Five Things on Friday - Gettin' Up Edition

Brynna is not a morning person. She gets this honest, as The Husband and I are decidedly not morning people either. Getting her up in the morning is like being a human snooze alarm. I go in and wake her three or four times before her little bottom actually removes itself from the sheets. It takes a decent chunk out of my morning.

Then, when she actually does get up, she often pretends helplessness. "I can't dress myself," or "I can only work plastic buttons," are favorites. My response to this is to yell (which precipitates a very time consuming crying jag), to nag (which is time consuming in and of itself) or to suck it up and help her with the freakin' button. Which means that to some small extent, I am still dressing my six year old.

This morning, however, I walked in, whispered five little words and she sprung out of bed like her sheets had caught fire and virtually flew to the living room. What were those magic words, you ask? "The princess is getting married." That's right, my kids leapt out of bed this morning to see the royal wedding.

In honor of no nagging, reminding, or yelling and having a child awake enough to entirely dress herself, I will share:

Five Things Guaranteed to Get My Kid Out of Bed

1. Chocolate - Once in a while, I make chocolate chip muffins for breakfast and on birthdays, we have cupcakes for breakfast. (Yes, I'm that mom.) On those days, I can tell my little bedbug that there's chocolate with her name on it in the kitchen and then simply step back as a vaguely Brynna-shaped blur hurtles out of her bedroom. I, personally, don't like chocolate for breakfast. I don't like a too-sweet breakfast, but it is an amazing motivator for her.

2. Presents - When my little brother, D was about five, he refused to get up on Christmas morning and then he proceeded to cry about how much he wanted to go back to bed all through the present opening. This is something I've never had to worry about with my kids. "Santa was here," can be muttered in the hallway and both bedroom doors will open and they will shove their way to the bathroom and present ready and bright eyed in less than a minute. Same for the Easter Bunny.

3. Grandparents - If the girls get to spend the day with one of their grandparents, they will beat me out of the bed. (Not hard to do if it's a weekend). They absolutely cannot get to Papaw and NiNi's house or MawMaw's house fast enough. I appreciate this, as it not only eliminates my morning fight, but also previews a glorious kid-free day.

4. Fashion - This is where I'm putting the wedding. Because let's face it... Kid didn't care about Kate or William, she wanted to see that dress. So did I. Any time Brynna knows she's going to be wearing or seeing other people wear fabulous clothes, she is all over it. From Easter dresses to Halloween costumes, she is all about the unusual clothing. If I could afford to give her something new to wear every day, I'd never have this fight again.

5. Firsts - Brynna can be shy, terribly, crippling shy, but she is always up for an adventure. The first day of school, the first day of camp, the first day of underwater basket weaving, whatever - she's up for it. I actually admire this about her. I have a hard time getting motivated for change, but not her, motivation comes easy. Talking to people once she gets there is another matter, but motivation is not a problem.

So, how about you? What are your guaranteed methods for the not-morning people around you? Or do you just not have any?

The Smell of Things To Come

This is lilac. It's important later.

Lately, I've been bothered by my nose. It's doing a really good job. Too good one might say. Here are three scenarios of my overactive nasal qualities:

Scenario 1 - I get up really early. I may have mentioned that a few times. I am never happy about it. So, on Tuesday, I got up, got dressed and began my day with as little grumbling as possible. A half an hour later, just as I was preparing to walk out the door, Maren peed on my jeans. She didn't mean to. She gets up early too and sometimes the need to pee sneaks up on her sleep-addled brain. I was helping her pull her pants down and we didn't make it. I ran in my bedroom and changed my pants and socks and then ran in her bedroom and grabbed a new pair of panties and pj pants for her and we were off. Just a wee bit late (pun sort of intended).

So, yesterday, when I got up and began half-heartedly fumbling around in the dark, I found the pants with the pee on them draped over the edge of the hamper but I couldn't remember why they were there. And since I knew I hadn't worn my favorite jeans since the last time they were washed, I threw them on. When I got to work, I realized that my ankle smelled faintly of urine.

And okay, I was embarrassed and all, but it was my ankle, which spends most of the day under my desk, so I chose to ignore it. And I would forget for ten, twenty or thirty minutes. Then the smell would drift ever so slightly upwards and I would freak out, trying to figure out what smelled like pee. Again.

