Thursday, March 31, 2011

Overscheduled and Underpaid

I can't breathe for long when not in the
presence of my magic book.
I've been thinking about writing a post wherin I discuss the pros and cons of trying to "do it all." I try to do it all. I do this because I'm a control freak and because I have trouble saying no. Also, everything sounds like fun in theory. Oh, sure, I'd love to do such-and-such. In my mind. In the reality I live in, I inevitably find it's not so much fun.

People have come to expect this from me, now. To the point where I recently said no to something at church and everyone stopped for a moment and stared at me. I had to work hard to stand my ground.

But this week, oh, this week has been rough. I've had something to do every night so far and I've felt busy and panicked and I'm having trouble sleeping. You should know, I never have trouble sleeping. My sleep is never bothered by anything. Half a gallon of coffee ten minutes before bed - no problem. Just walked three miles and my endorphins or whatever are sky high - give me five minutes. Bed's broken and I have to sleep on this here handy pile of nails - Whatevs. Guilty conscience about the murder of sixteen people - I can handle it.

But it wasn't until I got the voicemail today telling me that our Girl Scout meeting had been cancelled that I realized how bad it was. I was overwhelmingly relieved. I sighed and said a prayer of thanks. Then I may or may not have gotten up and did a very silent Dance of Joy right at my desk.

The worst part of this week being so busy: it's the last week of the month. The first week of the month is always my rough week. So this week - just a prelude, baby.

I am officially overscheduled. And the problem with being overscheduled is that I have no idea what to do about it. Yeah, yeah, I understand that I have to get better at saying no. And I should probably cut something out of my life. Some volunteer thingy or something. But I really just can't.

  • I have bookclub - which I love. I live for bookclub and I'm not giving it up. Those people keep me sane.
  • I have my ladies church group which is much the same. With the addition that I have tried to quit and I just can't.
  • I have the Montessori board, which I just re-volunteered for. But really doesn't take that much time anyway. I could give up a committee, though, I'm on two.
  • I have church which is a tricky thing. I can't give up church because of the pesky faith thing, but I could give up parts of it. I could do less, but I'm truly needed there and I would feel really bad about it. In fact, I usually don't feel like I'm doing enough as it is.
  • I have Girl Scouts, which I could totally give up and not feel even a little bad about, except that I've kind of become one of the go-to parents and I don't know how to get out of that gracefully.

Add to this that I am not at all involved in a school which is actually attended by one of my children and I have this pressing need to do something about that and you have, well, desperation.

And I'm still working full time and trying to get into grad school. So, there's that.

Some of this will ease up as the girls get bigger. I'm involved in everything they are and everything I am and I stay with them for everything The Husband is involved in (which isn't much to be fair).

I'm not sure what the point of this is. I'm not the first, nor will I be the last, mom to sit down on Thursday night and wonder where the hell the week went. I know what needs to be done, I'm just not sure I can do it. Also, I'm severely sleep deprived, so perhaps we should ignore this whole post.

Thank goodness the week is almost over. Sort of.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The Flashing Cursor of Doom

I imagine that years and years ago, perhaps even centuries, there were those who sat with a fountain pen (or quill), a pot of ink and a blank sheet of paper. They stared at that blank sheet of paper and felt the weight of the world on their shoulders. They struggled to write down a single word - just one word to get them started, a single word to be the pebble removed from the damn. That blank paper was their adversary, their nemesis.

On a side note, I believe that the word nemesis is my favorite word in the English language. I always say that it's antidisestablishmentarianism because it shouldn't mean anything, but I think really it's nemesis. Say it a few times. Go on. I bet you'll be sold. 


Then, came the typewriter. I'm sure that many writers started out in notebooks and then typed their finished works, and for them, the blank page still loomed large and terrifying, but for others, the blank page was eclipsed by the tiny sliver of white above the bar. The signal that you were at the very top of the page and not moving. The visual sign that the keys weren't moving and neither was that paper.

Also the silence, because typewriters are loud. In a satisfying way. Like slamming a kitchen cabinet when you are mad. Oh, whatever, don't pretend that you've never slammed a door or thrown something or kicked something and been extremely satisfied by the noise it makes. Sometimes it's exactly what you need. I'm also going with healthy. You shouldn't hold in all that rage.


Then came a whole new era. The era of the personal computer. Of word processing. Of the flashing cursor. No greater foe had ever been witnessed. The flashing cursor changed the landscape of writer's block forever. No more could you fill up the first part of the page with nonsense and then scribble it out, making the big blank page less scary. No more could you hit the carriage return a few times and move down the page and type Chapter 1, like it was an artistic choice. Now, the flashing cursor can appear anywhere, mid-word on occasion and remind you with it's pulsating persistence that you are stuck. That you have no idea where you are going.

Of course, the real issue is the rhythm. Taunting you. Staring you in the face. Mocking you. "You suck, you suck, you suck..." it chants in it's stupid flashing idiocy. "Don't you know any other words," you may scream at your screen. "Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?" the flash says back. Oh,  you think that sounds crazy? I suppose maybe it does. Just imagine how much crazier I would be if I were still holding in that rage.


