An Update on Sucking at Bookclub

A few weeks ago I wrote this, inspired by the fabulous list Steph provided here. For those of you who hate to click, I'll sum up. I'm doing a really bad job of reading the books for my bookclub this year and was looking for book suggestions because I was generally in a rut.

People were fabulous about it and offered me a ton of suggestions. And today, for your reading pleasure, 3 mini book reviews:

First of all, Jenn recommended The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightime by Mark Haddon. I had no intention whatsoever of reading this. However, as fate would have it, it was on display as I was walking out of the library one day and I took it as a sign. This is the slightly warped story of a young man with autism and his quest to discover who killed his neighbor's dog. His determination leads him ultimately down the path to discover, not only the doggie murderer, but also a terrible truth about his own life. Since it is told from the perspective of what we most often refer to as a "high-functioning autistic," the prose is purposely stilted. Which actually makes it quite enjoyable to read. You truly feel immersed in the character. Also, because he has little understanding of emotions, you can see the trauma ahead long before he does, leading to a nice bit of emotional conflict on the part of the reader.

When I finished, I was fascinated by a few aspects of the book, mainly, the demonstrations of his logic and reasoning. I dug a little on the old Internet to determine if this is typical of our understanding of autistic reasoning and found a truly mixed bag. Many professionals and at least one reviewer who genuinely suffers from autism poo-poo'd these details as being not at all accurate. But more professionals and at least one organization praised it as being very accurate and helpful. In either case, I really enjoyed The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightime, and it definitely made me curious; which is a truly great thing for a book to accomplish.

From Steph, I acted on two recommendations, the first of which is The Forrest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan. This short YA fiction novel tells the tale of a young girl named Mary who searches for truth and meaning in a community that has survived the zombie apocalypse. Rebelling against the rules of this very structured community lead her to question everything she's been taught. When the community is breached by the zombies, Mary, accompanied by a few friends and relatives, embarks on a journey to find the ocean.

I greatly enjoyed this take on post-zombie-apocalypse life for a couple of reasons. First of all, like many post apocalyptic stories, we see a very controlled society step in and replace individual freedom with safety. While this is a common theme, I found it very well handled, showing the imminent danger of conflict within the community and the near-necessity of many of their measures. It's easy to see how this slippery slope was started. Secondly, the community is ruled by a quasi-religious group that seems to not exist in our current world. Some aspects seem Catholic and some seem to be completely other, but they add up to a faith that did not just step in to rule in chaos, but one that was created from the chaos.

I just found out that there is a sequel, The Dead Tossed Waves and it is currently on hold for me at the library.

Next up, was Sunshine, by Robin McKinley, a book that came highly recommended by both Steph and Jenn. Sunshine is the story of a young girl, trying to live a normal life in a world where vampires and other supernatural creatures are the norm. Sunshine, the titular character, is abducted by vampires and chained up in an abandoned house. There, she builds an unlikely alliance with an old and somewhat powerful vampire.

The only word I can use here is artful. Never before have I felt more hungry after finishing a book. Were this a series, I would have read the whole series in one sitting. As it is, I was left longing for more with a deep, painful longing.

So many questions were left unanswered. So many story lines lingered after the final page. Not loose ends, exactly, because they were questions that really didn't need an answer. Just a lingering thread begging to be picked back up.

The only thing I can truly say that I didn't enjoy about the book was the repetitive nature. If the author told us once that humans and vampires had never-ever worked together, she told us 27 times. There was a point where I literally turned it over and yelled at the cover that "I get it already. It never happens. You might be evil. Oh my goodness, get over it."

But the story itself, masterful.

In short, you guys did an truly excellent job and despite the fact that I still have a lengthy list at my disposal, I think you should try again. Tell me what to read!

Despite the fact that all of these links are Amazon links, I do not participate in their affiliate program. Just convenience. Promise.

The Man He is Becoming

I have this little brother. His name is D. Well, not really, but I try not to publish information about people without their permission (unless they are married to me or came from my womb). In any case, I can't ask him, because he totally wouldn't let me write any of this. So, let's call him D.

I was thirteen when he was born. I make jokes about it a lot. I can. I can laugh about how people thought he was mine. I can laugh about how having an infant in the house when you are thirteen is excellent birth control. I can laugh about how we were sibling only children. And I do.

