we'll celebrate the equinox together. I'll bring the fatted calf!

Another season has come and gone, and I'm pretty glad I don't feel all wistful about it. I usually cringe at the after-Christmas sales, seeing all the aisles nearly empty except for a few things like reindeer ornaments with broken antlers, stale candy canes, and gift boxes full of personal care items. (After all, nothing says, "I love you, you big, fat hairy beast!" like giving Norelco for the holidays.) We still have the tree up, the stockings are hung (carelessly) by the chimney. We have until the 6th, then it's all packed up and in the basement. And my regular vacuum patterns go back into effect.

Being an Iowan, and never having done it before, I caucused last night. This is a charming little tradition in our fair state, as you undoubtedly know by now. Joel and I showed up at school at 7:00 p.m. sharp. Well, Ben and I did. Joel had to find a place to park. Quite frankly, we might as well have walked. The school was packed to the gills. I walk in the door to see swarms of people forming three different lines, two Democratic groups and one Republican group. It was easy to spot my peeps. We all look the same, and we weren't the ones chanting, "O-BA-MAAAAAAA!"

Yes, that's me, Republican. So shoot me. It's how I roll.

Since we're Republicans, we got the entire school gym to ourselves while the Dems were squeezed into the media center and the lunchroom. That in and of itself would be enough reason to switch sides. But while I was standing in line waiting to check in with my ID, a rather spooky Dem volunteer made googly eyes at Ben. Then she told me about her son in Arizona. He's the same age as Ben, but she hasn't seen him in a long time. She asked me about a dozen times if I wanted to register and get in her line. She was starting to really creep me out, so I was glad to finally enter the gym full of my safe, somewhat elderly, quietly seated posse.

Although I will admit that the Democrats have LOADS more fun when they caucus. They stand in groups according to which candidate each voter supports, then the bigger groups try to convince the smaller groups to join them. We just wrote our preferred candidate's name on a slip of blue paper, dropped the paper in a shoebox, and waited for the official tally from the corner of the gym, right behind the cageball.

Our precinct went Mitt Romney, Mike Huckabee, John McCain, Fred Thompson, Ron Paul, Rudy Guiliani. Both Dem precincts went overwhelmingly Obama, as it seemed they did in nearly every other precinct in the state. When I share my politics in mixed company, I always get evil glares and astonished cries of injustice. So I was pleasantly surprised at the congeniality of the entire shindig. We were united, not divided. Almost moves one to tears.

(Psssssst. Joel. DON'T READ THIS! Just scroll down a paragraph, OK? OK. Good. Pssssst. Blog readers. I actually like Obama. Not because Oprah told me to, either. I couldn't vote for him, but I have to admit he's got that presidential aura thing down pat. I like hearing him speak. If I weren't so positive he'd raise my taxes until I squeaked, then he might be on to something.)

Joel trekked out in the cold, up the street about a mile and a half, to retrieve the Town & Country (the official vehicle of the Republican Party, by the way). When we got into the car, he was quite sullen. Seems the news organizations were already calling the caucus for Huckabee. But no matter, 'cause I had my camera and Mitt was having a party down the street. We were going, and that was final. So, Joel slapped on a happy face, and we headed over to the Sheraton with all three kids in tow.

Mitt's crew had an itty-bitty conference room set up for what was now going to be a sort-of concession speech. I'm a complete news junkie-dork, so I was appropriately awed to see my boy Carl Cameron standing at the helm of the press corps set up in the back of the Hancock Room. Tons of cameras, bright lights, loud music. And more familiar faces. This may sound crass to some, but I had a fleeting thought that this must be what it's like to come out. I mean, really! Congregating with a group of people who all think the same way you do, when there are a majority of people in Iowa who think the exact opposite. I felt safe in my politics for once, at least out in public.

And now the mother of one of my R.E. students is my new best friend. She crushes on Carl almost as much as I do, and she was scoping out the rest of the press to point out anyone I may have missed.

Joel grappled with squirrely Ben, and the older kids and I wiggled our way to the front of the room, right behind the velvet rope. By now, it was blazing hot in that little room full of hundreds of people. And we were pretty much stuck in place until after the speech. Pulled out the zoom lens and prepared to shoot. And felt like a wee bit of a moron among all the real photojournalists, but they were really cool about my silly camera and shot the breeze with me and the kids while we waited.

Then, the big moment came. Here's history, kids. Politics in action. Sam yawned. Elizabeth's eyes lit up, and she started whooping it up with everyone else. Poor thing. She's a Republican. Her parents leave her little choice, I suppose, with all our crazy talk. Here's a peek at how it all went down (without the benefit of color correction...it's late, and I'm too tired):

It was a pretty cool deal for people like us, even though poor Joel spent the evening grappling with our youngest. At least he ran into his new friends from the Tuesday phone bank.

You know it's serious when Joel volunteers for the campaign.

We didn't get home 'til 10:00 p.m., so you know how this morning went. Yeah, that's right. Smooth as butter. Uh-huh. Certainly.

Yesterday, Elizabeth took a page from the newspaper featuring the candidates' caricatures. She shared it with her class, and *gulp* asked if anyone was going to caucus for Mitt Romney like her Mom and Dad. Today, she was all excited to share a picture of Mitt with her class. She double checked for Mitt voters, but only one of her friends raised her hand. Elizabeth reported that her teacher had a smile on her face during this impromptu civics lesson, so that must mean she voted for Mitt, too, right?

I'm typing out an explanation of behavior while I hammer out the blog post. I'm crossing my fingers my little radical right-winger doesn't get suspended for all of her proselytizing.

Before I go, may I relate to you the day's events according to Ben? Mind you, this all happened under his mother's not-so-alert eyes, being as though his mother stayed up way past her bedtime last night with his father glued to Fox News. Ben has breached all of our child safety devices, that smart little bugger. So, he toddled off upstairs and retrieved my hair dryer. Which he tucked away under the Christmas tree, right where I didn't find it all day. The real zinger, though, was lunchtime. I wasn't moving quickly enough for him, I suppose, so Ben retrieved a pan from the kitchen island, plopped it on the stove, turned ON the stove (yeah, YIKES!), poured a box of spaghetti into the pan, and started stirring it up with a spatula. Nobody got hurt (except the pasta), but I am sincerely too slow for this kid.

Mark my words, all of my hair will be stark raving white by the time Ben starts kindergarten. That's what you get for rolling the dice after two relatively textbook babies, huh? He's soooo got my number!

If I can restore photographs...

2007-12-05T07:30:00.000-06:00

...so can YOU! If I wrote a book about anything, that would be the title. Just switch out "photographs" for whatever else you may want to do. If I can, ANYBODY can. Check out the before and after:

(That's my Daddy. Age two, I think. Ain't he cute?)

Now, I actually like the color on the un-retouched one better, but I'm still learning. Let's just say the Healing Tool and the Patch Tool are my friends. That crack across the middle of Dad's face disappeared very quickly.

More pictures, you say? OK, here you go:

You can say I've caught the Christmas spirit. I'm actually ENJOYING the season this year. And I've actually finished most of my shopping and planned most of my creating. Planned, as in NOT DONE. But why get in a tizzy about it? Not me, not this year. I'm just gonna have fun.

But I DID avoid Christmas decorating. Ironically, the thing I most enjoyed doing as a kid is the thing I most dread come this time of year. Dad always covered the lights, and I was his assistant. And Mom hid in the basement "looking for ornaments and stuff." Now it's me doing the hiding or vacuuming or otherwise occupying of time. Joel and the kids had it all covered, though. And I did manage to finally adorn the front windows with candles, just like I've always planned. I LOVE houses lit up with candles in the windows. These are the electric kind, though, on extension cords and timers. I go old-school.

Gearing up for Elizabeth's birthday party on Saturday. I may question my wisdom in tie-dying t-shirts in my kitchen with a crowd of 7- to 8-year-olds come Sunday, but I'm pretty excited for the craft extravaganza we've planned. I ordered the tees on Monday from JiffyTees.com, and they arrived yesterday. DUDE! Elizabeth chose another craft (that's my girl!) on FamilyFun.com: water bracelets. So, Ben and I picked up 30 feet of clear plastic tubing at Lowe's yesterday. That'll make A LOT of bracelets. Now if I can just find the glitter that I've hidden from my glitter-hungry children. We'll be all set.

Bzzzzzzzztttt!

2007-11-26T23:49:00.001-06:00

That's the sound you may hear coming from my basement as I begin a wiring project. But I hope not. I would like to be alive to enjoy my remodeled craft haven.

Ah, the basement. About 1500 sq. ft. of extra space, "finished" by the previous owner's ex-con boyfriend (another story, another post). Drop ceiling-ed. HATE it. So, what's a girl to do but DEMO?

I woke up on Saturday morning with this undeniable urge to transform My Space into the craft room featured in a recent edition of Better Homes & Gardens. About half an hour later, we had joists, baby! Had to spare the ceiling fixture for now, though, so I still have two tracks running the length of the room to support that. I brushed off the dead bugs and dried mud (WTF?) exposed by the demo and stood back to admire the six inches I just added over my head.

Now I envision three can lights over my sewing desk, three can lights over the bed (it's a double-duty room, but we rarely have guests who spend the night). And Menard's is having a sale on just those very things this week. 22% off. Random, but beneficial. Picked up all the supplies this morning, along with a very spiffy pair of safety goggles.

Wish I would have thought of those before I let ceiling tile debris permanently etch both corneas.

Oh, well. Bygones.

Ben was quite the little Wal-Mart greeter at Menard's today, too. Greeted EVERYONE he met, and when they wouldn't acknowledge his presence he amped the charm and secured some smiles. In particular, a very old woman slumped over her shopping cart, probably waiting for her equally aged husband to hurry up already and get her out of there. Ben cranked up his "Hi!" volume as loud as it could go, she finally looked up, and I dare say Ben gifted her with her first smile in a year.

Sam came home from school today, rather upset. Seems they baked a gingerbread man this morning, and when kindergarten went to pop him out of the oven they discovered the gingerbread man had already flown the coop! "I felt SOOOOOOOOO disappointed!" Direct quote. As Sam was telling me this story, he scrunched up his face like he was either going to cry or punch someone. He made me promise to keep my eye out for the gingerbread man, so, for the LOVE OF GOD, please do the same, OK? I don't want to be in the way if he discovers the truth.

Way to go, kindergarten teacher. Teach LIES. Gee, thanks so much.

We're holding Elizabeth's birthday party in-house this year, after several consecutive years of roller skating and pizza parlors. Only girls allowed, and we're going to tie-dye and knot friendship bracelets. Oh, and eat tie-dye cupcakes baked in ice cream cones. We worked on the invitations yesterday, then I fretted and fussed on them until they couldn't be fussed anymore. We even made our own ENVELOPES, man!