There is no scribbling, no filling the page, because you can erase everything rubbish. There is no moving down the page because it will still be there, haunting you. Taunting you.

Stupid cursor.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Five Things on Friday - Real Heroines Edition

I think that getting where you want to go has a lot to do with knowing who you are following there. There are so many amazing and powerful women (and men) in the world to look up to and admire for what they do and how they live. Personally, the traits I most prize are persistence and charity.

I think you'll see what I mean.

5 Real Life Women I Admire


1. Janis Joplin - Okay, I know. Janis was a depressed alcoholic and drug addict who had massive ego problems. She's not exactly a hero for the ages. But, oh, Janis. Here's what I admire about Janis: she followed her heart. She sang what she wanted and she never accepted no. Not when she took pressure for being a "white girl" singing the blues. Not when she lost her band or when the record company threatened to cut her. Not when she was a mousy girl in Texas surrounded by people who didn't understand. She didn't always make the right choice, but she always stood by her choice. And man, could she sing.

2. Alice Paul - You're probably familiar with Susan B. Anthony and perhaps even Amelia Bloomer, but Alice Paul is my suffragette hero. Alice was one of the minds behind looking to the Brits for inspiration in the movement. She was one of the ladies imprisoned after picketing the White House. She was beaten and abused in prison, at one point being force fed raw eggs through a tube. And with that misery, she started demonstrating for prison reform. Alice Paul attacked injustice where she saw it, with no thought to her personal safety. She was a fighter. Always. And a winner (not in the Charlie Sheen way). The White House protests and the scandal that came from the women's treatment in prison was ultimately what pushed the 19th Amendment through. She was also the original author of the Equal Rights Amendment. Alice Paul was well-educated and used her knowledge, intelligence, dedication and strength to change the world. Who can argue with that kind of legacy?

3. Eleanor Roosevelt - Eleanor was one of first First Ladies to refuse to just sit and be pretty. Her speaking and activism continued unabated and her passion for helping the poor was one of the things that led Franklin to his New Deal policies. When Franklin interred Japanese citizens, Eleanor was public and vocal about her her dissent of this tactic. She fought for women, African Americans and the poor with equal vehemence and passion. She was also a Montessorian, so there's that.

4. J.K. Rowling - J.K. had a passion, and despite her circumstances, which included clinical depression, she sat down every day and made a simple motion with her hand. She wrote. She wrote out her sorrow over her mother's death, her frustration, her anger, her joy, her love. She wrote. Everyday. Even when it seemed pointless. Even when her publishers told her to get a day job. She wrote. And wrote and wrote and wrote. And gave us some of the finest children's literature ever published. She inspired book release parties that topped any previous movie release. She got kids who thought they hated to books to sit down and read. She inspired an entire generation.


5. My mom - If I had to pick someone to be stranded on a dessert isle with me and my children (because I can't possibly be stranded without my children) it wouldn't be The Husband, because I'd kill him. It would totally be my mom. Not only would she easily build a raft from banana peels and bamboo and a working coconut radio, but she'd do it while offering me the world's best advice and keeping me from throwing myself out of tree. She grounds me with her calm and her wisdom. She is the best prepared individual ever for the zombie apocalypse and she doesn't even believe in the zombie apocalypse. And she too is a fighter. For what she believes, sure, but mostly for who she loves. On the days I fail to be Alice or Eleanor or even J.K, my mom reminds me that I am still fighting for my girls.

Okay, enough of me - who do you admire?

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Invasion of the Naked Babies

There are some jobs in a house that are by necessity and design, never ending. Like laundry. It doesn't matter how much laundry you do, people are going to keep wearing clothes and dirtying up the things you just washed. Dishes are likewise, unless you go on a cooking strike and only eat out (I've done this - don't laugh.) I suppose if you are the type of person who dusts, dusting is probably like this, too. I mean, it never stops landing there, so there is no real end to moving it elsewhere. 

One of these never ending jobs in my house is dressing babies. Not the real ones. The plastic ones. We have approximately 2.1 million baby dolls in my house. We have a couple from when I was a kid, then Brynna has about a half million and the rest came for Christmas when I made the mistake of telling multiple people that Maren needed a baby doll because she was always trying to play with Brynna's. 

All of these dolls are pretty much imperceptibly different. This one has a pacifier. This one can pee her pants. This one is soft and this one makes a good weapon. That one has a hat stapled onto her skull and the one over there giggles maniacally when you tickle her tummy. We have ones that cry ones that talk. There is one trait that they nearly all share, however - their clothes are removable, pink and have some sort of small animal embroidered or appliqued on them. 

At first glance, this seems like a good idea. Surely those clothes are therefore interchangeable. Right? Who would notice if the crying baby got the laughing baby's pants? Only, it doesn't work like that because they are all ever-so-slightly different sizes. 