But I can't explain the relationship we have. We've had our ups and downs. (There was a while when he thought that I was just exceptionally uncool and I could have lived without his preteen years.) But all in all, we have always been fairly close.

The thing about an age gap like ours is that it isn't typical of sibling relationships. I can't say we've ever really fought about anything in a sibling rivalry kind of way. And our relationship is in a constant state of flux. I've gone from babysitter to cool semi-adult to un-cool adult to whatever it is that I am now. And mostly, I think that now our relationship is closer to a normal sibling relationship than it ever has been.

What I have that most siblings don't, I think, is a grand sense of perspective. I can remember, vividly, his baby days. His Halloween costumes, his phases, his tiny smile and bright eyes (man, did that kid have bright, sparkly eyes). I can remember this because I was so much older.

I can remember being mad, angry, enraged on his behalf. I can remember crying for him. Laughing for him, being happy for him, proud of him, and that was just this week. And while I have to admit that my children have faults, that they are not perfect people, I don't have to do that for D. He is perfect and you better not try and tell me otherwise.

Seeing all this clearly, I can tell you that I am right now, at this moment, extremely proud of my baby brother.

This morning, my wittle brother, he of the Barney birthday party, he of the Fisher Price swing in the front yard, he of needing stitches at conservation camp, left for college. College. In a big city, in another state, in really, another universe. Because this is it, people. There is no more denying that he is growing up.

Tomorrow morning, he is going to wake up somewhere else. In an apartment with guys he doesn't know and he's going to go to a new place and learn something about his dream. And he's going to keep doing that until he's ready to go out and work in his dream. Like as in a real job. Not a summer job or an afterschool job, but as in a career.

Seeing my girl, my angel child (or demon child depending on how much sleep she's gotten and the day of the week) turn 6 this week has really driven home just how quickly the time flies. In just a couple of years, he'll be back here (we all hope and talk like it's a foregone conclusion and there really is no where else on earth to live) and working and building a real, live grown up life.

And I'm not sure that my heart (or my mom's) can handle it.

But regardless of my trauma, I can tell you this: I am so proud of him. So proud of his determination to follow this goal, so proud of his intelligence and his creativity, his ability and his eagerness to learn, so proud of his achievements. But I am also so very, very proud of the man that he is becoming.

So often I look at him and think, "Wow, he is a truly great kid and he is going to be just amazing when he grows up." I was so busy thinking about it, that I missed it happening.

Congratulations, D. And good luck.

6 Years Ago

Six years ago today was quite possibly the most important day of my life. And the scariest.

Four days prior, I had been to the doctor for my last check-up before my scheduled induction. The baby measured huge (10 lbs) and the doctor was worried. For my future, because of my past. For my baby. Who was still, by the way, 3 weeks early.

She suggested a Cesarean, and despite the fact that it scared the crap out of me, I chose to listen. There are times when you have to be your own advocate and fight your doctor and there are times when you have to shut up and listen to what the lady with the degrees has to say. (Can you tell how much I've had to defend this decision?)

The plan was for me to arrive at the hospital at 11 for surgery at 12. Except that I was so nervous I got there at a little after 10. They are apparently used to that, however, because no one freaked out.

Of course, because I was there early, there were a series of emergency c-sections that bumped my perfectly calm, normal, pre-planned one out of the water. Nearly 3 hours later, I was on the table, grabbing my knees and crying as the anesthesiologist poked me in the spine repeatedly (apparently my vertebrae are very close together or something) and my nurse was yelling at me to relax.

When I was finally numb and The Husband was finally beside me and the doctor was finally cutting, I was finally calm. Until they told me Brynna was here, safe and sound and she started crying. Then I was so completely relieved I asked if the doctor still needed me.

"Well, you can't leave yet..." she giggled.

"No," I replied, "I was just wondering if I could go to sleep now." After permission was granted, I dozed happily off.

Later, as I was wheeled down the hall, the nurse told me that Brynna wouldn't be able to meet me in the room for a while because she was experiencing a bit of respiratory distress. She wheeled me up to the window of the nursery so I could peek in at my little angel for a moment.