Then we discovered that the school address book had gone Audi 500.

So, I sent the children on a mission to CLEAN UP THEIR ACT throughout the house. We have about four markers that actually have caps and ink. Tons of extraneous paper. Mountains of kid clutter. So much, in fact, that we never found the darn book and resorted to using one from two years ago. At least I forced the kids to recycle, though. And I banished all of their art supplies to the basement where, at the very least, I won't have to look at the mess all the time and feel guilty over wanting to pitch it all.

This is the sort of thing that makes me wanna go Amish.

I realize my blog is sorely lacking in the photo area, so I'll do better on that. I'll start documenting my remodel because, well, you never know if this will be the last time you see me!

Yeah, it's November

2007-11-12T14:34:00.000-06:00

And I'm just getting around to my first post of the month. Published, that is. I still tuck away little snippets of thought into my drafts. Just nothing worthy of broadcasting.

(And that's assuming ANY of what I write is ever worth broadcasting!)

It's amazing how much inspiration can strike when you can actually clear a space in your Crazy Purple Basement Craft Room and work a little project. It all started with plastic bag holders. I picked up some decorator fabric swatches a few years ago just because they were pretty (and a quarter apiece). I've been wanting to do very little but hibernate since the time change, so the kids and I retreated underground to a snug little crafting burrow. They sorted beads and buttons, and I tried to remember how to make bias tape. After a few hours of that, I was on my way to finishing a very swanky place to hold re-purposed grocery sacks.

This is why most people DO NOT sew. Mom, if you were here while I was wrestling with my rotary cutter and ruler, you woulda just given me a dollar and sent me to Bed Bath & Beyond. But, no, I persevered. Just look in your mailbox! :)

The second one was much easier. Then I ran out of elastic. I'm a little ashamed at how many supplies I've amassed over the years, always intending to make this or that or another thing. So it's a big surprise that I would run out of something. No worries. Veterans' Day sale at Hancock Fabrics.

I even made Sammy a cool fringy camo fleece snow hat. He looked so mod walking up to school this morning. That is, he WOULD have if I could have seen his head (ha ha ha).

I'm knitting some sweet turquoise mittens for E. She's (wisely) wary of my crafting skills, so she never asks me to make anything for her. She's likin' these, though, 'cause the cuffs are about a foot long. No snow getting up her sleeves this winter. It's fun to knit again, too. I've been on a long hiatus. One nice thing about winter...snuggling up in the big puffy chair with a kiddo or two or three and somewhat mindlessly knitting.

Crazy Larry, do you need a hat? I have some fancy wool/alpaca yarn, but only one skein. So I can either make a large sweater for Ken doll or a small hat for your bean. Lemme know.

I've been Christmas and birthday shopping in little spurts, and since Elizabeth can read I can't give up the ghost on what I've picked up so far. But it feels good to be ahead of the game. Now I can procrastinate all the way to December 23, just like usual.

Here's a little weirdness for you. Just for fun. I've never liked clowns, and after John Wayne Gacy's shenanigans went public, that did it for good. This clown is particularly disturbing.

Speaking of clowns, caucus season is really heating up here in Iowa. The candidates are crawling all over themselves to get our vote. Then they leave and forget that they were ever here. We're still Mitt people, but I wish I could be a Huckabee person. He's just not slick enough to be elected by the zombies that pull the lever on election day. You gotta have a schtick to be prez. Now I've gotta get to one of Mitt's numerous town hall meetings for a photo op. In a few weeks, I think I'll grab my camera and hang out in the skywalk downtown. They'll ALL be there, shamelessly begging for support from the lunchtime crowd.

Gotta run! I'm making French bread today. I've never made French bread before, but I wanna have black bean chili for dinner tonight, and the only way I can swing that with Joel is to have large quantities of bread with it. Worked out much frustration during the kneading process. The loaves are resting, and now, so must I.

Crazy Larry is my BROTHER?!?!?!?!?

2007-10-24T14:04:00.000-05:00

No way, dude. Never woulda guessed THAT. ;) Love you more than life, too, dear, and don't you have a birthday coming up? How's that church shopping coming along? Maybe I should write you a private e-mail instead of broadcasting on the World Wide Web.

This morning, I took Ben to Signature Male for a long overdue haircut. His first haircut was quite the fiasco, and I've been avoiding barber shops like head lice, but the child could no longer see through his four-inch-long bangs. My neighbors take their sons to Signature Male, and, yes, it's a DAY SPA for men. Very nice joint, with wine and pretzels and leather sofas. Angela and Amy recommended Amber, who I hear can tolerate anything a toddler can dish out.

She hadn't yet met Ben.

As soon as I tried to plant his booty in the barber chair, Ben railed up and started screaming. So, I sat in the chair and hoisted him onto my lap. Crisis averted. At least the first one. Amber tries to snap a cape behind his neck, and Ben freaks out. She gives him Laffy Taffy. No dice. (And an interjection here...I still don't understand why HAIR places distribute the world's stickiest candies to soothe drooling toddlers...get the picture?) Amber snaps a cape around MY neck, whips out the clippers, and Ben causes such a ruckus that the owner emerges from his office and tries to entice him with a Disney puzzle book. He was a sharp-looking fella, but he was having a heck of a time assembling puzzles in midair for Ben's entertainment.

So, a few minutes later, Ben was shorn like a sheep. We were both covered in soft blond baby hair. And he was chewing on a Tootsie Roll.

Covered in soft blond baby hair.

In my utter wisdom, I felt like getting out this morning, and I chose the Urbandale Library. (No, I will never learn.) It was an abbreviated trip, as you could probably guess. Ben was running from table to table, greeting the people who retreat to the library for some solitude and to check their Yahoo! personals (I HATE going by the computer stations...there's always some weirdo exercising his or her right to free speech right there for all to see). Ben likes the way his voice carries in the library, too. Really likes it. Urbandale librarians are charmed by Ben's cuteness, but I don't press our luck. I didn't even meet my self-imposed quota of a full tote bag of reading material.

Today is early-out day, Religous Ed day, I-should-wash-some-towels day, you name it. Wednesdays feel so crazy once school starts. My R.E. co-teacher is abandoning me after Christmas break. She's going to graduate school for her Master's. Damn overacheivers. She feels horribly guilty, and she's offered to teach every lesson until she leaves, but I can't take her up on that. Teaching is not coming very easily to me. It's certainly better than the first time, but I need LOTS of practice.

Tonight's lesson is about respect, gearing the kidlets up for Reconciliation. One of the suggested activities is to distribute word tiles and encourage the kids to assemble kind words. I will not be doing that activity. Knowing what I know about these children, that would descend into total madness in about ten seconds flat. (LOOK! I spelled POOP!!!!!!) I think we'll be making puppets instead. And doing jumping jacks and running a few laps. We have a squirrely bunch.

Oh, and one more thing...my neighbors (and not-so-distant cousins) are planning a trip to the homeland after Christmas. Well, they live there for now, but in the Italian region. My neighbor's brother will be flying back with them, and then they're going to drive up north to Thun and the surrounding villages to see what they can find. I have to come up with some sort of genealogy itinerary for them so they can be sure to hit as many hot spots as possible on their trip, like churches, houses, and probably even meet some Eymann kinfolk. I was telling Mom how BEAUTIFUL Thun is, and since I just recently scrapped a page about just that very topic, I will share it with you, too, my lovely readers. I present to you, UNSERE HEIMAT! (Das ist gut, no?)

ACK! The pressure!!!!!

2007-10-21T22:30:00.000-05:00

Wow, I seriously have no idea where over half of October went. Do you? There was a time in my life where I remember whining to my poor mother that I was bored and had absolutely nothing to do. I sometimes find myself pining for those days! Three kids, two in soccer, Brownies, sleepovers, and R.E. I'm on this treadmill called motherhood.

I don't much care for being bored, anyhow.

Let's see...nothing new to report, really. Ben is toning it down a smidge. Rough weekend, but during the week he shines when he has Mommy all to himself. He's talking up a storm, and he's very eager to assist with household chores. Sam still LOVE school. Elizabeth wishes 2nd grade was as fun as 1st grade (and she still had all her best friends in the same classroom!).

And life moves along.

Oh, I'm 35 now. That freaks me out, but it REALLY freaks out my parents. I remember THEM being 35 (which I also remember as being SOOOOOO OLD!!!!!!). THEY remember being 35. And their little girl is sprouting some wicked white hair left and right. For the girl who always encourages her mother to stop coloring her noggin and let it all go, it's funny how I have the undeniable urge to tweeze every single white strand that pops outta my own noggin. Granted, I know it will be snowy white, just like Grandpa Paul's. But Grandpa was, well, a GRANDPA. I'm certainly not old enough for that. Yet.

It's kinda sad, too, when you get to this age and you almost have to reach for a calculator to figure out how old you actually are. It involves such complicated math, cosines and tangents and differentials.

Youth is wasted on the young.

I gotta work up to blogging again. The humor is a little rusty. But sooner than you know it, the snow will start flying here, and I'll give in to the urge to hibernate. YEAH! Come to think of it, that's ALWAYS my issue this time of year. I WANT TO HIBERNATE. Wouldn't that be the coolest? Eat like a bear all spring and summer, then work it off by sleeping November through March. Anyone with me? I think there should be a law!

Oh, and I spruced up the old avie there, Fiesta style. Even though the party's over, I think I'll keep it around for awhile. I really Photoshop-d the BEGEEZUS out of it, so I think I look pretty good for a girl of my advanced age.

Hey, you!

2007-09-24T13:30:00.001-05:00

Yes, I'm talking to YOU! Where have I been, you ask? Well, anywhere but my computer, I suppose. All three children were sick last weekend. Vomit sick. Fun times. This weekend, it was Mommy and Daddy's turn to wrestle with God-only-knows WHAT germs the kids trucked home from school. So we've mostly been recovering.

Big news, though. I found my Holy Grail. Yes, indeed. A bedding ensemble. I'm not kidding when I confess I've spent the past ten years searching for something suitable for the master bedroom. The comforter has to be 100% cotton, pretty fluffy, a good compromise of feminine and masculine. It would be nice if the set came with everything already so I didn't have to spend more time searching.

So, there I was a couple of weeks ago. Pre-flu. Schlepping through Kohl's with a cantankerous Ben in tow. And there it was. MY COMFORTER. Chaps Summerton. Red. Flowery. Reverses to subtle brown plaid. Shams. Bedskirt. 100% cotton. Totally and utterly on sale, to boot. Come Hell or high water, this big thing was going in the cart and coming home with me.

Fluffed it all out, dressed up the bed, and entertained thoughts of knitting pillow shams and crocheting edgings. Needlepoint, even. The possibilities are endless. The best part? It's snuggly warm perfection. Since winter will be rearing its nasty self soon 'round these parts, Joel may have to pull my chill-hating self out of bed every morning until April. But he doesn't even mind the flowers (they're not that girly, afterall), so I'll try not to be such a pain.