It's a puzzle of epic proportions. I walk through the house, gathering all the babies and baby clothes that I can find. Then, I lay everything out in the living room floor and try to determine which outfits go together and who wears what. After a good long session of trying to tell apart the minute differences in shades of pink, I start dressing the dolls. Once you realize that something doesn't fit, you have to readjust all your previous choices, though. Okay, if this doesn't go on crying baby, it must go on laughing baby. But that means that this outfit must go on paci baby and this one will have to go on stapled hat baby. Which leaves me with one hat that won't stay on anyone's head, a single bootie and three shirts. 

Obviously, the sane solution is to get a box, stuff all the dolls and clothes in it, put on a label that says "Babies" and move on with my life. Why can't I do that? Because I can't. I can't stand the thought of those babies hanging around naked. There's a whole bin full of naked Barbies and that doesn't bother me in the least, but I have to clothe the baby dolls.

Is it some holdover from my childhood when I compulsively changed my dolls clothes? A weird superstition about naked baby dolls? Perhaps a mistaken belief that their feelings will somehow be hurt by their nakedness? I have no clue. I can only conclude that is some deep seated psychological illness. 

In any case, at least weekly, I take on the task of dressing all the babies. And weekly, at least, I swear this is the last time I'm doing it. From now on, those stupid babies can just stay naked. Who cares about them, anyway? It's not like they are getting cold. And the kids are just gonna take their clothes off anyway. So, why not? Why not just leave them naked? And only a few days later, I spy one on the floor or shoved hastily at pick up time into a toy bin. Perhaps even halfway under a blanket on a big girl bed. "I'll just dress her," I think, looking around for some empty clothes. A few minutes later, I realize that the nearly complete outfit I found just inches from the naked doll isn't the right one - and then we're off. I have to dress the baby that outfit belongs to and I have to find clothes for the naked baby in my hand. It's a compulsion.

The worst part is that the kids have decided I like it. This may never end.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Migrainey

I'm missing this smile a lot lately.
A couple of weeks ago I took Brynna to the doctor. She'd had to leave school a couple of times after vomiting. We'd get her home and she'd be absolutely fine. Also, she was bratty. Here's the thing, Brynna's got an attitude. She's not always the nicest kid on the block, but she's generally pretty okay. She's a kid, she screws up, but mostly she's pleasant enough.

When Brynna has been downright unbearably unpleasant, typically we've had something else going on. I used to take her the doctor when she got mean and it would turn out to be an ear infection. And you should have seen the fits when she was being abused by the bad daycare.

So, I figured I'd err on the side of caution and take her in. A half an hour later, I was leaving with an order for a CT scan, "just to make sure there's nothing neurological going on." I stressed and flipped out, but at least it was only 24 hours until the scan and then about 18 until the results.

When they told me the CT was clear and from here on out, we'd be keeping a headache journal to determine if maybe she was having migraines, I breathed a big, ole sigh of relief. Nothing like a tumor to put little old migraines in perspective. They should do all kid illnesses this way.

Unfortunately, the relief has worn off and what I am left with is an ever-increasing sense of helplessness. I don't know when she's throwing a fit if it's because her head hurts or because she's spoiled rotten. And I can't ask, because that's just handing her an out. I don't know how to make it better or when the next one is going to strike, or what's causing them.

In the meantime, I'm just trying to do my job. I'm trying to make her behave without making her miserable. I'm trying to keep her calm without giving in to her fits. I'm trying to manage something that I'm not even 100% sure is going on. This is hard.

Of course, it's still not a tumor and it's hard not to feel a little relief about that.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Little Girls and Little Girl Things

Just a warning: I'm on a tangent. I've been considering a lot of issues lately and how they are related and what we should do about it. As the mom of little girls, these things have been eating at me, keeping me awake and driving me over the edge. And, you know, what's the point of having a blog if I don't use as a soapbox once in a blue moon.

I've been shopping for Brynna lately. She's outpaced all the little girls who used to give her hand-me-downs and for the first time since I gave birth to her, I'm facing a season ahead with little or nothing waiting for her to wear. Some of last year's tees will make it another summer and I've successfully navigated my famous consignment sale, so that I no longer worry about sending her to school naked on the first really warm day, but for a kid used to having her pick it's going to be hard if I don't come up with a couple more outfits.

She's a six year old who will this summer be wearing a size ten. I'm not worried about this, as most of it's in her height, but apparently there is a line. A line right between size eights and tens that says, hey, here are the sluts. I am amazed at the super-short shorts, the designed to be worn skin tight tops and the fact that many of what were last year skorts are now just skirts - too short to move in without flashing some panty. Since I don't have a ten year old, I cannot say with absolute surety that these clothes still wouldn't play in my house, but honestly, I'm thinking that these clothes will never play in my house. You want to tramp it up? Get a job and an apartment, because you are not leaving here looking like that.

(Which, on a sidenote, makes me feel ancient. I swore I'd never say something like that and here I am looking at clothes for a first grader, thinking it already.)