Because of the after effects of a complete and total lack of sleep, a hefty dose of anaesthetics, and a great paranoia led to me interpret this visit as my last chance to see my child alive. Because I didn't want to bring anyone else down, I chose to not say anything about it. I'm not saying I made sense, I can't explain it.

They came in many times to tell me that Brynna was still in distress, but should be with me soon. The last update that she gave was that they were giving her a time limit. If she wasn't breathing normally in another hour, she'd have to go to NICU.

Considering what was going on in my head, it's amazing how well I handled all this. Actually, it's all a little fuzzy in my memory.

The next part isn't at all fuzzy, though. It is something I will remember until the day I die.

I heard a baby crying in the hallway. I'd heard babies crying in the hallway off and on all day. But this time was different. I knew, just knew, for no apparent reason that this crying baby was Brynna. I listened as she got closer and closer. Listened as she paused in the hallway. Listened as my door opened.

This was not normal baby crying, it was incredible screaming. This was ear piercing, high decibel banshee crying. And it was my baby.

The nurse brought her rolly bed over and picked her up and settled her in my arms. The moment her head settled against my arm, she hushed. A look of calm came over her and almost instantly, she slept.

That was the moment. Through two pregnancies, I had anticipated motherhood. I had taken vitamins, followed the rules, given up the queso at my favorite Mexican restaurant. I had bought supplies, set up nurseries, crocheted blankies. I had loved my children with every beat of my heart. I had mourned, lived in fear, celebrated, cried and laughed. I had balanced things on my stomach and let her kick them off. I had been a mother from the moment the strip turned pink.

But this moment, with my newly calm baby in my arms, was the moment I became a mom.

Six years ago today was the day that I became a mom. The day my life changed. The day all my priorities shifted completely. The day that my baby girl batted those huge dark eyes at me, right before drifting off.

It may be my pigeon's birthday, but in many ways, it's mine too.

Five Things on Friday - Work from Home Edition

Thanks to that huge international event thingy that's happening practically in my office, I am working from home more than usual the next couple of weeks. By more than usual, of course, I mean that no one has to be deathly ill or contagious. 

I have worked from home while the kids are sick before, but I've never had scheduled time for working from home. I am really looking forward to this phenomenon. For one thing, I want to know how good at it I am. You know, some people just aren't cut out to work from home. They are too easily distracted and can't focus without the fluorescents and boss's footsteps to make them.

I got my laundry, got my music,
I'm ready to get some work done.
(Brynna, circa 2005)

I don't know if I am one of those people or not. I have conflicting theories, but I'm interested in finding out.

I thought I might spend this five things looking at what my biggest challenges are going to be during my work from home time, though. The things that are most likely to distract me from my duly appointed projects.

1. Laundry - I am approximately 7 years behind in laundry and since my washer and dryer are on their last legs, we are up to almost 2 hours per load. Hopefully, being home during the day will give me the chance to switch it out more often and get a little caught up. I can't even remember what it's like to have clean sheets waiting in the closet. What I have to keep in check is my desire to go ahead and fold everything the second it comes out of the dryer. This shouldn't be too hard.

2. Grocery Shopping - I hate grocery shopping. Like seriously, hate. However, it's not so bad at 8 a.m. on a weekday. Frankly, I think this would be the biggest advantage to being a sahm, the ability to shop when there aren't 7,000 other people standing around pondering minute rice. 

3. Blogging - I've been such a terrible blogger lately, I may end up writing 5 weeks worth of posts in advance.

4. Reading/Crochet - These are hard for me to do when everyone is home and since I will still be delivering the children to where they usually go and then returning for work-a-rama, I will probably have to hide the crochet bag to keep from making 72 snowflakes.

5. Daytime TV - I don't watch talk shows or soap operas, I watch all those canceled shows I used to be into that are rerun ad infinitum on cable channels. M*A*S*H*, Charmed, Judging Amy, Joan of Arcadia. It's going to be a challenge.

So, what about you, I know some of you work from home on occasion and some of you are sah's and some are wfh's so what challenges you. What do you have to really work to ignore? What do you have to hide?

Identifying Ring Tones May be the Death of Me

Raise your hand if you have different ring tones for different people.

Okay, I know, adults are kind of "over" having musical ring tones anyway. I, I am not an adult. I am a 17 year old grunge addict who has mysteriously become trapped in an adult body behind the wheel of a minivan. Suck it.