It will be so nice not to feel compelled to browse the bed and bath merchandise of all the major department stores in central Iowa every single time I go shopping. It's like this huge burden's been lifted from my shoulders. Thank you, Ralph.

I realize I just blogged for several paragraphs about bedding. How sad. But good at the same time, right? Sure beats that last post, huh?

And I can't scrap worth a darn lately. Not for lack of trying. I'm in a mojo-less period. It'll come back. I guess it gives me time to finish up the valances I told Denise I'd sew for her back in, well, FEBRUARY. The things she'll put up with for free labor, I tell you.

As if you need one more thing to worry about

2007-09-13T10:25:00.000-05:00

WARNING! I don't usually get into politics on this blog as a rule. But this seems pretty relevant, and I can't get it out of my mind. So if you're easily offended, skip it. As of now, in America, we still have freedom of choice.

Dad had a meeting at Drake yesterday afternoon, so Mom joined him on his trip to Des Moines and spent the afternoon at the old homestead with Ben and me. Mom alerted me to a certain special report being aired on Glenn Beck this week. "The Perfect Day". Heard of it? We TiVO Mr. Beck, but we haven't watched him in awhile because, well, he kinda grates on my nerves. But Mom got my attention, and I felt like my stomach was gonna shoot out of my toes.

Please Google it, sift through the results, and make up your own mind. And steel yourself for some pretty disturbing information. Seems Al-Qaida plans to unleash a Beslan-like attack on our very own MIDWESTERN public schools. And then they plan to sit back and see what kind of animals we become when our children have been murdered.

9/11 woke us up for a moment. But look how quickly we've forgotten that awful feeling we ALL felt when we saw the last plane crash into the World Trade Center, live, as it happened. Then the horror of watching the towers tumble, knowing that many people were dying right in front of our very eyes. Now imagine Al-Qaida unleashing Hell at the neighborhood school with our children inside.

How do we even begin to prepare for something like this (other than yank the kidlets outta there and start up some homeschooling)? If I didn't have school-age children, I'd certainly be put off by the sheer horror of the possibility of a terrorism attack on our schools. But this is absolutely sickening. Many children of Middle Eastern origin attend our school. And, I hate to say it, but a part of me is going to be more suspicious of their parents. Sure, all but the main doors are locked during the school day. A Rent-A-Cop "guards" the entrance there, but he's unarmed and doesn't impress me as the sort who's able to go mano-a-mano. The school "encourages" you to sign in at the office and wear a badge, but it's common knowledge that visitors are NEVER approached by ANYONE in the halls if they haven't signed in or if they're not wearing a badge. We worry about bullies. Heck, our school even has a counselor on staff who works with all the children on a weekly basis. But what do you do about this? Be super vigilant, sure. Worry like there's no tomorrow. Most likely.

And every day I drop the kids off at school I will be thinking, even if just for a fleeting moment, that this may be the day something really bad happens.

Last fall, when the schools were locked down due to a DEA drug bust gone awry, I was so in the dark. I came home from taking Sam to preschool to find agents with guns combing my neighborhood. I flipped on the TV as soon as I got inside, and, soon, the news came on. I called school IMMEDIATELY, only to get a busy signal. When I got through, I asked if I could pick up Elizabeth. The secretary followed procedure and asked that I stay home. I ignored my instinct and followed the rules, but I chewed off every single fingernail on both hands that day.

Next time, I'll do what Mom told me. Call the school and tell the secretary both kids have a doctor/dentist/electrolysis/WHATEVER! appointment, march into school, and take them home with me. I am usually quite the responsible citizen, but I will trust my gut and go all Mama Bear if they are ever in the slightest bit of danger again, perceived or real. I don't see any other way in this day and age.

I don't care if you are red, blue or beige. I don't care if Glenn Beck is just trying to beef up his ratings. This was a serious smack upside the head. It's so easy to believe that terrorism will never rear its ugly head on our shores ever again. When was the last time we actually had to wage war on our own soil? Yeah, that's right...anyone remember The Civil War? It's been a long time. And hopefully, we can keep that streak going. But it's up to ordinary Joe Citizen to demand our government perform its most important duty, to protect us from those who wish to destroy us.

And that wouldn't be Larry Craig. Think Al-Qaida instead.

Makes one yearn for the 50's.

Hy-Vee and the sommelier

2007-09-10T15:06:00.000-05:00

Yes, I live in a fancy suburb. And, yes, our Hy-Vee has a sommelier. Sort of. Joel sent me out on a mission to bring home garlic bread, steak and white wine for dinner Saturday night. And I wound up chatting for about twenty minutes with the wine guy. I think I know too much about him at this point, but he did bring up an interesting topic. One of his sons is my age, and he keeps telling his dad that he's old-fashioned. That it doesn't matter what you blog about or what kinds of mistakes you make in your real life. Society is much more relaxed about our missteps these days. If you use technology as much as this generation, you're bound to become desensitized to Bill Clinton's transgressions or Lindsay Lohan's third try at rehab. You text message, e-mail, surf the web about such things all day, so by the time you wind down at night, it's all a meaningless blur. Wine Guy told me he's actually seen teenagers walking side-by-side in the mall texting EACH OTHER. (No judgement here...I would totally be doing that if I were a teenager now.) He told me his one-year-old grandson even "texts" him. He abbreviates what his children called their grandfather (I can't remember what he told me, but it was something unique). They joke about it, but he still thinks it's weird.

And I brought home a nice bottle of wine. I know ZIP about such things, so I just asked for something white and under $20. At Hy-Vee, that was pretty much about every bottle.

It's cold and dreary today. Only in the 50's. Considering it was sweltering last week, this is a tough adjustment. I always get a little anxious this time of year since I fear (irrationally) that I haven't filled the kids' closets with enough warm clothing to last the winter. Darn preparedness hang-up. I think they were wearing enough layers to be mistaken for onions this morning. And God forbid they feel a raindrop! They keep asking me for umbrellas. They have to walk about 40 feet from the minivan into school. I had to walk four blocks to school, rain or shine. And although there were no hills, I still considered it more of a nuisance than my kids consider their journey.

Ben's first official sentence? "I poop." Closely followed by "I love you." I would have liked the order to have been reversed, but oh, well. Every time he toots, he says the first sentence. Which has to be a good sign, right? He's making the connection. He also holds his diaper and says "HOT!" when he tinkles. Here's hoping he's potty-trained before we upgrade to Size 5.

I rearranged my living room. This may not be a big deal to anybody else, but I have no sense of style. And I have two completely huge Texas-house-sized sofas in there. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. But I don't want to shell out money for new ones when these are perfectly fine. You may have to jump over them to get from the front door to the dining room, but hey. I followed a Momism and put the sofas on an angle across from each other. Put the bookcase in the middle of the long wall to break up the flow. Put the Amana rocker in the corner. Put the sewing machine table next to it. The room totally works, believe it or not. Sammy even raved about it, telling me I did, "SUCH A GOOD JOB, MOMMY!!!!!!!!!" But now I need lamps. Darnit. I am just not capable of making decorating decisions. Lots of ideas, rarely any commitment.

Speaking of my precious rug rats, here's a little page documenting their crazy antics in the maple tree last summer. Elizabeth could climb a steel door. And Sam would scramble up right next to her until he could climb higher than Elizabeth. Anyway, I love to see them getting along like this. That pretty much ended last summer. The older they get, the more they go at each other. But deep down, they still love each other dearly, I'm sure.

Ding, dong, the smack is dead

2007-09-04T13:28:00.001-05:00

The EVIL BLOG petered out on itself, and now we can all go back to enjoying ourselves in our safe little bubble.

At least until the next blogger.

Mom and Dad visited on Sunday, bearing gifts, of course. Ben behaved himself very well, so now my parents think I'm a liar. Way to go, BEN. Monday, we wound up mooching pizza off of our neighbors while all of our kids jumped on their trampoline. I SO love entertaining. Especially when it's all done at someone else's house.

Let's talk about things that break. Wait. We don't have ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD today. Geesh. The dishwasher, that thorn in my side, is loudly burning through its THIRD motor. Said dishwasher is three years old. I WASH my dishes before I load the dishwasher, for crying out loud. It's not like I ask very much of it. Just sanitize. And do it on delay. And stop waking us up every night with your incessant whining.

I hear that Bosch makes a virtually indestructible dishwasher. I feel like I should wait until the motor on the Whirlpool just up and dies. It's not worth it to fix it again. The repair runs about $300, so that's halfway to a brand-new machine. It's a shame that household appliances are pretty much disposable these days.

As if that weren't enough, the switch on my less-than-one-year-old upright vacuum burned up, and now I'm restricted to its far less powerful cousin, the central vac. Granted, I vacuum daily. I do it for the sake of a clean house. And I just get a kick out of it. Yeah, I know. That's weird. I feel almost lost thinking that I can't just run to the hall closet and freely suck the mites out of my carpet. As if mites actually have a chance to make themselves at home there. I've been tearing through my disorganized organization system of manuals and receipts to no avail. I can't find the receipt that will prove this vacuum is under warranty. But mark my words, it will be repaired, and I will not be paying for the repair.

Maybe the motor's burned out, too. And maybe I should consult someone about my voodoo-curse-like bad luck with motors. Cars have motors. I am frightened.

I broke down and gave into the whole library bureaucracy this morning to sign Ben up for story time. I think you should just be able to pop in. But, no, there is a system and it must be honored. Two librarians manned the children's desk this morning, one receiving Nextels (no lie) from anxious parents desperately seeking to nurture the literary seeds blossoming in their children's minds. Sign-up sheets blanketed the desk, a line of mothers eagerly anticipating their child's name being first on the list. People seriously sweat bullets over story time here.

I'm just saying it better be darn well worth the effort. I want finger plays and puppets. And dancing bears.

Genealogically speaking, I've had this one great-great-great-great-grandmother mystery for the past few years. Her name was Jane Trayes Parish Meredith, and she married another man named John. I could never decipher his surname on their marriage certificate, so I made a guess and went with "Guiniss". She disappeared from her home in Wisconsin after 1856, so I just assumed that was the end of that.

Well, I was poking around yesterday, matching records to people in the family tree on Ancestry.com, working on Samuel Comer. Samuel was Jane's grandson through her daughter (and my great-great-great-grandmother) Emma Parish Comer Terry. (Yes, my family is full of strong women who outlast many, many husbands.) Samuel showed up in Kansas in 1885. Living with Jane and James GWENNAP. GWENNAP? I'd never heard of a weird name like that. I followed the trail and found Jane living with her daughter, Elizabeth Parish Bartle, in 1800. Then, Jane was living with her daughter, Ellen Gwennap Hinks, in 1900. All in Kansas. THEN, it turns out the Trayes family has a tremendously long history in St. Teath, Cornwall, England. I've got a lot of research to do now.