And for the most part, I don't think about it terms of "sexualizing," I think of it in terms of "appropriate." It's just not appropriate, for any myriad of reasons - the least of which is sheer practicality of a kid who is going to run and jump and climb and play wearing something so close to just not being there.

So, then I read this the other day. (If you're not feeling clicky, let me 'splain. No, there is too much to 'splain. Let me summarize: The author theorizes that those of us who grew up post-sexual revolution don't know how to teach our kids about sex without being total hypocrites, so we choose not to. We just let them wear what they want and stand around patting ourselves for being the cool mom. Note: I'm not being completely fair to the author who really makes some good points and has a very well-thought out article going here. Also, to be clear, she is not defending this, just trying to explain the phenomenon. If you want fair, you should click and read for yourself, though.)

Perhaps I fall under her heading of "evangelicals" or perhaps I'm not quite the right generation for this - as a late gen-exer, my sex ed was colored as much by the AIDS panic as the sexual revolution. But I don't get that. Sure, if I had it to do again, I wouldn't make every choice the exact same way I did it the first time, but does that mean I'm gonna let my girls wander into the pre-teen minefield without guidance? No.

Girls should not dress like streetwalkers. They should not dress like soap stars. They shouldn't dress like TV stars or like musicians or like burlesque dancers. They should dress like girls. We used to, as a society, know that. Face it, people, this isn't a completely new problem. When Gilligan's Island hit the airwaves, did we have a sudden outbreak of MaryAnn wannabes walking around with their shirts tied up under their boobs? Really, I'm asking. I wasn't around for that. (Also, does anything else think it's kinda unfair that MaryAnn had the good girl rep when she showed a lot more skin than Ginger?)

But, then, just when I think I've worked myself into a fine lather and I've got my platform speech ready to go decrying rising hemlines and falling necklines, I read this. (Here we go again. You should really just click this one. But in case you don't, an eleven year old girl was gang raped by a bunch of teenage and adult men and the town they live in thinks that it's the little girl's fault because she dressed slutty.) And I remember my ranting and raving about this attitude in college. Only in college, I was talking about girls my own age - old enough to possibly properly deal with something so life-altering, damaging and horrific as rape. The fact that the "Blame the Victim" game (long treasured by drunk frat boys, sports stars, celebrities and politicians) has trickled over onto KIDS... I am simply at a loss for words.

No, I take that back, I'm not really at a loss for words at all. I'm at a loss for coherent words that don't involve name-calling and threatening. It's not enough that the world has failed this poor child. That she was attacked by a big group of people and not one of them - NOT ONE - said, "Oh, hey, I'm not sure this is the right thing to be doing here." No, we have to add to that by telling her - in major news outlets, on the internet, everywhere her precious head turns that it's her fault. Because of her clothes.

Which brings me back to what I used to say in college. Clothes and sex are unrelated. People should be allowed to wear what makes them happy without fearing that any attacks on them will be forgiven because of their wardrobe choice. But even while I'm typing those words, my stomach is turning and churning thinking about young girls being put at an increased risk, for what? Fashion? Popularity? My high and mighty belief in what should be but probably isn't?

(And let's be clear: I am not talking about increased risk of rape. Rapists are going to rape. It doesn't matter if we all dress like pilgrims. Those boys attacked her because she was young and poor and vulnerable, not because her hemline didn't make it to some magic line on her leg. I'm talking about increased risk of being blamed by the "good, average people" in the community.)

And honestly, I feel like I shouldn't have to have a position on this. It's just common sense. Your mom probably told you that your skirts had to be this long or that if you were wearing that sweater, you were damn well gonna wear a shirt under it. That's a parent's job. That's part of what we do. We let them make their own choices, sure, but we give them rules and guidelines. How hard is it for us to say no? How hard to just say, No, that's not okay.

But if the whole world is going to point their little fingers at little girls and tell them that it's okay that they were raped, they deserved it because they weren't wearing the right things, and if I am going to bring up little girls, I am going to have to have a position. Because, yeah, I don't let my kid watch the news - because of crap like this. But someday, she's going to ask. Ask why it's not appropriate to wear what everyone else is wearing. Ask why I spot check her outfit every morning. Ask why people don't care that a little girl is hurting. And I am going to have to answer all those questions. I am going to have to explain something I can't completely understand.

And right now all I can do is pray that when the time comes, she'll be asking because of a news story and not because something bad ever happens to her. And fight the good fight for decent clothes, while fervently believing that you should wear what makes you happy.

Monday, March 21, 2011

What's In My Crochet Bag - Sewing Edition

I don't sew. I should state this clearly for the record. I kinda hate to sew. It's nothing personal against those who love to sew, it's just that I wasn't built for it. My mother, however, proudly sports the "She Who Dies with the Most Fabric, Wins!!" bumper sticker, so I grew up with it. I learned how to do it. I own a sewing machine. I know how to do it and how to do it right. Most of why I don't like it is because I find doing it right to be sooo tedious. And the ironing. Ironing is the bane of my existence and also a core sewing skill. Iron your seams or you will regret it. Trust me, because I never do and I always regret it.