I like my music tones, is what I'm getting at. I don't have Kid Rock or Nirvana screaming from my phone, because you never know when your phone will ring in church, but I will totally defend my Tom Petty or They Might be Giants to anyone who cares to tangle. Don't knock TMBG, now. I'll cut you.

And, I like to have tones for certain people. That way, I: a. know how fast to run to the phone and b. can mentally prepare myself. 

My mom is "I'll Stand by You," because she will. In a way that no one else will, and yeah, I know, it's a love song, so what? It's my phone and it'll sing what it wants.

The Husband is "Into the Mystic," which I think isn't a love song, not really, but it's our song anyway.

My boss, both at work and at her cell is "I Don't like Mondays," because you know, I don't like Mondays. And work starts on Monday and yeah, some days I want to shoo-oo-oot the whole day down.

Personally, I think you can make a person's ring tone whatever you want, because pretty much, they'll probably never hear it. How many times does your crazy aunt call you from five feet away? Exactly. Her ringtone can be "Crazy Mary," or "The Barney Theme Song," or "Paint it Black" and she'll never know.

Or you know, your boss. Who is checking to make sure the call forwarding is working? And happens to have lived through that particular piece of history? And finds it hard to understand why you've chosen a song about mass murder as her personal ringtone? 

I think I've successfully convinced her that my particular brand of crazy is more or less harmless. I hope. I am going to keep my eyes open for butterfly nets and straight jackets in the next few weeks, though.

Conversations with a One Year Old

Since my five year old is about to be six, I thought it was high time I posted a new conversations. The problem is, she's not been all that hilarious lately. But Maren... Oh, that child has been a font of amazing statements.
___________________

Maren: MOMEEEE! MOMEEE!
Me: Yes, dear.
Maren: MOMEEE!*
Me: What?!?
Maren: I ridin' the horsey?
Me: Yes, you rode the horsey. That was fun, huh?
Maren: NO! I wan ridin' the horsey RIGH NOW!
Me: Well, sweetie, you can't ride the horsey right now, we're in the car.
Maren: AAAHHHHHH! Why, why, why?!?!
Me: Brynna, can you help me change the subject.
Brynna: Look, Maren, ducks!
Maren: DUCKS? DUCKS! DUCKS! MERE, DUCKS, MERE! I HAZ CRACKERS FOR YOU!**
Brynna: And cows!
Maren: COWS? COWS! I RIDIN' THE COWS?!?

* When Maren screams your name, "What?" is the only appropriate response. Anything else you say, anything say, more polite, will just cause her to continue screaming your name.

** Blatant lie - she had no crackers.
__________________

Walking out to the car from the babysitter's.
Me: Did you have a good day with your friends?
Maren: Yeah.
Me: Did you get in trouble?
Maren: Yeah.
Me: You did? What did you do?
Maren: I put my finger in Cal* eye.
Me: You poked Calvin in the eye?
Maren: Yeah.
Me: Why would you do that?
Maren: I wan the bear.
Me: You poked him in the eye to get the bear.
Maren: Yeah.
Me: Did you get in trouble?
Maren: Yeah. Mimi yell at me.
Me: Well, I would hope so. Hold on. Answering phone. Hi, Mimi. Yeah. Oh that's fine. We were just talking and Maren was telling me about poking Calvin in the eye.
MiMi: Oh. Yeah, I forgot to tell you. She was trying to get the bear.
Me: Well, at least she's honest.

*Name changed to protect the injured.
_________________________

Me: Bedtime, Maren.
Maren: No!
Me: Yep, sorry, it's bedtime.
Maren: I sit on potty.
Me: You need to go potty first?
Maren: Yeah.
Me: Okay.
Five minutes later.
Me: Okay, now it's time for bed.
Maren: No!
Me: Yep. Let's go to bed.
Maren: I take baff?
Me: No, no bath. Bed.
Maren: I read story?
Me: Yes, go pick a story and I'll read to you in bed.
Maren: Shoot.
____________________________

As a bonus:

Brynna: Mommy, did that guy say, "Jessie's girl?"
Me: Yeah. The name of this song is, "Jessie's Girl."
Brynna: Hey! It's a song about me.