I figured I had some family from somewhere other than Germany. So today, I feel so very BRITISH. I might even drink some tea...

I've been getting curiouser and curiouser (I know that's not a word, just using it for effect, OK?) about the places my people have come from. I Googled Werxhausen, Germany the other day and up pops this satellite image of the itty bitty village that was home to all the Gatzemeyers for so many years. Their church (St. Urban), too. And Leistal, where my Grandpa Paul was born. My neighbors are making a trip there this October, and I can't wait to see what they find there.

I shift easily among my obsessions. I'm gonna go scrap something while my Serial Kisser is fast asleep. Notice my lack of graphics lately? Yeah, that's me scrap slackin'...

Oh, just go and take a WALK!

2007-08-31T16:15:00.001-05:00

My sister-in-law innocently called me up this morning and invited me to the Raccoon River Trail for a little group walk. Showerless (blech, I don't do showerless, but I had no other choice this crazy morning), I tossed Ben and his wagon into the minivan and headed out. Never having hiked the trail before, I didn't realize it wound around Blue Heron Lake in its entirety. And Ben just wasn't gonna sit in his wagon and enjoy the scenery. Up. Down. Out. Back. A dog walks by. We lose Ben again. On my shoulders. On my hip. In his cousin's stroller. With Grandma. With Aunt Mi.

It was a long bajillion or so miles around the loop. For awhile there I lost hope that we were ever going to return to civilization. I was fearing I would have to learn to live in the wild and the bounty of the Raccoon River. God only knows what that bounty includes. Ben probably would have been all for that. But we ended our journey at Perkins instead. Somehow I don't think the mac 'n' cheese appealed to Ben as much as catfish and trail gravel.

Got the results for the annual physical in the mail today, and Joel was annoyed by them. I am very healthy. And I make absolutely no effort to be that way. My bad numbers are all low, my good numbers are all high. Dr. Pepper truly IS just what the doctor ordered, though I'm not so sure what the dentist would say about my "plan". (Yeah, I have good teeth, too. So far. Lotsa flouride in the water in Siouxland when I grew up. I glow in the dark, but I can bite through tin cans.) My people live for a very, very, very, VERY long time. Of course, our minds give out before our bodies do, but I won't have any knowledge of that while I'm kicking back in the home of one of my three grown children who won't have to worry about living up to my expectations because I most likely won't know who they are.

No more smack blogs for me. I'm feeling rather negative about the scrapbooking lifestyle right now. It's an icky feeling. I used to be all up for praising people, regardless of whether or not their work was my taste. I'm no arbiter of taste, and if people make the effort to share AND oftentimes also make the effort to praise ME, then I have no other choice but to spread a little love. I don't think it's sucking up. I don't think it's shallow. I just think it's nice to be nice. I had no idea my little online world was so full of such angry people. I'm going back to my bubble where it is cozy and warm and full of hot cocoa and marshmallows. You can only read the f-bomb so many times...

And another thing. CT's. I wouldn't bother if I wouldn't buy from these people anyway. It's a way to feel part of a community. In this hobby, you need people like you who understand why you are so completely and hopelessly addicted. Otherwise, you would turn off the computer before 3 a.m. and get some sleep already, mother of three.

Why am I explaining myself? Oh, because I'm trying to avoid writing about anything important. Which is pretty much the point of my blog. Avoiding important matters.

The human head weighs eight pounds. (Three, if you're stupid.)

Elizabeth had a very good day today in contrast to the sad one she suffered yesterday. She took her cabbage worm to school to show her classmates, and they all thought it was just about the coolest thing. She told them all about it and felt special doing it. And she passed her first math level. Forty problems in one minute. Mad Math. Many levels to go, but she actually made a goal of passing this week, and she achieved it.

Sam came home with an "incomplete immunization record" letter the other day, and I put off scheduling the missed shot 'til today. And Joel took him. Sam caught the drift of what was going to happen and confidently stated, "I don't care about shots anymore". A week's worth of kindergarten has matured him so.

And how did he miss a shot? Sometimes I wonder if Nurse Cratchitt just enjoys inflicting pain with her thimerosol-laden needles. Sam's had every single checkup at the exact same time every year. I think they just add new ones here and there. Tell the kid one year that boosters are over until they're twelve, but somehow sneak in a couple of new shots at each physical during the supposedly shot-free era.

Sam was very brave, didn't even cry. But we treated the whole family to Dairy Queen anyhow because Joel is a very good Daddy and promised. I upgraded my Blizzard because Ben shared with me. So, yes, I got about half of it. And Elizabeth devoured an entire waffle cone. She had plenty of room from NOT eating her turkey tacos. Even though I make THE BEST turkey tacos in the world, according to Sam.

And, yes, you are correct. I'm avoiding anything constructive having to do with my computer. I am completely and utterly wasting time. Yours included. Go do something useful!

Spread the sunshine, not the other stuff

2007-08-29T10:23:00.000-05:00

I neglected to blog about a little incident last Tuesday at our local Target. All three kids in tow, we needed to make a quick stop to grab a birthday present for a party which was to start in less than an hour. (Yeah, I'm a planner!) Pull into the parking lot, grab a space, park horribly. I have ZERO depth perception. So, I was squeezed in pretty closely to the minivan next to me. All three kids were already unbuckled and out of the car at this point. It was hot, late afternoon, just imagine the level of patience of three antsy party-going children in this situation. "No problem," I quickly think. The driver is a mother, too, and she'd understand just like I've understood the countless times I've been squeezed by another minivan. It just happens.

After our shopping is done, we return to the minivan. A note is tucked into the handle of the sliding door that had faced the other minivan to which I had parked so closely. "Great," I think, "I parked too close, and the other mom had no other choice but to totally scratch up my car, so she wrote me a note." No, my friend, not so. The other mom actually took the time to REPRIMAND me for my lack of consideration. In red ink, no less. I was a little shocked. Granted, I was inconsiderate. But in this day and age of so little communication between neighbors, angry people always seem to take the time to get their little jabs in. I'm a mom, for goodness sakes. I know a lot about reprimanding. She even pointed out that my minivan has two scratched on the door, so I must do this all the time. Ouch. In reality, those scratches came from a time when I got stuck in a bayberry bush trying to pull out of a driveway in a blizzard, but she does have a point. I suck at parking. But do what I have done countless other times in my life. Cut a woman a break!

I can't imagine how wigged out this woman must have been that day. If she's a really angry person, she probably recorded my license plate number, went home, searched for my identity on the Internet, and found this blog. If so, I'm sorry I ruined your day. I wasn't thinking.

And thank you for not keying my Grocery Getter.

Ben and I cruised the aisles of Target again this morning. And the parking lot was so empty I didn't park next to anyone. An older couple pulled in next to me as I was strapping Ben into the cart. They parked VERY closely. Guess I should have shot them dead right where they stood. But, thankfully, I'm feeling dovish today.

All this after admitting my love of smack yesterday. I know there is a parking lot smack blog out there, and I deserve to be on it. I. Am. Ashamed.

Cruising Target. What a treat. Up and down the aisles with one (mostly) patient child. I haven't been able to closely inspect all the bargains that live at one of my favorite stores in goodness knows how long. That said, I accumulated some un-necessities. Seven-cent notebooks, construction paper (you don't know how much of this kids go through!), Play-Doh, and four boxes of Kashi. A fellow shopper even approached me and started a conversation about the Kashi. Must be from out of town. Iowans just don't do that, as a rule.

The long journey to becoming a catechist starts up again tonight. And tomorrow night. And then two more times before I ever teach a class. I spent three hours in training on Saturday. I'm sorta nervous, but the director actually gave us what essentially are Cliff Notes on the Catholic Church. All I need to know in two skinny little books. That's not too much to ask. I'm just glad I'll be teaching Elizabeth's class. She'll be easy on me.

Elizabeth sold 90 pounds of cookie dough. Ninety pounds. Gives me a tummy ache just pondering that. So, she's entered five times into a drawing for an iPod, we get 9 pounds of said cookie dough, and she gets to play soccer for free in the fall. I'm so glad it's over.

Because now it's time to sell Entertainment Books and Sally Foster for PTA.

I would never deny my children books. But please. WHY DO WE HAVE TO SEND OUR KIDS OUT TO SELL THIS OVERPRICED CRAP EVERY SINGLE YEAR?!?!?!?!?!? I know I've offended every other PTA member on this planet, but I know some of you think the same way. I pay a big wad of property taxes, I figure. Thousands of dollars of our hard-earned money goes to our district twice a year. What are they doing with all of it?

Obviously, not enough. If they park it in a low-rate savings account, they could probably work off of the interest. But that's not how government works. That's entirely too practical when you're talking about spending other people's money.

I rant. I rave. And now I am done. Here's your layout today, featuring another scanned goody from my mother-in-law's collection. Now, this is a wee bit spooky because I already had this particular photo from a long time ago. I'd started a layout with it weeks ago for a heritage challenge at SA, always intending on titling it "One Is The Loneliest Number". Imagine my goosebumps when I found a copy of the photo in the album, flipped it over, and read "One Is The Loneliest Number" written by my mother-in-law on the back. Spooky. I know, a very popular song at the time by Three Dog Night, but still. A little spooky. So, here you go:

I've been fiddling with displacement maps to give my shadows a little boost. Always learning. Often making mistakes, but always learning.

Oh, and a quick update on our cabbage caterpillar. He was just curled up and lying very still under a cabbage leaf. Might be cocooning. Elizabeth's been writing about caterpillars and butterflies non-stop since school started last week, and her teacher encouraged her to bring a caterpillar into class so she could make a presentation. Of course, Elizabeth told me about this development at 8:45 this morning. But we'll get something together by tomorrow. Gotta encourage that love of science. The fate of our country depends on it, so I'm told.

Read at your leisure

2007-08-27T10:41:00.000-05:00

Dad sent me this blog link a while back, and I finally got around to reading it this morning. Check it out: Blog Against The Machine. Seems he's freelancing, and in between gigs he blogs from the comfort of his West Des Moines home rather close to where I live, I see. Give him some love. I enjoy his wit, just like Dad told me I would.

Oh, great. Another diversion.

While we're on that topic, I just recently discovered an extremely guilty online pleasure. And no, it doesn't involve a credit card. Get your mind outta the gutter. I'm talking smack blogs. I didn't even know such a thing existed, but you can pretty much find smack about anything and everything. Including something as benign as scrapbooking (both digital and paper genres have their own smack blogs). I didn't know scrapbookers could be so catty. Oh, who am I kidding? The majority of scrapbookers are women, and women are catty. There you go. But, WOW! The claws really come out on those blogs. It's kinda refreshing in a really sick and twisted way because you read what people are honestly thinking. Sometimes, I agree. Sometimes, I'm shocked. But, yup, I still read 'em. And I feel guilty for reading them, but so far that hasn't stopped me from getting a dose now and then. If anything, reading smack reminds me to be a nice person. All that vitriol makes you want to be on your best behavior so YOU don't wind up on the smack radar.