Scenario 2 - About two weeks ago, I took a pan off the burner and accidentally laid a plastic bag down on it. I caught it quickly and so I had a nice melted bag, and smears of melted plastic on my burner, but no fire and no serious danger to the candies inside. And that's really what we care about, right? Anyway, I've done this before. I imagine (please don't correct me if I'm wrong) that everyone does this from time to time. My method of dealing with it is not dealing with it. I use that burner pretty much every time I need a burner for a couple of days and yes, the house always smells like burning plastic, but then it goes away and it doesn't anymore.

Except this time, I still smell the burning plastic and it's been waaayy too long for that. The whole house, from the moment I walk in smells like burning plastic. I know, in my mind, that it can't possibly. The windows are open, have been open for most of that two weeks and the plastic is all gone off the burner. But I still smell it. And I still panic, because who doesn't panic when they smell burning plastic?

This is laveder. If I were a vampire,
I'd always smell like lavender. Don't ask.

Scenario 3 - My mom and I have this thing about lilac scented stuff. You see, there isn't much. Now, you may be thinking that there really is, and you'd be thinking of lavender. And lavender's all right. It's not bad. It's just a little much for my tastes. A little heady. It's nice at bedtime, you know? But, lilac stuff. It's a little few and far between. And expensive. It tends to be expensive.

So, I walk into the bathroom today and there is a new little bottle of soap on the counter and it says Lilac in this pretty scripty font and it's already halfway empty. Which can either mean that someone bought it for home and didn't like it, so they brought it to work, or that it smells so fabulous that it's half gone in a single day. In either case, I want in on this action.


Until I squirt it on my hands and as I'm rubbing it in, I realize. It's lavender. I look at the bottle. It still says Lilac. I did not hallucinate the word Lilac. But trust me, my hands do not smell like sweetness and light and springtime. They smell like heavy sleep on starched white sheets. And there's nothing wrong with that except that my head is telling my nose that it's wrong and my nose is saying. "Whatevs. You don't know shizzle." (My nose thinks it's terrible grammar and bad use of slang make it seem ironic. It is a delusional nose.)

So then, I came back to my desk and used some Carried Away lotion from Bath and Body Works which smells like little girls and ribbons, but hey, it was free. And I can still only smell lavender and my head hurts because I shouldn't smell lavender at all.

It occurs to me after all this typing that it's not really my nose's fault here. Just my head's. My head is crazy lately, apparently. Disregard everything. Maybe my nose is ironic.

On Easter

Also the very important Easter wrestling tradition.

I really love Easter. The faith connotations are significant and I'm not overlooking that, but it's not the focus of my love. I love Easter dresses. And baskets and bunnies and egg hunts and coloring eggs and SPRING!

When I was a kid, I appreciated all of these things, but as a mom I find that I appreciate it so much more (as with many things). I love watching my kids enjoy Easter. They are kind of ridiculous about it in fact. On Friday, I meant to share Five Easter Traditions, but since I took an accidental blogcation and didn't even turn on the computer on Friday, I thought I'd do a late Five Things, but more informally, too. I'm not sure what would make the Five Things less formal - perhaps a fez.

So - go! Five Things on Monday - Easter Traditions and What They Looked Like This Year

The lady at the store asked the Easter Bunny if he was
buying for a boy and a girl. 

1. Easter Baskets, Or Not Really - The Easter Bunny didn't bring me baskets. He brought flower pots and popcorn bowls and once, an upturned umbrella. That was a good one. In any case, there was grass and candy and goodies, but never in a basket. Now he does the same for my kids. This year, he brought tote bags. Cute ones that are just the right size for the kids and are much more useful than another badly colored mess of reed.

2. Not What You Want - You know how kids ask Santa for what they want and then Santa stresses and worries and tries to pull it together because that's just who he is? The Easter Bunny does not do that. The Easter Bunny brings you what he brings you and you like it. You don't complain or wonder why he couldn't bring what you realllllly want. You don't write letters or sit on his lap. (I know some people sit on his lap and if you ever, EVER tell my kids this is even possible, I'll kill you myself.) I love the freedom of the Easter Bunny. The irony is that the Easter Bunny usually does a pretty darn good job. And gets very little credit. I bet he's a parent. Last year, Brynna's basket was all cooking supplies. This year, her theme kinda fell apart. She got a DS game and a fashion design notebook and a couple of little toys, including jacks. I love jacks. Maren got a movie and a couple of toys and a coloring books. All Maren wanted was the eggs, though. She was so freakin' eggcited over the eggs.

Ah, messy chocolate smile.