What's In My Crochet Bag - Stiff Edition

Today, we will be discussing a topic in crochet, rather than me telling you about a project. I have a project, one that I am willing to share via Internet even though it's a holiday present. (Tee Hee, I love those people who don't "do" the interwebz, sometimes.)

But, it's currently spread out over my punchbowl. No, it's not drunk. Yet.

It's awaiting stiffening. Now, I don't know for sure if you stiffen anything in knitting (although, in theory, I'm sure you could), and I know some of you are uninvolved in the fiber arts, totally, so I'm not sure how many of you will be familiar with this concept. So, I'll explain: some things, in crochet require stiffening. Is it okay if I leave it at that? I'm already tired of explaining. Okay, well, you can make things stiff (like a doily) that need to be flat. Or, you can make things 3 dimensional (like an angel) and those things have to be stiffened as well. Or they won't actually be three dimensional, they will just flop over. Unless you crochet them out of wire, which is technically possible, but it seems like it would be hell on your hooks.

In any case, I don't like to do it. For one thing, part of the crochet experience for me is the tactile nature of the feel of the thread/yarn and the magic of crafting into something with it's own shape, own feel, own life. I don't like to mess with that. To make it feel less like fiber and more like plastic.

On the other hand, there are applications for stiffened crochet that are amazing. (On a side note, there are some that are horrifying.) And, hopefully, I'm doing amazing things. We'll see.

I have two projects going that need to be stiffened. The first is the aforementioned thing on my punch bowl. (Does anyone else love the word aforementioned? It may be my favorite word ever. Today, whatever.)

The thing on the punch bowl is a bowl. Hence, it's current placement on a punch bowl. It's not nearly as big as my punch bowl, but the base of the bowl is about the same size as my punch bowl, and therefore, I'm using it as a form. Hopefully, in a few days, I will paint a stiffener onto my bowl, let it dry thoroughly and then pick up - a bowl. Rather than a slightly misshapen doily, which is what it looks like in it's unstiffened form.

Secondly, I am making snowflake ornaments. I've done this before, but never in such quantity. I'm making sets of five and will then stretch them on a flat board, pinning the points to the board, all stretched out like, and painting on the stiffener to make them look more like snowflakes than hankies. Which is what they would look like if I put a piece of ribbon on them and hung them up right now. Tiny hankies. With ribbons.

Since I haven't done this in years, I thought I would come to you, my faithful readers for help.

I have a few questions:

1. What kind of board should I use? I'm leaning toward a piece of foam core, but I'm not sure it'll hold the pins. Be gentle - and cheap.

2. I have a recipe for stiffener that's basically sugar water, but I'm a little afraid of that. Will it attract ants? Will it melt and get floppy if it's humid (like say if kept in the kitchen)? So, I have broken down and ordered a bottle of commercial stiffener. I think I used to have a recipe that was basically watered down Elmer's glue. Any advice? What have you used? What works and what becomes a natural disaster?

3. Any advice for stiffening a 3-D item like a bowl? I've never done this before.

4. Out of sheer curiosity, has anyone ever stiffened an item made of yarn, rather than thread? I would think that it would feel pretty icky. All that heft, soaking up all that stiff stuff. But, maybe not. Maybe it wouldn't be all that different. I'm talking natural fibers, here. Cotton, probably.

Fill up the comments, peoples. I need you.

Five Things on Whenever - Chest Cold Edition

I have a bit of a chest cold. It's not the worst I've ever had, but perhaps the most annoying, because I don't really feel bad. So, I thought I would list my symptoms in the funniest way I can, for your amusement. Because I am a martyr for comedy.

1. There's a Toddler Sitting on my Chest - This is perhaps the most consistent of my symptoms and I feel the crushing weight of Maren perched on my ribcage. Except that Maren is at my mom's house and every once in a while she bounces slightly.

2. I Sound like Mae West - I have this horrible compulsion to try to teach someone to whistle every time I hear my voice. It would probably be sexy if not for...

3. I Also Sound Like I'm Losing a Lung - The cough doesn't come all that often, but it's hard to stop once I start and it's a deep, hacking, miserable cough. Which is made worse and makes worse...