I'm not on anyone's radar, and I like it that way.

Spent the morning at Raccoon River trying to prevent Ben from sneaking away to the parking lot and driving home. After an hour at the park, he actually snuck behind the maintenance shed, and when he thought he was home free, took off like a shot towards the minivan. I got the message. He about passed out in the car, so it was a very early lunch and nap today.

I actually carried on a conversation with Jodie while trying to tame little Ben and calm him down for his nap. And, no, that wasn't the brightest thing to do. But it was so nice to chat with my ole college pal. So there. Still not sold on staying in dorms for homecoming, but we'll see...

Found Ben upstairs in E's room sucking on her lip gloss (shhhhhh, don't tell her!). He retreats there to fill his diapers. No lie. And now that he knows she has strawberry flavored goo in a tube in her room, I will always know where to find him, potty break or no.

Speaking of E's room, it is SPARKLING. I finally got fed up with all the junk in there. Yes, I know, she's a kid, and kids collect junk. (And, yes, I know how horribly messy my room was from the ages of six to 22, Mom. It now disgusts me to even think about it. Happy? OK!) But this is my house, so these are my rules. I just dumped everything on the floor and started purging. Hair thingamabobs mixed in with Barbies and Polly and Ello. Stray puzzle pieces that will never find their home. Broken pom poms, pencils, crayons. It was (mostly) gone by the time she got home. And you know what? E was TOTALLY into it. She helped me finish! We rearranged the furniture, too, so she now has room for a nightstand. I stashed an old sewing table in the basement for the past two years after one of my Goodwill treks. One side flips up so you can store treasures inside, and it has a rail for books on the outside. Needed a good cleaning, and it took a little convincing, but I promised Elizabeth we could paint it however she'd like. I had to tear her away from it this morning; she was lost in her coloring, but it was time to go to school.

And she told me she slept like a baby last night in her clean room. Chaos be gone, you.

Want a little organization tip? From me to you? Here you go. If you have little ones with lots of little toys, go to your nearest supermarket bakery and ask for the gallon buckets that hold frosting. They just throw them out, so they might look at you a little cross-eyed for asking for their garbage, but stay with me, OK? When you get home wash them out with a lot of hot soapy water, bleach, the whole shebang. Then sort you out some toys. E has a bucket for Barbies, Polly and Beanie Babies. You can also get really industrious and make liners for your buckets so they're A) more decorative and B) have a place to attach more pockets on the outside of the bucket for even smaller toys that complement the toys in the bucket.

I like to think of myself as frugal. Not cheap.

Oh, and, as promised last week, here is Crystal-pher (click for credits):

We had a gypsy moth caterpillar and a cabbage butterfly caterpillar. Whereabouts currently unknown since escaping the fish tank two days ago. Maybe they fell in love and ran off to Mexico. Dunno. Makes a sweet story, though.

Where is Crazy Larry?

Class is in session

2007-08-24T13:28:00.000-05:00

Can you believe it? The third day of school already, and nobody's cried (much) and both children have yet to be altered by the liberal public school machine. I remember walking Elizabeth into kindergarten every day for a couple of weeks (more for my sake than hers!). Now Elizabeth walks Sam into his kindergarten class before winding down the hall to the second grade pod. They LOVE school, and they've come home each day full of things to talk about even though they are totally exhausted.

This year, Elizabeth has full reign over the library. As long as she returns a book, she can check out another. Whenever she wants. She's not all that interested in stories...she's more of a non-fiction girl. The past few days she's been scouring the library for any and all books concerning caterpillars. As in, how to find them. She misses Crystal-pher.

I ate lunch with Sam the first day since that can be pretty overwhelming. Three days later, though, he's a pro. Yesterday he ate his first school food, and I was so worried that the phone would ring at lunchtime with an aide on the other end asking me to come to school to pick up Sam who had thrown a complete fit when he missed the milk line. But that never happened. He went through the line just fine, filled his tummy, and went on his merry way.

I made fudge on Wednesday, as requested by my little sweet teeth. Now that Elizabeth is old enough to be a bit more patient and Sam does everything in his power to emulate her, the first thing we do upon arriving home from school is grab a snack, sit down, and talk about the day. Amazing what fudge can make kids do. If I don't slack, we're keeping this up every day for the rest of their school lives. I figure the more opportunities we carve out to talk to each other the less they'll try to keep from me. Right?

Ben's been thriving on his alone time with Mommy. He's all smiles and hugs and kisses. Unfortunately, I've realized he's been getting lost in the shuffle of all that happens with older siblings in the house. It took me spending this one-on-one time with him to realize what an impact it has on him. Needless to say, we're having a lot of fun so far. Next week, we'll actually get out a bit more (it's raining, raining, RAINING...NOAH! Build the ark!). I've never taken Ben to story time. I know, BAD MOMMY. But after that incident in Coppell a few years ago when we were asked to leave story time (hard to believe Sam was ever incorrigible), I've been reluctant to take babies to quiet places. I miss that sort of stuff. I've forgotten how much I actually used to do with my kids outside of telling them to pick up their toys, brush their teeth, and avoid assorted dangers. It's gonna be fun to BE fun again!

And I am thoroughly enjoying the lack of noise for the duration of naptime every afternoon. Really recharges the old batteries. I'm satisfied knowning Elizabeth and Sam are having a blast at school, Ben is dreaming away, and I have the house pretty much all to myself. And I'm a much better mother for it.

Did I mention the RAIN? Our gauge is almost full. Not as bad as up north where they were drenched with NINE INCHES in one day. But it always makes me a little nervous, and I cross my fingers the sump pump kicks on when necessary. The last thing I ever want is backed-up sewage in my basement. Wonder why...

I've been trying again to track down my not-so-great-great-grandfather, James Rice. I finally sat down and read through the affidavits in my great-great-grandmother's Civil War Pension Application. But I seriously doubt I'll ever find out what happened to him. He was an unknown quantity in Denver, Missouri. No relatives, no history. Could you imagine marrying someone without the slightest clue about his people? Where he was born? Where he came from? My great-great-grandmother didn't even know when she married him, she could only estimate. Same with the birth dates of her children. Not even the year. She and my great-great-grandfather were illiterate, so they obviously didn't write anything down. And killing your food and surviving winter probably precluded family record keeping. It's just weird to read that. Anyhow, James stole some chickens and beehives, feared going to jail for his crimes, and flew the coop. He was in Denver for about two years, total. That's it. A two year contribution, and here I am three generations later. This was all before the Civil War, so maybe he died then? He seemed to be such a vagabond that there's really no telling where he could have gone. He never contacted his wife and children, and nobody ever heard a whisper of him after he left.

I think I need to scrap something...

PRE School Warm-up

2007-08-20T22:40:00.000-05:00

Today was a Monday the kids have been waiting for since, well, sometime last week. Meet The Teacher night at school. Elizabeth and Sam even made presents for their new teachers: Sam drew a picture of all of his pets, both real and imaginary, and Elizabeth crafted a flower bouquet complete with stamens and petals and the whole nine yards.

First stop: Kindergarten. Sam's teacher is new to our school this year. Very friendly. Very young. Very up to the task of educating 26 eager little learners. At least that's my hope. We found his desk and his first assignment. Write your name and draw a picture of yourself. Sammy started drawing a big green snake. I asked him to read that part about the picture being about yourself, and he just shrugged and drew an itty bitty face next to the gargantuan green snake. He stashed his pencil box under his desk, took a quick look around the utterly tricked out kindergarten room, and Sam was ready to move on.

Next stop: 2nd grade "pod". Does that creep you out as much as it creeps me out? Ever seen "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"? That's the first thing I think about whenever I hear the word "pod". Anywhoooooo, Elizabeth is in a new class with people she hasn't been with since kindergarten. Her best friends are all next door. All the 2nd-graders take recess together, so she'll get to see them then. She colored her bee, gently corrected her teacher on the spelling of our last name (we capitalize the "M" in the middle, just because it's the way it's always been done as well as the fact that it's pretty cool). Elizabeth's classroom is graced by what Sammy calls a "mouse skeleton". It's a human skeleton with HUGE ears stuck to its skull and wearing a Jerry Garcia tie. I have a feeling Elizabeth will be bringing home alot of information about global warming. At least her teacher was only wearing flip flops, not Birks...

Oh, and we had ice cream, too. As if you really need to bribe elementary school kids to come to Meet The Teacher. But it certainly doesn't hurt.

Sam accompanied Elizabeth to soccer practice. They wound up scrimmaging so the referees could practice their thing, so my family was out way past dinner time. Ben and I went on a Hy-Vee adventure, returning cans (ICK! If I weren't so cheap I wouldn't even bother. I still feel sticky. ICK!), greeting customers and employees. Hy-Vee's slogan used to be "A Helpful Smile In Every Aisle" (cute, dontcha think?). Ben might not have been much help, but he sure was smiling. In every aisle. He THRIVES on attention, and he's not afraid to shout for it.

The sad thing is, after spending a big wad of moolah on edibles, I still caved and brought home a take-and-bake pizza.

Don't ever, ever, EVER grocery shop on an empty stomach.

Ben even helped put away the groceries when we got home. And now that he's ripped the child safety devices off of every doorknob in the house ending our best efforts to protect him from falling down the stairs and drinking Windex, he walked on his own with me to the basement freezer. Now, this may not seem like much, but this is one of those milestones that brings a mother so much relief. I only have to lug the bags of freezables down the stairs now. It was a bit of a scary thing to do lugging Ben, too.

(And, yes, I've placed the Windex in an upper cabinet. As far as I know Ben can't climb the washing machine. Yet.)

Tomorrow is the last hurrah of summer vacation. We're spending it at the pool. The kiddie pool, that is, in my sister-in-law's backyard. She knows how to throw a par-TAY!

Crystal has left the building

2007-08-18T23:28:00.000-05:00

Today was the day. Crystal emerged from her cocoon this morning, and we released her into the wild this afternoon. Both Elizabeth and I documented the event with oodles of pictures, don't you worry. It's just too late for me to download them at the moment.

But DO worry about this. Crystal is, well, actually a "Crystal-pher". When our butterfly pet opened its wings in the sunshine there were those two distinctive black spots, one on each wing. Hope we didn't mess him up too much.

Elizabeth said it best. "Caterpillars are great pets 'cause they're free and you have to let 'em go when they're butterflies." Amen, sister, amen. The less commitment the better when it comes to a pet. They never outlive you. We don't know what will become of Crystal-pher, but we can just go to our shiny happy place and not think about the dangers of the wild.