3. Candy - It seems that in my family, the Easter Bunny brings you the candy your mommy likes best. I always got Hershey's kisses and my kids get Reese's Eggs. And no one complains, because their mouth is stuffed with chocolate. But also because it's better than freakin' candy canes.

4. Dresses - My grandmother doesn't believe in going to church on Easter. Because that's when everyone goes, duh. She's not a nonconformist, she just hates people. I can't remember if I went without her when I was little or if I just got an Easter dress and then wore it the week after. In any case, I always had the whole nine yards: hat, dress, lacey socks, white shoes, gloves. I loved that outfit more than anything else in my wardrobe most years. This year, we fell down a bit on the accessories. But only because the dresses were divine. Maren (who hates fluffy things because they get in her way) spent the whole day telling everyone how beautiful she looked - and was totally right. Even Brynna let me fix her hair, with a pony tail holder and everything. I relish this, because I figure I've only got so much longer left of it. Soon and very soon she will be too cool for Cinderella dresses and ivory mary janes. It'll probably be sooner for Maren in all fairness. She is only going to tolerate this for so long.

5. Dinner - We don't actually have an Easter dinner tradition. Well, we have a Sunday dinner at Mi Casita, our local authentic Mexican heaven tradition. We are there literally every Sunday. Including Easter. They close like twice a year and it's pretty much traumatic for everyone. Even the guys who claim to not like it.

We also color eggs (an outside only event) and haven't been able to do it yet this year because of the torrential, unending crazypants rain we've been having. I'll regret complaining about this when our annual July drought hits. We go to a hunt or two and we eat lots of candy. If anyone is getting a Bible, they tend to get it on Easter (Brynna got one this year) and The Husband and I don't wear jeans to church. Like we usually do. What are your Easter traditions? Do you go all out? Do you wear a hat? (I envy anyone in a hat.) Do you have a big ham dinner? Or rabbit stew? Do you eat your weight in Peeps?

Conversations with a Six Year Old: Oscar Winning Edition

Oh, my daughter. How I love her every move. Her style and wicked grace. Her sharp wit and sarcastic mind. Even when she is driving me slowly (or quickly) up the tree, I adore her.

This is one of those times.

(Tuesday night - the night of the injury - at bedtime.)

Brynna: Gazing up at her ladder. I cannot climb the ladder. My foot is weak. I think you'll have to lift me into bed.
Me: I can't lift you into bed. You're too big and the bed is too high. I'll help you, though.
Brynna: But HOW?!? My foot is so weak and pained and it will never *sob* bear weight again.
Me: Okay, but really, I can help. Here put your hands on like you were going to climb, then step up with your good foot.
Brynna: This is never going to work. Maybe I'll just sleep on the beanbag chair.
Me: Just put your foot up here and okay... Boost.
Brynna: Great, just six more steps to go.
______________________________

(Yesterday morning, while we were leaving for school.)

Brynna: Are you writing a note?
Me: Yes.
Brynna: To my teacher?
Me: Yes.
Brynna: Telling her that my foot is weak?
Me: Sort of.*
Brynna: I don't think I'll be able to walk to the cafeteria.
Me: Yes, you will.
Brynna: Or pass out papers.
Me: Yes, you will.
Brynna: Or go and get a drink of water.
Me: Yes. You will.
Brynna: Then what do you think I won't be able to do?
Me: Run, jump, climb the monkey bars.

*The not explained the injury and asked that she not be asked to participate in any running or jumping activities for a day or two and made special note of her melodramatic tendencies. I don't want the teacher to think I'm allowing her to run around on a broken, stabbed, infected mess of a foot.
____________________________

(This morning, getting dressed.)

Brynna: Mommy, I need a new bandage.
Me: Yeah, I'll get the stuff.
Brynna: That looks like a bandaid.
Me: It is.
Brynna: But what about the big bandage?*
Me: I'm out of that stuff and this is just as good.
Brynna: I might bleed through it.
Me: It didn't bleed at all yesterday. Not even a little. I can show you the bandage. Not bloodstained.
Brynna: It might.
Me: You can put an extra in your pocket just in case of random bleed through.
Brynna: You know my foot is weak, right? I can't just slap a bandaid on that and pretend it's okay!
Me: Your foot is bruised, it's sore. It hurts and it bothers you to put weight on it, but it is not weak. Weak is when the muscles atrophy and won't do their job.Which will happen if you keep walking around pretending like it's the end of the world. People step on nails every day and they are fine. Fine. We take care of it, we keep it clean and keep ointment on it and it'll be better before you know it. This is not a tragedy.
Brynna: I need crutches.