In any case, after asking for your opinions regarding a shower gift for my darling friend Lisa, I decided to embark on a sewing project. I started out making notes and taking photos as I went, tutorial style, but I actually followed Sew, Mama, Sew's instructions, pretty much to the tee - except with less ironing.

And here is the final result:
Changing Pad unfolded, wipes case open.
Actually, I can't complain about any of it. It went together fabulously easy and looks totally usable and even handy. The diaper pad seemed really small to me, but the truth is that I had ginormous babies and I always carried a blanket because the ones that came with my diaper bags were always bitty. I love that it rolls, though, that seems much easier to deal with than the folded ones.

My favorite though is the wipe case. This will hold a travel size pack of wipes (like the one poking out in the picture) and a couple of diapers. In other words, if you are out running around and don't need a full diaper bag for whatever reason, you could throw a couple of diapers in there, maybe your keys and cell and go. No bag needed. I totally wish I had one of these. I pretty much discovered this idea when Maren was already potty training. But I think I'll give one of these to everyone that I know, now.
Changing pad rolled, wipes case closed.

Lisa was doing her nursery in greens and yellows and other gender non-specifics, so I chose the fabric based on those colors, but with a touch of girliness thrown in, because it's really for her more than the baby anyway. Just a hint for new moms: your baby doesn't care about the diaper bag or anything in it, so get what you like.

One of my issues with my changing pad (the few times I used it) was that it was the same on both sides, so I never knew which side had been on the germy changing station last. Hopefully, the different fabrics will eliminate that issue.

I did buy fat quarters for this project because, well, why not? I love fat quarters. The total fabric cost was around $6, which seems unbeatable. Of course, I also bought a whole spool of that ribbon and had no basics (like velcro or um... thread) on hand, so the overall cost was more. But all in all, I think this was a pretty amazing little gift that didn't make me want to kill anyone. I'll probably be making more.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

The Inside/Outside Catch 22

This, this is the time of year. The time when I want to be outside. Enjoy it, because by mid-April, it's too freakin' hot for me and I'd rather be inside. Then we have another small window in the fall, say October 1- mid November. I want to be outside.

I'm stir crazy. I'm sick of my house. I'm not enjoying the feeling of constantly recycled air. And I know that very, very soon, it's going to be too freakin' hot. So, right now, I want to be outside. This is only slightly hampered by the rain. In fact, I don't mind being outside in the rain. The rain, as long as it's not hard or particularly cold does not bother me. I am constantly amazed by people who use an umbrella to walk ten feet. The only problem with being outside in the rain is that it limits your ability to read and crochet, which are my favorite things to do when outside. (Yes, I know.)

No, it's not the rain that bothers me. It's the freakin' cleaning. Let me explain. My house is a wreck. The kind of wreck that only happens in the winter. Not that my house is clean all summer, but it's better, you know? Why? Because we are not in it so much. You pick up and it stays picked up. Right now, I pick up and ten minutes later it's tornado country.

So, I want the kids to go outside so I can clean, so that I can go outside and enjoy it, not think about how bad I need to clean. Except that the kids won't stay outside without me. And I think Maren may be a little young anyway. Too old to stick in a pack and play and too young to play outside by herself. Or with a six year old babysitter who would be perfectly happy if she did fall down the hill and quit playing with her toys. 

If I don't get the kids outside, I'll never get it clean. There will constantly be this much to clean and it'll be crazy right up until October. I know because that's what happened last year. But I can't clean the house if I accompany them outside. 

This is why people marry, right? So their significant others may take the kids outside and let them clean in relative peace. So that they, in turn, can take the awesome demon possession book they are reading outside and curl up in the swing? That's how it works, right?

Except that my husband is just like my kids and will only spend about ten minutes outside without me. They neeeeed me. All of them. Or they can't continue to exist. 

So, help me. Because I'm planning a massive spring cleaning next month. (Yes, I'm writing a plan. Is that weird?) How do you get the peace and space to really clean? Is there a camp to which I can send my kids? Or do you hire a babysitter? Tie them in their beds? Enlist them to help? (I know that last one makes the most sense and seems the least ludicrous, until you see the bathroom that Brynna has been "cleaning" all winter. It's time for a good once over and only I can do it right - I am not crazy!)

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Conversations with a Scattered Family

Conversations with a 6 Year Old:
Saturday, Brynna and I ended up watching The Parent Trap. The real one. Not that Parent-Trap-Wanna-Be with Lilo. Anyway. When it was over, we had the following conversation.


Brynna: That is my new favorite adult movie.
Me: Well, it's not exactly an adult movie. It's a Disney movie. For kids. Just kids in a different time. When movies made sense.
Brynna: Oh. Well, then it's my second favorite.
Me: Oookay. What's your first favorite?
Brynna: Ice Castles.
Me: Really? Really? That was punishment. No one likes that movie.
Brynna: I loved it!
Me: Well, okay. What was your old favorite? Before today.
Brynna: Doctor Who.*
Me: Wow. Doctor Who and Ice Castles. What a combination. You are nothing if not random.