Susan actually came over for dinner last night! It's like pulling teeth to convince her she's not imposing. So this is a rare thing! Introduced her to pork patties. Now she's all into beef alternatives.

And since we invited her over, of course I was missing one of the main staples of a pork patty meal. Buns. Thank God for our mini-Hy-Vee up the street. It's like Walgreens, but since it's run by the local beheamoth grocery chain they carry alot of things from the big store for the same price you'd find there. Not the convenience store price. Ben tagged along, and he charmed the entire place in less than five minutes. Waving and greeting every single customer and employee. In the parking lot. At the checkout stand. And they all liked it.

Half an hour later, we returned from our fun and found the rest of our family starving. Scrounging tater tots. Desperately awaiting the buns. And the bananas. And the apples. And the milk. Oh, and the crackers.

You send me to the store, and I will not leave with just one thing. Where's the point in that, really?

The kids helped Joel with the lawn this morning. The grass was so thick from all the rain we had during the week that he had no other choice but to bag it, so the kids joined in the fun. They walked in to show me their "Ogre Hands" when they were finished. All green and mucky.

Then it was time to wash up and do McDonald's. I drank two of my Super-Sized Cokes today, and I swear my tinkles were fizzy by the end of all that. You should all follow my diet plan. Two Dr. Peppers a day (three if you really need that extra boost), fresh salsa, and Multigrain Cheerios. I think I may be able to keep this up 'til menopause.

(And, NO, MOM! I really do eat better than that! But I have to admit that this is my core diet, the most important food to me, and the fruits and vegetables just revolve around that!)

Our neighbors held a garage sale this morning, and Elizabeth is all over the garage sales, so she really wanted to go. I love garage sales myself, but I don't necessarily like snooping through neighbors' things. So Joel walked over while I shot the breeze with another neighbor. Elizabeth got a cute little black and white bag with a magnetic clasp and a little lipstick mirror. She's been busy filling it with her treasures...comb, brush, and change. Sam picked up a Pokemon tin and a little tiger figure. All free, since the sale was nearly over and our neighbors are just cool like that.

Guess they have just as much of an issue charging neighbors for garage sale items as I have going to neighbors' garage sales.

Elizabeth has a little photography bug. I've let her use the point-and-shoot, and so far she's been very responsible with it. Could be due to the fact that I constantly reinforce the camera rules. She's so close to rolling her eyes at me. When I get over the notion that she's going to wreck the camera, I'm actually going to appreciate our common interest. She took a WONDERFUL photo of one of her neighbor friends today, so we printed it and have it waiting to give to him tomorrow.

I just don't think that girl could be any awesome-er, but whenever she tries something new she ususally winds up being a natural. She SO didn't get that from me.

Today I spent my afternoon scanning. I am SUCH a fun girl. I swear, I'm up to about 1,000 photos from my mother-in-law, and that's just from two albums. I'm getting there, I'm getting there.

The best, best, BEST thing about today came in the form of that little family tree project I mentioned over on Ancestry.com. I invited my 2nd-cousin, Beth, to contribute. (Her grandmother and my grandfather were siblings.) And boy, did she contribute! I opened up the tree this morning and saw the most adorable photos of my Aunt Joan as a baby. Brought tears to my eyes. Really. Her mother or grandmother or uncle held onto these photos, sent from Nebraska to Iowa, for years. You know how it goes as the family grows and the relationships get a little more distant. I can't put it into words, I guess, but it's like these memories are just out there waiting to be rediscovered.

Beth also posted photos of my Aunt Marcia swigging from a pop bottle when she must have been about two years old as well as photos (much clearer copies) of my Dad and his siblings. And then there's the Hushman side, my great-great-grandmother's family. I've NEVER seen any photos of these people. It's safe to say I've been glued to my desktop most of the day waiting for another goodie.

When I admitted my geekiness, you never thought it would be this pervasive, did you? Sometimes, I even surprise myself.

Sammy's promised me a picture of a river otter (my favorite animal that lives in the water). But he's asked me to wait until he has art at school. He'll paint the picture. And he'll have to ask the art teacher if he can bring it home to give it to me. But it'll have to dry first.

Lots of knock-knock jokes at dinner tonight. Leftovers make you act all crazy loco, I guess. Of course, very few of them made sense.

"Knock, knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Zibs!"
"Zibs, who?"
"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ, ZIBS! Who let the elephant in here?!?!?!?!?"

And you didn't believe me. Shame on you.

School starts in three days. But I'm not keeping track. No, not me.

Alot can happen in ten years

2007-08-16T08:16:00.001-05:00

Where were you ten years ago today? If you were like most of our friends and family, you saw something like this:

What a bunch of good-lookin' people, huh? I can't believe that much time's gone by since Joel and I said, "I do!" Probably the best decision either one of us has ever made. When I read the landmark anniversaries in the newspaper every Sunday, I can just see our old wrinkled mugs gracing the Iowa Life section 50 years from now. We're just meant to be. Simple as that. We literally finish each others' sentences. We look at life from pretty much the same angle. We don't get annoyed by each others' idiosyncrasies (much). It's just destiny, and there's no other way to explain it. So, ten years later, I wouldn't change a thing! Here's to getting OLD! :)

Well, the one thing I WOULD change was the big-time, over-the-top Catholic wedding for which my dear parents footed the bill. Dad was still advising us to elope to Vegas up to a few hours before the ceremony. Being so much wiser at this age, I see his point very clearly. It's about the marriage, not the wedding.

Damn Bride's Magazine.

And this is how you celebrate your tenth anniversary. A well-check for your third child and a coaches clinic for your husband. And, well, a telephoto zoom lens for me! I'm not complaining AT ALL. I'm not all for parties and big celebrations. I'm very fortunate to know that I'm loved and appreciated 365 days a year, not just this one. Yeah, it's good to stop and take note and all. But I certainly don't expect a dozen roses or anything.

After all, there's that zoom lens...

It's a rainy day in Iowa. Actually, it's been a rainy week. My gargantuan zucchini are taking over the backyard. Probably shouldn't have used so much Miracle-Gro, huh?

Back-to-school countdown: six days. Even the kids are counting. They each got a note from their teachers yesterday. I think that's a sweet little something to do. As if my kids couldn't be more excited to start the new year!

I have yet to actually scrap our wedding photos yet. Those are the kinds of photos that take time since I will obsess over the color choices. But I finally scrapped this one of my great-grandparents' wedding. Does that count for something?

And one more, for good measure (I haven't posted in awhile, can you tell?). Here's cute little Joel playing with fire.

Now I have to get busy for a little project we're assembling at Scrap Artist. I've been privy to a bit of it, and lemme tell you...it's gonna be worth the wait! Hang tight 'til September...

You Cuckoohead!

2007-08-13T09:50:00.000-05:00

I no longer fit that description, since I took Elizabeth's challenge yesterday and finally, at this late stage in my life...

TOOK A RIDE ON THE WATER SLIDE.

Yes, I really AM that undeveloped. I'm a total chicken when it comes to thrill seeking of any kind (unless you consider sales at Dillard's "thrill seeking"). Elizabeth's been begging and BEGGING me to go, and since yesterday was the last day the pool was open (EEK! SUMMER'S OVER!) I caved. Have to admit I was very nervous, but you just don't express that to your child and doom her to a life void of carnival rides and bungee jumping. We started with the baby slide, the yellow one, but that just didn't do it. So we graduated to the green one. And not only slid once, but TWICE, people. TWICE. To paraphrase Elizabeth: THAT. WAS. AWESOME.

You still aren't getting me on a roller coaster any time soon, but I'll work up to it.
I've come a long way since I turned tail and headed back down the stairs on the dinky water slide in Okoboji. (Jeff, I'm talking to you, little bro! Poor thing, you had SO much fun that day, even without your big sister!) Baby steps. Baby steps.

One more full week at home for the kids. Where did these weeks go? I'm feeling this sense of doom with the impending winter weather. Impending, as in four months away, no less, but we've been completely spoiled with a near-perfect summer. Still trying to find a spot in the world where you can enjoy 72-degree days, sun, four weeks of autumn, a white Christmas, oh, and high-speed Internet access. Know anything about a place like that?

I'm planning to get all June-Cleaver and have cookies (or fudge, at Elizabeth's request) ready for the kids when they come home from school everyday. Then I can be sure to corner them and grill them about their day at school! I know how very tired they're going to be that first few days, but I want to get something started now so it's old hat by the time they're in high school. Involuntary, autonomic response to returning home after school. They'll always know I care in a very real way. We won't have to wait for a crisis to show it.

And they get cookies. Or fudge. Good deal, don'tcha think? And, conveniently enough, Elizabeth's sold 15 tubs of cookie dough. Those puppies contain three pounds of dough each. Our little saleswoman will be rewarded with two free tubs (in addition to the one we already bought). Looks like I'll have quite the treat stash for the next few months.

Ben is fascinated with words lately. "Vacuum" and "mouth" are the two most recent ones he says perfectly. He loves the vacuum, and everything goes in his mouth, so there you go. Full of hugs and kisses today in sharp contrast to yesterday when all four of his canines decided to erupt at the same time. Poor little fella.

That's all! I'm tired. Peace out.

2007-08-10T07:56:00.001-05:00

Joel rushed home Thursday night, burst into the office, and checked on the family pet. Then he scoured the internet for a time-elapsed movie showing the monarch life cycle. Consider him fascinated.

As if I needed something else to occupy my precious free time, Ancestry.com now has a feature where you can upload your family tree and automatically attach information available onsite to the various individuals in your tree. Now, they may have had this feature for awhile. But I've been scrapbooking my brains out, so I don't spend nearly as much time on genealogy as I did in the past. You can attach your photos and invite other people to help you, too.

Great. Why do ALL of my hobbies have to be so time-consuming? And why do I have to be borderline OCD? (And I can hear some of you snickering...yes, I do consider myself BORDERLINE OCD, no matter what you might think!)

Joel and I treated ourselves to a new restaurant last night while Aunt Denise watched the kids (and most certainly spoiled them with frozen treats and loud music!). We went to Yanni's, which is (get this) a Greek/Italian restaurant run by two brothers from Ecuador. Yeah. It's in a non-descript strip mall next door to Michael's, so the exterior isn't all that inspiring. But the food is awesome. They have these little garlic bread knots. I easily ate a dozen of those.

Not sure to do with all of our free time, we wound up at Jordan Creek. And I worked out on the ellipticals at Scheel's while Joel picked out some weightlifting gloves. I figure why sign up for the gym when I could just hang out in Scheel's half an hour a day, right? Also stopped at Barnes & Noble and browsed the books. And now I have another book to covet: Can that book be ANY more up my alley?