4. It's Possible that My Throat was Raped by a Cheese Grater - Because I keep waiting for a tissue full of blood. Which would only enhance my feeling that I am dying of consumption in some Civil War movie (probably played by Olivia de Haviland, because let's face it, I am no Scarlet).

5. Despite the Fact that I am So Tired I Could Drop, I Can't Seem to Sleep - I've been trying ever since my mom came and got the girls so I could. I finally gave up and turned on the computer. Which means that my backstory has caught up with me. I think I'll take a Tylenol PM and give it another shot.

Farewell, my sweets. I'll see you on Monday.

A Dream Delayed

So, there are a few things in life that I have always wanted to be, but been denied. Have a grown up lego collection, kayak, live on a mountain in Vermont.

Some of those things (see kayaking) I deny myself. Some of those things are denied me by circumstance. But the one thing that has always been my dream and always eluded me is jury duty.

I don't know why. I can't possibly explain my passion for serving on a jury. It's a thing. It's a I-care-deeply-about-participating-in-government kind of thing. It's a I-watched-12-Angry-Men-way-too-young thing. It's a thing. A thing I've always wanted to do.

So, I am a registered voter, I vote in every freakin' election, even the ones I couldn't care less about and I pray for jury duty. I never get called.

Until today. Today, I opened a summons in my mailbox. I have finally, finally been called to jury duty. I am ecstatic.

Except, because of the stupid huge, international event being held practically inside my office later in the month, my boss is making request a postponement. Because of the chaos.

And yeah, I hate chaos, and I totally understand what she's asking and it all makes perfect sense and if I postpone, the paperwork assures me I'll get called again. But, still. I didn't need another reason to hate the huge, international event practically taking place inside my office. I really didn't.

So - lifelong dream of being an active participant in our nation's judicial process - delayed. Jessi=sad.

Fried Apple Pie and Camels

Apple Fest at Evans Orchard this past Sunday - A Mostly Wordless Wednesday

Poised on this precipice, she saw only possibilities before her.

Pushing ever forward, ever higher, desirous of nothing more than attaining what those before her take for granted.

Bravery is nothing more or less than denying what your head tells you to leap at what your heart begs for.

Discovering a kindred spirit can sometimes be a challenge.

At the very top of the world, all they could do was wave.

You Know What I Hate?

I work in this place, this weird place, where a major, international event is about to go down. This, i suppose excites some people. I've dreaded since the moment I heard the announcement, since before I started working where I work.

Here's what major, international event means to me: traffic, inconvenience, headaches, crowds, chaos. Additionally, we have recently found out that we may not be allowed to park at all, without paying $20 per day. If they do deign to allow us to park at our own offices, we will be walking 1 mile from our parking spaces to our offices. And! And! The event doesn't start for almost two weeks and I was kicked out of my parking lot today. I hate that.

I hate when I have a sunburn.

I hate when The Husband forgets to set the alarm and we have to get me and the kids, dressed, ready and out the door in less than 10 minutes.

I hate when I'm moving back and forth between two computers and one of them has a much, much clearer screen than the other. Because then, the fuzzier picture, which normally wouldn't seem fuzzy at all, seems like looking through someone else's glasses.

I hate when I can't get anything done for more stuff piling up.

What do you hate?

Five Things on Friday - Spirit Week Edition

I always hated Spirit Week when I was in school. (Spirit Week, for those who were homeschooled or lucky enough to grow up somewhere that didn't celebrate this horrific tradition is where we all celebrate our school spirit by looking like idiots. Each day of the week has a theme and you, assuming you are not a spiritless creep, participate in said theme.)

For one thing, I was never particularly spirited. Okay, I went to games and pep rallies (or prep rallies as those of us in the top rows wearing black were wont to call them) got you out of class. I had friends in band, who are required by law to show at least a minimal amount of spirit. It's just that I never bought into that whole thing whereby the value of your school is determined by their basketball record.

However, when it came to Spirit Week, the only less embarrassing than walking around with stupid hair on crazy hair day was being the only one not walking around with stupid hair on crazy hair day.

It's a little gem I blocked out of my public school experience, so that now, I've been totally surprised by my daughter's first ever Spirit Week. And only a little because I didn't even know what her elementary school mascot is (the stallions, for the record).