*I should point out that while you could make an argument that the Christmas specials are Doctor Who movies, I'm pretty sure she just means the series. She really hasn't mastered the difference between movie and show. So, of her three favorite adult movies - one isn't a movie, one isn't for adults and the other is Ice Castles. And not even the original. Where did she come from?


Conversations with a 2 Year Old:
(at 5:45 a.m. after a trip to the potty)
Maren: I need panties!
Me: Yes, you do. Just give me a minute to find some.
Maren: I want Kai Lan panties!
Me: Hmmm. I have Minnie Mouse. How's Minnie Mouse?
Maren: I want Minnie Mouse panties!! Yay!!!!
Me: Okay, here let me help you.
Maren: (sitting on my leg while I figure out which is the back) We don't pee on Mommy's leg.
Me: No, no we do not pee on Mommy's leg.*

*Definitely one for the Things I Never Thought I'd Have to Say book.

Conversations with a 32 Year Old:
Me: How's Brynna?
The Husband: She's fine.
Me: Does she still have a fever?
TH: Yeah.
Me: Did you give her some Tylenol?
TH: No, I think it's better to just let it run it's course. I don't want to slow this down any.
Me: You do understand, right, that a fever is a side effect of your immune system and is not actually a constructive thing that helps you get better?
TH: ... ...Okay, I'll give her a Tylenol.*

*This is the man who needs his own medicine cabinet because he takes something for every little thing. 

Conversations Between a 6 and 2 Year Old:
Maren: Here comes Swiper! He's going to kill Mommy.
Me: For the tenth time, Swiper does not kill. He swipes. Which is stealing. No one is going to kill anybody in the Swiper game. Seriously. Stop saying "kill."
Brynna: That's right, Maren. Talking about killing and playing about killing is bad. We shouldn't do that and Swiper is really kind of nice sometimes.
Maren: I sorry. Swiper's going to swipe Mommy!! Swiper no swiping, Swiper no swiping, Swiper NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO swiping.
Brynna: That's better. Oh, look, we just ran over Swiper. He's dead.*

*Apparently, we need to work on our definition of killing.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A Show of Hands

So, who does Lent?

I grew up Southern Baptist and I don't know if it was that or my particular church or the area I lived in, but I had no idea that Lent existed until I went to college. I went to a small midwestern Mennonite school and everyone there did Lent. Religiously. (See what I did there? Oh, not funny... Moving on.)

In any case, most of the Lenten sacrifices were what you would imagine college kids to give up: chocolate, coffee, peanut butter (okay, that one's weird). I participated most year, even though I didn't do the whole ashy cross thing. I never understood if you had to do one to do the other, but I just did my own thing.

I'm pretty sure that one year I gave up caffeine and nearly chewed off my own arm. I had limited success with Lent and like a yo-yo dieter, I usually gave up after my first catastrophic failure.

Then, I moved back to the South and didn't do Lent for a few years, in fact, was only vaguely aware that it was that time. Actually, what Lent typically signals to me is that it's time to do some serious Easter shopping. We require dresses, hats, tights and shoes and depending on the ensemble, perhaps a nice white cardi and I'm still trying to talk those girls into gloves. Then, there's always the Easter Bunny. He has to shop, too.

Last year, I joined in an online Lent discussion and decided to give up anger. It wasn't that I expected to not get angry at all for that vast expanse of time, but that I tried really hard, harder than normal, to control my Scarlet O'Hara temper. Perhaps it would be better to say that I gave up rage, but that doesn't sound very ladylike.

In any case, I did pretty well with it. If I remember correctly, I really only went completely off the handle a couple of times. I thought about doing that again, because I've clearly fallen right back into my old habits, but since I spent the better part of the morning furious with my husband, I thought perhaps next year.

Yesterday, I heard someone say they were giving up stress for Lent and that sounds good, but my self-control is not nearly that good. I also considered giving up yelling (trust me, my grandma can take people out with her whisper voice and I could probably channel that), worrying, fast food and caffeine (again).

But here it is, Ash Wednesday, and I still haven't settled on anything yet. What I want in my life is more peace, more acceptance, more zen. I used to be zen, you know. Then I turned into a control freak worrywart. I still wonder if I can get it back and what I would need to do to get there. I think that's what I'll do for Lent. I will try to give up all the things between me and zen, between me and peace. I'm pretty sure I won't get all the way back between now and Easter, especially if my girls forego the gloves again, but I'll try all the same.

What about you? What are you giving up for Lent?

Monday, March 7, 2011

In Which I Write a Letter of Recommendation for Myself

To Whom it May Concern:

So, as I understand it, Jessi has applied to your fine institution for further education and requires a letter of recommendation. The task thus falls to me to try to impress you with her many, varied talents and her ridiculous sense of style. Just kidding about the style, the girl is hopeless. She is currently carrying a reusable grocery tote as a purse.