*The first night, she was having trouble with bandaids and the ones I bought were too big so I put on a piece of gauze and it to her foot with the stretchy bandage they use when you have your blood drawn.
________________________________

If you could see her face through any of this!

So Tired of Complaining

Warning: Do not do a google image search of tetanus.
I really should have known better. 

I feel like I spend a good portion of my time complaining and here's the thing: I really am quite happy with most aspects of my life. Okay, I want to go back to school and head down a different career path and yes, I would love for a really rich relative that I don't know all that well (like well enough to know they are rich, because I've got no one in mind) to kick it and leave me debt free and able to pay for said school. But that's all transitory stuff. It sucks to not have what you need. But you might get it tomorrow. You just don't know.

In the grand scheme of thing, I am entirely and completely blessed to have beautiful, smart children with no real medical issues. I am lucky to have bought my house before the real estate bubble burst and it became important to have decent credit in order to purchase a home. I am grateful to be surrounded by family that loves me enough to rescue me from crisis and loan me cars and offer to drive over my piece of crap with a Hummer. The important stuff - I gots it.

Which is why I'm not going to tell you about how Brynna stepped on a nail, I lost my grandma's credit card, shredded my mom's tire, spent a half hour in the pitch black basement during a power outage/tornado warning scare, wrestled a two-year old who thought that the tornado siren meant time to get up and play, debated a six year old who could not understand that I couldn't turn on the fan and the TV because of the power outage, carpooled with my husband (which is kinda like carpooling with a slob where kinda=exactly), and had an unspecified calendar difficulty. All. within. 12. hours.

I'm not going to tell you any of that because even though I think it's all hilariously funny in a fml kinda way, I've decided to stick with the positive.

Five Things on Friday: Over It Edition

This is me, rolling my eyes. Now I have a headache.
From holding that face for so long. For you. You're welcome.

Welcome, friends and neighbors to my fed up, crabby-pants life. I am so tired of the world in general and I feel that I absolutely must(!) vent about it. So, with very little lead-in, I present:

Five Things I am So Over


1. Reality TV - I've been ignoring this trend for what, a decade or more. I kept just thinking it would go away. Today, it has become increasingly clear that it is not going away. Yesterday I read that Lifetime and Hallmark Channel are losing viewers to MTV and Bravo because of their voyeristic reality programming. I was torn. As I hate the simpering, smaltziness of most Hallmark fare as much as the My Teenage Daughter's Lover Murdered Us All in our Sleep shock sensationalism of Lifetime as much as the idiocy behind the Another Perfectly Capable Group of Women Making a Living by Being Drunk and Degraded on MTV and Bravo. Then, today, I'm met with this article telling me that soap operas are being replaced with more talk and reality fare. And I don't know, I've never been a soap fan, but I can't imagine that this is a harbinger of happy things. It's not that I think we should ban reality TV or anything. Obviously, there is an audience. It just scares me that scripted TV is taking such a huge backseat to Whatever Show I Am Too Superior For This Week. Writing TV is art. Wait, let me explain before the eye rolling starts. Writing anything is art and when you write a TV series, you do all the things that any writer does: character development and evolution, plot twists and turns, metaphor - but you do them all in slow motion. Things can't change too quickly. You have to take your time getting there - always progressing a little but never too much. It's a huge challenge and one that millions of people will call you on if you mess up even a little. I would hate to lose that art to Cooking Paella with Former Playmates and Real Housewives.

2. The Mocking of Celebrity Kids - I'm gonna say right off the bat that Jen and Adam said it better than me (quite a while ago). But this week has woken me up to the size of the crisis. As I am not a 12 year old and neither is anyone in my house, so I'm pretty oblivious to a lot of this stuff, but yesterday I heard a comment on the radio that made me spit my coke at the dashboard. I immediately began to rationalize, certain that I had misheard and they had not just made a very derisive, very sexual comment about a Disney Star (I am not going to repeat the comment or the star. Suffice to say that she is not an adult and if I were her mother, I'd be suing the pants off someone.) I couldn't believe that this is passing as entertainment.Kids are kids. It doesn't matter if they are the kid next door or if they play the kid next door on TV. They are still kids. They worry about their homework and girls/boys. They stress over their clothes and what people say about them. Did you catch that last part?  Let's just agree right here to treat kids like kids no matter what's in their bank account.