Luckily, they only celebrated Spirit Week for three days. Also, luckily, she's not nearly as bitter and jaded as I was. Though I probably wasn't either at here age, I don't remember Spirit Week in elementary school.

We have celebrated our spirit through Derby Hat Day (which had to be stuffed in the backpack at the last minute because what if no one else is wearing one?!?!), Crazy Hair Day (which caused a giant fight about how much brushing is actually necessary for 3 pony tails and 2 braids) and School Colors Day (which necessitated us getting out Brynna's Christmas apparel, because redheads don't wear all that much red in their day to day lives).

She's had fun and I've tried to hide my ire. But I thought for posterity, I would share

Five Spirit Day Themes I Could Get Behind, Even Now

1. Pajama Day - A lot of places do this, but when I was in high school, the style was for girls to sleep in boxer shorts and tank tops, so that was sort of right out. I would have loved to roll into work today in my blue pj pants and the biggest shirt in the world. (Seriously, you could pitch a tent under this pajama top and have no idea that it was there.) Similarly, I wouldn't have minded putting Brynna to bed in cute pj's and clean underwear last night and letting her slip on shoes and go. Please, who doesn't need one of those days every once in a while?

2. BedHead Day - See above.

3. Let Your Mother Pick Your Clothes Day - I'd just love to have one morning where I don't have to explain that wool tights in 90 degree weather isn't a good idea or why you can't wear your bathing suit top like a tank top.

4. Mismatched Day - The polar opposite of the Day 3, this day would allow us to actually wear a couple of those items of clothing that we always end up with that match nothing else at all. Is it just us? Does everyone else coordinate their kids' wardrobes so well that there are never those things? I blame hand me downs. But not out loud, because I love hand me downs.

5. Last Year's Halloween Costume/Christmas Dress Day - Because no one likes to pay that much for something that only gets worn once.

What Spirit Day themes could you go for right about now?

Describe Yourself

If there is one thing that the generation of "social networking" has given us, it's this: we can all describe ourselves. I have described myself on Facebook, on Twitter, on here, on my Google Account. There are probably 20 descriptions of me floating around in cyberspace that I have created for forums and groups and "teams."

And yet, I wonder if I've ever gotten it right.

I've gotten to the point where I dread the question. Describe Yourself. I fall back on labeling myself, which isn't at all the same. I'm the mother of two. I live in a small town. I have 2 cats. I work in nonprofit. I'm an unrepentant English Lit major. Which is all fine. There's nothing wrong with any of that. It's information about me. You can read it and discern certain things about me. If I work in nonprofit, I'm probably liberal (most of us are). If I have cats, I probably like to be alone (I've never understood that, if I wanted to be alone, I wouldn't have the damn cats).

But I'm not sure that you can call that a description.

Part of the issue with struggling to describe yourself is that it inevitably involves words that get tricky. I don't want to say I'm smart, even though I think I am, because I don't want to imply that anyone isn't, although I obviously think that some people aren't. I don't want to say I'm a writer, because there are other people who have done more to earn that title than I have. I don't want to say that I'm emotional, because, well, I'd like to lead with my strengths.

Another part of the problem is that most of us just aren't that comfortable with talking about ourselves. We were raised to be humble, or polite, or whatever, and talking about ourselves just seems crass, somehow. If you ask me to describe my mother I will tell you about how fierce and fearless she is, how amazingly prepared for anything and everything, how strong. If you ask me to describe a friend or a coworker, or even a blogger I read, I'll use words like intelligent, powerful, amazing, eloquent, strong, opinionated, loyal... But I would never use one of those words to describe myself - except for maybe opinionated. And don't get me wrong, it's not because I don't think of myself as strong and smart and powerful and loyal. It's just that I would never say or type those words about myself.

But I think the the biggest problem is that we don't look at ourselves much. Every morning, I stop by the mirror. I check my hair and my hem line. I make sure my clothes look okay and that they aren't sporting any spots. I look at the lines my body makes and whether or not I think earrings would help. But I never look any deeper.