Among Jessi's many positive characteristics is her unfailing dependability. Okay, she may have totally forgotten about silly hair day at her daughter's school, but she doesn't forget the important stuff. Unless her thyroid is acting up. Her amazing dependability comes from her totally neurotic control issues and perfectionism. Of course that sucks when there is a group work situation, because she'd much rather just do it herself, but at least you know unfailingly that it will get done. Although possibly six minutes before it's due. That's just her way, really. Her mom made her junior prom dress on the day of the prom, so it's hereditary.

Also, you should know that Jessi is honest and fair. Unless you are asking if your pants make you look fat, then she will totally lie to you. I guess it would be more fair to say that she is perceptive about when you want to hear the truth. I find that quality to be sadly lacking among the younger generation and it is refreshing to see someone who is so enamored of pop culture to be so adroit.

Jessi is also very responsible. She can be trusted and relied upon and she takes complete responsiblity for any project that involves her. This is no doubt because her control issues have so bled into her life as to develop an overwhelming guilt complex. She hates to feel guilty and feels guilty about everything, because she is responsible for everything because she is a control freak.

All in all, Jessi is a has amazing character and works very hard to avoid improve the world around her. She is kind and loves vampires and zombies kids.

Sincerely,
Jessi

P.S. I don't think we see ourselves as others see us. What would you write about yourself?

Friday, March 4, 2011

Five Things on Friday - The Boys of SciFi

So, it's no secret that I like my TV, books, movies and other media in two genres: horror and SciFi. That's pretty much it. I'm the geeky girl who quotes Buffy  in daily life and rearranges my schedule for Doctor Who. It's just who I am. And I love the geeky boys, too.

So, I thought I would perk up this Friday with my all-time favorite geeky boys.

My Five Favorite SciFi Boys

1. David Tennant - Trust him, he's The Doctor. I mean, really, that's all I should have to say. But it doesn't hurt that he's a fabulous actor who has been in EVERYTHING. I mean it, everything. He's done Hamlet for the love of Gallifrey. And just in case you need additional geeky creds: Harry Potter (Barty Crouch, Jr.) and a rumor swirling around the upcoming Hobbit movies. There you go. Also, he rocked the Chuck Taylors. And everyone knows that they are the geek shoe of choice.

2. Aidan Turner - Not to be confused with Aiden Turner (who is a soap star and well, whatever), Aidan is a relative newcomer to the American consciousness. He's also tapped for the upcoming Hobbit project, but mostly he plays a brooding vampire trying to do better and be better (and perhaps please-please-please fall in love with a ghost) on Being Human. The original thank-you-very-much. I love the hair. And the brood. You know, the other famous broody vampire isn't on this list - partly because of his shunning of things geeky, but also because he just never did it as well as Mitchell.

3. James Marsters - Before you think I don't have any love for the Buffy men, you should know that it's just because I'm totally Team Spike. Oh yes, that beautiful bleached hair, the accent and the fact that he (almost) never brooded - I'm a Spike girl. And really, James is practically the King of the Geeks. Buffy and Angel aside, he's also done Smallville, Caprica and Torchwood. In addition, he's done a ton of voicework, which is instant geek points in my book no matter what the subject matter, but add in that most of his has been on comic projects and Star Wars, and well, get me a Drusilla dress so I can swoon.

4. Nathan Fillion - I know he's doing Castle right now (and giving me a reason to watch one of the 7.2 million cop shows on TV) but he's always going to be Captain Mal to me. For the uninitiated, he was the lead in the short-lived Joss Whedon series Firefly. The series was such a cult hit that even though there were only 14 episodes shot and (I think) only 11 aired, the support was so great that they were able to do a movie, Serenity. I don't know how Fillion feels about the genre, so much as how he feels about Joss, since his other credentials are Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, but it's good enough for me.

5. Jensen Ackles - You didn't think I forgot him, did you? Jensen is Supernatural as far as I'm concerned. Although I do have a highly inappropriate crush on Bobby. Jensen got his start in soaps and even did a stint on Dawson's Creek. I'm willing to forgive him, though, because he's more than made up for it with SN, Smallville, and Dark Angel.





Who's your SciFi crush? Or are you a sucker for the romantic comedy boys? Or comedians? Let me know in the comments.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Locked Out - A Tale of Woe and Terror

Remember how my car broke? And I was driving my grandmother's car? Well, I locked myself out of it last night, while it was running and Maren was strapped in. We answered an interesting question last night, though. How many Baptists does it take to break into a car. Apparently the answer is one - the one who goes home to get the spare.