Speaking of family trees (are you totally bored with this post yet?), I went to the genealogy library again yesterday. It's hot, sticky, humid, and generally miserable outside, so that's where I chose to spend my Mommy Time. Elizabeth wanted to go with me, and even after I warned her that she'd be completely bored, she still wanted to see what this genealogy stuff was all about. She was, in fact, completely bored. But she patiently waited for me to finish up.

Me: Don't you think all that history stuff is interesting?
Elizabeth: No.
Me: Don't you want to know where you came from?
Elizabeth: I came from you. I don't ever want to go back to that place.

Guess she has yet to catch the genealogy bug.

One thing she DOES have a passion for is sales. Yes, believe it or not, the ugly monster that is school fundraising has already begun. Ugh. The West Des Moines City Council mandated that the soccer club pave the parking lots at Hidden Valley, so we all have to chip in to cover the cost. I was very tempted to just write a check for the "suggested donation", but Elizabeth was gung-ho about selling cookie dough. She met her quota in half an hour. But she wants to go back out later this afternoon and boost her bottom line.

$13 per bucket, if you're interested. Keeps in the fridge for two months, in the freezer for six. Eight flavors to choose from.

(I HATE FUNDRAISERS!)

No, Dad, I don't hate what YOU do for a living! I hate these schlocky deals where kids have to hawk overpriced frozen foods and gift wrap to friends and neighbors at least five times a year.

Oh, before I forget, we harvested a zucchini the other day! Guess that makes me a farmer or something. It was about a foot long. I'm not a very attentive farmer 'cause that's a little big for zucchini. Chopped it up, tossed in some olive oil and Mrs. Dash, and baked it for 15 minutes. Divine. And, no, the kids didn't like it. Even with the novelty of the vegetables coming from their own backyard.

Here's a layout for you. Did you miss me? Thought so. This is my baby brother, Jeff, who hasn't been a baby for over 30 years. But, I like to remember him this way. Before he started picking on me! (Click for credits...you know the drill) I don't know about you, but doesn't that paper remind you of the 70's? Flocked wallpaper? What was out is in again!

There's a pupa in my office

2007-08-09T13:29:00.000-05:00

Yes, indeed, our little nature friend barfed out of its skin (yes, essentially, that's what they do) while we were at the library this morning. A mere two hours and we have the prettiest little jade-like cocoon now. In two weeks, we'll have a monarch butterfly. Unfortunately, though, this is all a wee bit harder to watch because our caterpillar climbed to the very tip top of the fish tank that is her home and attached herself in an awkward spot. Awkward for our viewing, not for her pupa-ing.

Joel and I are actually more fascinated with the caterpillar than the kids, I think! It's a pretty amazing process to watch unfold. Probably the coolest pet we've ever "owned". It's quiet, content, and out of our house in a matter of days.

Oh, the library. We prefer the one in Urbandale over the one in our home town. It's a sunny, bright, happy place with cheerful librarians who are always wanting to help you find something good to read. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The kids are now taking their own book bags. But guess who STILL had to carry them all? Yeah, that'd be me. At least I don't have to go to the gym to get these guns of mine, though, right? Picked up a few chapter books of their choosing, nature magazines, and, for Mommy, scrapbooking and photography stuff.

Had to stop at Target, too, because (horror of horrors!) we were actually on our last baby wipe. I buy 'em in bulk, and I think the last time I stocked up was in March. Kinda snuck up on me. Of course, the kids wanted something, too. As if Ben were feeling all spoiled with his mega-box of baby wipes. I'm at my wits' end with my kids' constant desire for STUFF. Now, I grew up in a household with very limited resources. And a mother who pinched pennies 'til they screamed from the pain. I know the value of a dollar, believe me. In this day and age we are VERY fortunate, VERY blessed to be able to provide our children with whatever their hearts desire. And, boy, there is ALOT to be desired out there these days. I'm to the point where I'm just going to turn around after I deliver my "NOT TODAY!" message at the store for the umpteenth time so I don't have to look at the subtle pouts and puppy dog eyes.

They'll get over it. I love them. That's enough. I don't have to buy their affection. At least not for another six years.

This is going to sound selfish after my previous rant, but I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY wanted to go to Michael's this morning and pick up "Foof-A-Life" or "Freestyle" with my flaming coupon. (Coupons burn holes in my pockets, get it?) Mmmmmm, yummy, me likey me some Autumn Leaves. BUT, my dear children have transformed such a shiny happy Mommy escape into another opportunity to whine and cajole. On our last visit I walked out with two one-pound skeins of multicolored Sugar 'n' Cream. I still have no idea why.

I'll sneak out and spoil myself this weekend. Eventhough I need another book like I need a hole in my head. I don't even know why I go to the library, really. Maybe just because I'm a nerd...

Ben has a new hobby. Couchdiving. Head first. It's so much fun. Meet you in the ER? OK, then, it's a date.

Waxing nostalgic today. Mom told me that Jeff ran into an old boyfriend of mine, and it got me reminiscing about high school. The 80's. Cassette tapes. What are those, you ask? Well, glad you said something! Here's the 4-1-1 (click for credits, please):

I'm channeling my inner JennieB. (Hi, Jennie! HI!!!!!!) Studying your shadows like a HAWK! (Makes a V-sign, points to eyes, turns V-sign around and points at The Shadow Queen with a menacing snarl...well, at least as much of a snarl as a meek scrapbooker can manage, I guess.)

You know what? This little ole layout was Melissa G.'s Digi Pick of the Day today. To celebrate the occasion, Joel is coming home for dinner. With pizza. Thanks, Melissa!

And, oh, before I go, I must record a Samism. I'm thinking of making it a regular feature. Yesterday we went to Wal-Mart for various sundries, and one of the items I needed to restock was a (*AHEM*) feminine hygiene product. We returned home and started putting away our purchases. Sam pulled the Always package out of the sack and asked me, "Mommy, what are these? Do they help you breathe?" At which point I spit out the water I was drinking at the time. Sam was a little shocked by my reaction, and timidly pointed to the graphic on the package extoling the product's breathability. And, no, I didn't go into detail about what those are. Sam has to wait 'til fifth grade.

YAY! Another dose of Jodie time!

2007-08-08T07:26:00.001-05:00

I tipped off Jodie about my blog. She read it and had to call me to discuss why her mild-mannered college friend spews out the gory details of her life on the internet. Screaming kids in the background (on her end and mine), husband not expected for dinner, I invited her and her posse over for dinner. And for the occasion, I whipped out the best: grilled cheese and tomato soup. Boy, do I know how to throw a party. Dear Jodie brought me, oops, I mean the kids, cookies. Some funky chocolate chip recipe including Rice Krispies, walnuts, and, at times, coconut.

MUST. HAVE. RECIPE.

TANGENT: Don't know how he managed to do this (big surprise, huh?), but Ben grabbed one of the cookies off of the middle of the island and ran around the house with it 'til bedtime. Father unclutched cookie from tightly closed paws. Tantrum ensued.

Jodie really wanted to go for a walk, living out in the country without sidewalks as she does. So we took off down the street with six happy children. The babies in the wagon (I think Ben has his first crush...I've never seen him more enamored, except for maybe with that cookie...). Elizabeth and Jodie's oldest on bikes. The middle kids walking. It lasted four houses. And tired reared its ugly head. The only children not crying by the time we got back to the house were...THE BABIES! A storm was starting up with lightning and such, so it was time to go in anyway. I hope everyone got to bed painlessly and Jodie got some time to breathe.

(Thanks for the cookies!)

One more thing, kinda charming. Jodie's baby loved the stairs. We no longer have a gate to block babies from taking them on, so up she scooted. Ben kept an eye on her, though. As soon as she cleared a couple of steps, Ben sounded the alarm and Jodie pulled her back down to safety. You should have seen the look of concern on his face.

The wedding will be in 25 years. Mark your calendars.

Caterpillar update: All the thing does is munch, munch, munch. Ate TWO huge milkweed leaves yesterday. Poop is getting bigger along with the poop-er. Patiently waiting for the magical chrysalis period to start. Then all the pooping will stop.

How 'bout a wacky layout? You want one? Well, why didn't you say something? Here. Just for you. (Click on image for credits)

Robyn and Christine and their challenges. Make me do weird things. The SA Posse comments about my amazing extraction. Shhhhhhh! (Come a little closer) Don't tell, but I took that picture by a sunny window. Half of it turned out totally white. Photoshop. Magic Wand. Voila! Extraction. I didn't even have to think. (Thank goodness!)

I think I hear Ben...a little late for him to be waking up today. Let the noise begin and get this house into its normal state of being!

No QUIET TIME for YOU! Come back ONE YEAR!

Running out of options

2007-08-07T13:17:00.000-05:00

My dear old friend Jodie is in town this week for the State Fair, so we got to spend a little time together today. In the company of our (combined) six children. We started out at the play area at the mall. Our oldest kids are a little too old for it, though. But it's been pretty hot and muggy the past few days, and it's been like pulling teeth to convince the kids that children actually do play outside. We headed back to my place for lunch, which Jodie graciously provided. Cool deal. That big old playset is very lonely. But the basement got a lot of use. Jodie and I even managed to discuss three or four separate topics in between rescuing our babies from various household perils. Everybody wore out soon enough, and Jodie headed back to her mom's place for naptime.

Naptime? What's that, exactly? Have to ask Ben...

Jodie's trying to convince me to go to homecoming this year at Morningside. I've never gone, and neither has she. But she's trying to work something out so that she and her kiddoes can stay on campus and enjoy college life for the weekend. I'm not totally on board with THAT idea...I can't imagine that anything but dreadful married housing in the old dorm will be available. Looks even worse now compared to the brand new apartments just built. She doesn't have any family in Sioux City, though, and just her and the kids in a hotel for two days really freaks her out. It certainly would freak ME out, too! I would totally offer to put her up at my parents' house, but they can barely manage when the kids and I visit. Too loud, too crowded, too messy! So, maybe I'll go, maybe I won't. I do need to get out more and do these sorts of things, so we'll see. Dad probably wouldn't mind me showing an ounce or two of school spirit.

Nothing to report on household damages today. That's a very good thing.

Soccer starts up in two weeks, right after school gets going. Three girls decided not to play this season, so two of Elizabeth's school friends were placed on her team. The twins. She's very excited! They're all in Brownies together, too, so I think they'll fit right into the team. Joel just hopes they've played before. He's playing to win. I think the girls still just do it for the Dairy Queen.

I think we have all of our school supplies now. And I think the teachers conspire to confound parents as much as possible when it comes to shopping for said supplies. This year, Elizabeth is required to have a gray folder, not laminated. Just try to find one of those. The darn things sell for ten cents, and I think I've used $50 worth of gas travelling central Iowa looking for one. I could only find laminated ones, so that's what Elizabeth will be bringing to school. I'm anticipating threatening letters from the PTA.