A few years ago, The Husband told someone about my temper. "She gets so mad so fast, and then almost immediately calms down," he said. "I've never seen anyone with that much fire who can't carry a grudge for even ten minutes." I'd never thought about it. My grandfather has a hot temper. Quick to anger, quick to move on. My grandma has a very cold temper. It takes a lot to get her mad, but when you do, you should probably make sure your passport is current. When he said that, years back, I thought of my Granddaddy. And then I wondered why I never realized I took after him like that.

Beyond what I hear other people say about me, I'm not sure I know who I think I am. I know what I want to be, but I can't tell you how close I am. Am I patient? Probably not. Am I kind? Maybe... Do I stand up for what I believe in? Sometimes. (Does anyone always?)

So, who am I? Well, I'm strong. I think. I'm smart and opinionated. Easily bored and always fighting a degree of stir-crazy and wanderlust. I'm a homebody at heart, though, who has a favorite chair. Fluorescent lights make me temperamental and I need a good book to fall asleep.

I like what I like (90's grunge rock, ripped jeans, sunglasses, lemonade) and I don't feel the need to expand those horizons much. I hate silence. I talk a lot, cry a lot, yell a lot and sleep not quite enough. I bite my nails. Mostly because I stress so much, but a little because it's a hard habit to break and a little because I'm a touch OCD. I get that from my grandma. Also, a borderline hoarder (which I also get from Grandmommy).

I love to eat and love to cook and love to create, but I hate to do anything repetitively.

I crochet to relax, because it is one of the few areas of my life in which I allow imperfection. I don't read to relax. I don't find it particularly relaxing, but I do go crazy if I don't, so it's a little like an addiction. A delicious addiction for which I hope no one ever invents a 12-step.

I love words and grammar, but I'm not particular about any of it, just curious and interested. Despite the fact that I truly believe that last sentence, I went back and corrected the one before it so it wouldn't end with a preposition. Because...

I have pet peeves. Many of them.

I am solid. If I had to choose only one word to describe myself, it would be solid. I am not immovable, but you'll have to work at it if you want to try. I am reliable and responsible, but not boring.

I don't know if I've really described myself any better than usual. But I hope that I have managed to describe myself and not just my relationship to others.

What about you? Do you struggle with "describe yourself's" or do you breeze through?

I'm Not Dead!

No, really. I'm still here. I'm fighting against a startling lack of things to talk about. It's not that I don't have anything to talk about, really, just that I don't have anything I want to talk about. Which is different, but still substantial. In any case, I'm going to share some funny things that have been said in my presence in the last few days. I hope they make you laugh.

1. The other day at work, I was telling my work friend about this college friend of mine who has moved somewhere awesome. I actually don't know where he lives now, but I know he mentioned snow on Facebook earlier in the week, and I almost cried out of a desire to be there, wherever there is. I said I was going to call him and try to convince him that he had always been in love with me. My awesome work friend, C, responded, "Of course, he might say, 'Aren't you married?' and you'll have to say, 'Yeah, but not in a weird way.'" I don't even know what that means, but I think it's possibly the funniest thing I've ever heard.

2. The Husband made boiled chicken for supper. It's a long story. Anyway, when Brynna took her first bite she said, "Ew. This chicken tastes like hot water." I said that she should put some stuffing on top and that would make it better. "I didn't say I didn't like hot water," was her very sensible response.

3. Working on a project today, I had to make tabs for a handful of organizations in a large notebook. One of the organizations was Save Southern Pines Association, which I typed on the tab. Unfortunately, I made the tab too big, "Are these supposed to say, 'Save Southern Pines Ass?'" asked C, as she helped me.

4. Brynna and I were discussing her reading homework tonight. We had a disagreement about what the instructions were asking for. "Mommy! You're embarrassing me." I paused a moment, "I don't think you know what that word means." Incensed, Brynna flew to defend herself, "Yes I do." "Okay, then you understand that you can't be embarrassed if there's no one here to see or hear what I'm saying and doing." I responded. "The couch is here and I'm embarrassed to for the couch to hear you say that."

5. Yesterday was a bad day. At one point, a semi driver got out his truck and started walking toward me yelling and cussing. I threw the car in reverse and got out of dodge. I was telling my boss, from New York, about the incident. "Ah, road rage," she said. "I guess. No one's ever done that to me before," I responded. "Well, that's because you've always lived in the South," she answered. "You people get plenty mad, but you never stop being polite." Yep. Welcome to the South.