At the end of the day, Maren was freaked out, but I don't think she really understood what was going on. She was upset that everyone was standing around and she was stuck in the car. After we got home and read stories she was fine, slept through the night without incident, yadda, yadda.
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This morning we were all tired and I just threw comfy clothes at Brynna, knowing it was going to be a rough day for everyone. I tossed her a pair of slightly too-small sweatpants and a pink, sparkly Hannah Montana t-shirt. When the whining about hair brushing started, I shrugged and told her it wasn't that bad and I thought she'd be okay for one day. Why did I do that? Because I am terrible at consistency. I suck at setting a rule and sticking to it. I am not a morning person. I didn't know it was picture day.
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It's been a rough couple of days around the Scattered Household. So, I'm asking for your help. What I really need is a big ole parenting win. Something that makes me feel like I might not suck at this gig. But, I'm just gonna have to wait for that to come along. In the meantime, help me out by sharing your parenting fails. Seriously. My ego needs you.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Tuesday's Gone

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you feel perpetually a day behind? I just cannot get the hang of this week. It doesn't help that I have about a million and one places to be, things to do, projects to wrap up and I am living the life of sudden crisis.

It's days like this that I long for a nice long nap. A book and a bubble bath. That content feeling of nothing to do and nowhere to be. And it's days like this that I feel like I may never have that feeling again. There is the constant weight of a million things I should be doing hovering just over my head. And it is daunting.

I imagine it's like this for everyone from time to time and I'm sure in a few days it'll clear up for me. Maybe even tomorrow.

Look at that smile. You can tell she's trouble
just by lookin' at her!
But if you are wondering where I am in the meantime... This is where. Tuesday.


Gratuitous shot of Brynna. Hey, I'm trying to make
this worth your while.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

What's In My Crochet Bag - Magnet Edition

Recognize that G? It's one of my
favorites. I also adore the bat!
I love my bookclub. We have two very important Christmas traditions. One is that we do a white elephant gift exchange. For those of you uninitiated, a white elephant is something you already own - and hate. It's the gift you never wanted, the art you think belongs in a cheap hotel, the kitchen gadget only available via telephone at 3 am. The second tradition is the exchange of knickknacks. This one is voluntary and not everyone participates. My friend Wendy gives everyone a crocheted dish rag every year. There are usually a great deal of bookmarks. Because, um... bookclub.

The year Maren was born, I made everyone a scarf. Because massive amounts of downtime in a hospital and on maternity leave meant that I could. Last year, I made bookmarks. This year, I wanted to try something new. These magnets.

I made them for approximately 6.2 million people, meaning that I made about 8.3 billion magnets. And I chose to do it in one sitting, so you know. Horrors!! Especially for my poor back.

Here's What I Used:

Flowers for some reason
were harder to capture right.
I was glad to get these!
  • Old magazines
  • Flat bottomed glass marbles (check the floral arranging area of the big box of your choice)
  • Sharpie
  • Xacto type knife
  • Self healing mat
  • Old, beat up cookie sheet
  • Dime sized magnets
  • 3M77

Here's How I Did It:

There was an ad that had about
20 usable peace signs. It made
my day.
I started with a big pile of magazines, a flat-bottomed glass marble and a sharpie and an xacto style knife that is shaped like a pen. I then used the marble as a looking glass, placing over each thing I thought would be nice and trying it out for size and effect. If it worked, I traced around the marble with a sharpie and then carefully used the knife and a self-healing mat to cut just inside the outline.
  1. When I was done, I had a great big pile of tiny circles of paper. I then placed my dime sized magnets on a cookie sheet (note - I have a really messed up cookie sheet that I use for craft projects that I don't cook on. This would have destroyed a usable one. You don't have to use metal, I just found that easier, you could also use paper, although I suggest something heavy like poster board.) 
  2. Working in small batches (about 10 at a time), I sprayed each magnet with a small shot of 3M77. (I settled on this at the consultation of glue based site.) Working quickly and carefully, I stuck the paper circles to the magnets. 
  3. I forged right on, but some drying time would have been helpful. I would also suggest that if you are not super careful with your spraying (like me) you will want to move the magnets a few times before they are dry to prevent sticking to your work surface. 
  4. After they are dry (or not, whatever), again, working in small batches, I sprayed the surface of the paper with the 3M77 and quickly placed the marbles on top. The spray adhesive doesn't have a lot of liquid, but squeezing out the bubbles is still a must. Some of them, I got better than others, but it's trial and error. Most of the bubbly ones ended up on my fridge.
  5. Allow to dry.
  6. Do not - I repeat - do not attempt to package for gift giving in plastic. You will want metal for this job. I wanted something akin to an Altoid container, but couldn't find them in the amounts I needed. Check the bridal section of craft stores. 
A Few Notes:
This picture didn't turn out, but
I loved the R!
  • Make extra - in addition to the fact that I just flat-out fell in love with many of them and didn't want to part with them, I also screwed some of them up.
  • Wash and polish your marbles first. I did a baby wipe followed up by a hand towel, but something less linty would have been even better.
  • Take your time. I thought this project was going to be so quick that I put it off until the last minute. 
  • I tried to do this recently with things I had printed on a color laser printer and the ink ran horribly. I am told that you should iron the paper before gluing it, but I can't attest to this.
  • Everyone loves sprinkles!
  • Be creative when you are looking for magazine pictures. Most of my really great ones were from ads. I also really loved doing letters. I gave everyone one with an initial. These were probably my favorites.