Oh, and they need red checking pens. I remember a story not too long ago where teachers thought red was a bad idea for checking. Purple would support a healthier self esteem. Elizabeth, her laminated gray folder and red pens in hand. Ready to start the school year yet already scarred for life.

And just exactly what are they going to do with a dozen glue sticks and two dozen pencils (oh, yes, they all must be sharpened AND labeled, by the way)? Post-It notes? Dry erase markers? Washable markers (classic colors only)? Fiskars scissors (no other brands, please, and make that a blunt tip for the kindergarteners and sharp tip for the second graders)? Elmer's Glue (NO TARGET BRAND, NO GEL). I'm old enough to remember when you went to school with one box of crayons, a jar of paste, and few (unsharpened) pencils. Guess that too many children got left behind, though.

Dry erase markers are the keys to my children's futures. Who knew? They do smell awfully funky, so maybe they can think more creatively hopped up on the fumes...

And, now, my dear readers. A layout for you. You knew it was coming. Why fight it? (Oh, and click on image for credits. And comments. I love me the comments.)

Susan (my mother-in-law) graciously lent me a ton of photo albums, and I'm busy scanning every single solitary photo. She's written on the back of many of them, so I'm scanning those, too. Did the same for Mom a few months back, but have yet to assemble them all into any sort of album. I've got plans, though, I've got plans. :)

I have an audience!

2007-08-06T13:21:00.000-05:00

Yes, indeed, I do. The majority are related to me, but I have an audience nonetheless. I'll try to keep things pithy for all of you, my dear readers.

Mom and I finally had a nice marathon conversation yesterday. It's been a few weeks. Got all updated on Jeff and his travels. Seems he's hooked up with some old high school friends at weddings. It's still weird to think that we're adults. But it's quite a relief to have all that high school drama far behind us.

I promised weeks ago to post photos of Ben's recent makeover. Today I'll finally do it. Here you go, before, during and after:

Boy, did that child need a haircut. And don't go thinking Ben actually enjoyed his haircut, judging by his grin in that second photo there. That was the only one where I didn't capture him grimacing, crying, or flailing. That man standing in the background of the "after" photo is Joel. He is drinking a beer. We were at our neighborhood block party, but I think that a libation or two or three are always in order after a day chasing Ben.

Hope Ben's hair grows very, very, very slowly. Not exactly looking forward to a repeat performance.

(And I don't really need to point this out, but DON'T JOEL AND I MAKE CUTE BABIES?!?!?!?!?!?)

Not much going down at the ranch today. Spent most of the morning cleaning, as usual. Oh, and Ben's new obsession is the toilet. Now, our toilets are pretty clean. But I still don't condone playing in them.

Crystal has not yet taken over the office. She's devoured two entire milkweed leaves so far. She must be in HEAVEN, seeing as though she doesn't have to exert a bit of effort like the rest of the poor slobs out in the wilderness. Life of Riley. I'll be frank with you. I had no idea how much caterpillars, well, POOP! Granted, all she does is eat. Waste has to result. But it's still pretty gross.

We looked up how to determine whether or not Crystal is actually Crystal or, well, Chuck, I guess? During the pupa stage, you look for a little itty bitty line near the neck of the chrysalis. If we see a line, Crystal's a girl. Otherwise, he will need therapy to recover from gender dysphoria.

And you thought a monarch butterfly would be an easy pet to keep.

Speaking of nature, here's a recent layout chronicling our Buxton Park day trip, just me and E.

I've been cranking out the layouts lately, lots of good fun stuff to be downloaded lately. But I'll spare you the heavy graphics and wait for the next post.

Gonna rain here today, so the kids are crawling the walls while Ben naps. Puzzle races are on. And that playset is getting awfully lonely.

Today I stuck it to The Man!

2007-08-03T23:52:00.001-05:00

It's Tax Free Weekend here in Iowa, so I packed up the kids this morning and headed on over to the mall. Started at Younkers (I had coupons. A coupon is like beer at a frat party. Makes me do bad things!). I was pleasantly surprised with a store that has done nothing but disappoint me the past few visits. Elizabeth cruised through the Big Girl section (still can't believe she's already in that category!) and chose some rather hip new school clothes. Next up, Sam. Boys clothes are pretty much all the same: navy blue, yellow or red this year. Oh, and Sam's got to have his camo. Even little Ben got a few new things (still have so much of Sam's stuff, never could part with it, must have known something would happen!). Found a pair of dressing rooms, nearly everything fit, and that was that. Feeling so smug, we ventured out into the mall. Got a few things at TCP before Ben started getting ants in his pants.

Oh, and I kept all of $12 from The Man today. TAKE THAT, you, you, you...MAN! HA!

The kids requested boiled eggs and PB&J for lunch. Okaaaaaaayyyyyy... They won't eat homemade macaroni 'n' cheese, but they're all a-twitter over THAT?

Joel came home from work before dark!

The last day of swimming lessons ended with Elizabeth headed to Level 3 and Sam treading water in Level 1. But he totally doesn't care. Elizabeth was a year older than Sam before she passed. And he got a popsicle. Bygones.

We're babysitting Froggy, our neighbors' little amphibian friend. He's a pretty hoppy little fella, and he's bunking in the office so Ben can't attack him. He even came with his own frog food. Little pellets of crushed bugs. Mmmmmmmmmm...TASTY!

Speaking of our animal friends, Elizabeth found a monarch caterpillar this week and set him up in a mayonnaise jar with a stick for climbing (even caterpillars need exercise) and milkweed leaves for eating. Didya know that's the only thing they eat? And that all they do is, well, EAT? He's probably close to building his cocoon here soon. One more thing about Crystal (yes, Elizabeth is in charge and this larval stage has a name): when he first started to nibble on the milkweed, he chewed a sweet little heart shape out of the leaf. Proof to Elizabeth that Crystal is happy and loves her mayonnaise jar hotel.

And I can't sign off without an account of the household items Ben destroyed today: the flap on the outlet for the central vac in the family room. Just one thing today, so we're doing pretty well. Covered the port with duct tape so Ben can't satisfy his curiosity and shove things in the tube. And seeking out the nearest Electrolux service center.

That child is still adorable, though, no matter what he breaks. Words are coming fast and furious now, with "baby" and "cracker" making their debut today. Ben also loves to help me with chores (at least one of my children does for now!). He actually tried to pull off my clothes this morning before my shower so he could take them to the laundry chute. He kept shouting, "AWAY! AWAY! AWAY!" and tugging on my pajamas.

And that's what I call an enthusiastic future neatnik.

Maybe I shouda passed on the prenatal vitamins...

2007-07-31T08:32:00.000-05:00

So, there we were Monday morning, having averted disaster after countless household disaster. It was only 10 a.m., and already I'd rescued Ben from drowning in the kitchen sink, rocking himself off of the recliner, and tumbling down the stairs. And what does he do to thank me for saving his life, you ask?

He ripped off that cabinet door, that's what. With his bare baby hands. My little eighteen-month-old is now destroying furniture like a drunken rock star.

(Note: In the photo, you see the door partially reconstructed...Ben actually ripped it into three pieces. Here, I've already glued the left part of the frame back onto the rest of the frame. Yeah, that's right. Three pieces. The child-safety lock apparently only stayed attached to mock me.)

We have built-in cabinets and shelves surrouncing our fireplace in the family room. See, Sam and Elizabeth each use one of the cabinets to store their "downstairs" toys. We have cabinet locks on each set of doors. But that doesn't matter to Ben. If you can't get past the locks, then you might as well just tear off the door. Ben pulled it free of the frame, splitting the wood in the process. Now, we live in a tract home. A comfortable home, yes, but a near clone of every other home on our street. Just a different color. Our cabinets are a pretty feature, Aristokraft, but they're builder grade so not exactly primo. At the very least, not tested to withstand the rigors of a toddler wanting his sister's Barbie laptop.

I'm going to use my woodworking skills to glue the rest of it back together. And reinforce it will some kind of metal strap apparatus. And, no, I don't really have any woodworking skills. But since this particular cabinet hides behind a big fluffy chair, it doesn't have to be perfect. Our house is now 15 years old. I sincerely doubt I could find a matching door at this point. So this seems to be the best option for now.

Now I have to worry about my kitchen. And my bathrooms. Same cabinets everywhere. No doors are safe in this house.

Needless to say, Monday was not a very big bright spot in our lives. I was so exhausted after chasing that little tornado of a baby around the house that I fell asleep at 9 p.m. Joel had to catch up on work, so it's not like he minded much. And he totally understood. I took Sam and Elizabeth to swim lessons and enjoyed a blissfully peaceful half hour catching up on my reading. Sometimes, that's all it takes.

Other times, I think I should start drinking.

And, yes, I'm scrapping Monday's events, of course. Sam has already given me a title: The Legend of Ben and the Broken Door. Elizabeth sketched out my design, too.

OK, enough about the stupid door. What else is new in LeMarland? (Yes, it's a real place. Get you have your passport stamped for insanity here.) Accompanied Elizabeth to a pool party at her friend's place Sunday night. Joel and I decided that I would go, blend into the background, and be ready at a moment's notice to rescue Elizabeth from the deep water should she decide that she knows all she needs to know about swimming but then gets herself into trouble. She didn't mind *too* much, but she did request that I not come along next time. She did very well in the deep water, though I don't feel right leaving her under the supervision of one mother with two kids and six assorted friends.

This is the hardest stage of parenting so far. You'd think that all the time and attention you must pay to infants is the most taxing. Yeah, right. This is the stuff that actually deprives you of sleep. You worry about the danger your increasingly independent children will encounter as they inch away from your protection one little step at a time. You worry about other kids being mean to them (this one hasn't cropped up yet...my kids are defying their heritage thus far and may actually turn out to be "Cool Kids"). You worry about the influence of their peers. Will the ideals that my parents instilled in me, that defended me from drugs and promiscuity, be strong enough for my kids in this day and age? (Oh, my, am I RANTING!) Enjoy babies while they're babies...you may think it gets easier once they can walk and feed themselves and use the potty. But you just get a fresh new set of responsibilities. Even more important than your basic care and feeding.

Oh, dear, that was some SERIOUS thinking. Enough of that.

I've been hesitant about joining in on the fun over at The Digidares. Last week, I scrapped too late to enter the weekly contest, but I'm all rarin' to go this week. Watch out, world! Again, the deal at Scrap Artist. I've been so inspired to put MY voice on my pages. My grandchildren will be shocked. Well, maybe not. But I choose to live my life looking at the world cock-eyed. That has to be a part of "my art", right? Right! So, here, I present to you Digidare #46:

In other scrapping news, you'll see me hanging out with Karah Fredricks in August. I finally got the nerve up to ask her to let me come back as a guest. Good thing August has 31 days. :)

And a whole week of that will be with two of my children in school all day. I plan on locking Ben in the basement and scrapping 24-7. After this summer, I think I've earned it!