3. 5:45 a.m.- Ugh. To get Brynna to school on time, I have to leave the house at 6:45, meaning that I have to be out of bed at 5:45. I cannot stand this hour of the day and it makes me want to claw out my eyeballs. I went to bed at 10 last night and I was still so tired I could barely move this morning. The worst part is that because of my fabulous 4+ year span between my girls - I get to do this for a decade. A DECADE! Frankly, at this point 5:45 is as much as selling point for private school as education and influence are.

4. Morning Radio - Here's the thing, I am pretty sure, not positive, but pretty sure that I am not the only person driving around with not-adults in the car. I mean, the length of Brynna's school's car line implies that there are at least a million or so of us in my county alone. So, what I want to know is, what's up with the morning shows? If they aren't sponsored by Trojan and all the strip clubs in the next town over, they are filled with innappropriate "stories" and "discussions." Until this week, I have been blessed to live in a place with a decent oldies station. 60's, 70's and 80's music. The station has the feeling of being terribly underfunded. For one thing, there's only one DJ and he's only on from 3-6 p.m. Which is pretty sad. For another, the programming is obviously done by a computer, because I have heard A Whiter Shade of Pale approximately 75 times in the last calendar week. But this week, they picked up a syndicated morning show. Oh joy. I gave it a week's worth of a chance, though, because that's what I do. The first few days were okay and kinda funny and I was okay. Then yesterday, the Disney star comment. Today, the entire conversation revolved around adults condoning kids fighting. Now, there wasn't anything totally offensive to this. It was... okay. Their conclusion was that these adults are insane. But at the same time, it's not what I want to be listening to and discussing with my kid first thing in the morning. As my car is still broken and I am still borrowing, I haven't loaded up the car with CD's and it is particuarly difficult to change the station in this car. "Turn the radio off," you may be thinking. I need the noise. Also, I shouldn't have to. I get it, each of these shows have a market. But I'm a market, too. Where's my show? I may have to, though. There is nothing left.

5. Intelligent TV is Too Hard Because of the Thinking - This started with someone I know, who claims that she only watches comedies and reality TV because she works really hard and doesn't want to think too much about TV. Okay, that's a valid viewpoint, I suppose. Except that she says it really abrasively, and the subtext reads, "I work so much harder than you do and so I'm tired when I sit down in front of the TV. If I had a so-easy life like yours I could watch things with subplots." Which is degrading and insulting. I may have a less stressful job, but I volunteer and have kids and enough stuff that one of these days I'm just going to lose it and pick up whatever's handy and start beating something. This is also the excuse that intelligent people use for justifying their addiction to Watch Me Spend Ridiculous Amounts of Money on Vodka and Badly Fitted Bras. Oh, I just need to disconnect, and not think too much. It's escapism. Here's the thing, all TV (except maybe the news) is escapism. Trust me, you think just as much about whether or not Lillianabetheney is going to keep drinking now that she's pregnant as I spend thinking about what the wack-a-doodle doctor whispered in main character's ear at the end of the last season of The Walking Dead. It's not like I'm writing a dissertation here. You watch those shows because you like them. Just own it. You enjoy it. For whatever reason, you do. I watch my shows because I like them. Quit trying to sound better than me because you watch dumber TV. That doesn't even make sense.

Well, this may be my longest Five Things on Friday ever. What are you sooo over?

The Rowboat

It's been rainy around here. Monday, there was a great deal of flooding in our neck of the woods. I never worry too much about flooding. The joke is that if our house floods, up on its hill, someone better call Noah.

Tuesday night, after the rain had finally stopped, we were all home. I had fussed at Maren for making a mess and at Brynna for not following instructions and at my husband for being him and I was exhausted and unhappy. I was sitting on my bed, ignoring the fact that I had mountains of housework to do. Hubby was sitting next to me, helping me ignore.

Maren burst into the room, throwing the door wide open and proclaimed, "I need speak wit you."
"Okay," I responded.
"Can I come up?"
"Sure."
She climbed up on the bed, gave me a kiss and sat down on Hubby's legs. Very seriously, she composed herself and looked from me to him and back again.
"We have no rowboat," she stated firmly and loudly. Raising both hands to her side in a near shrug.
"No, we don't," Hubby said as I laughed my first real laugh of the day.
"What are you going to do bout it?" she questioned fiercely.
"Well, I'm going to put you in charge of the situation," he replied, businesslike in the face of sheer lunacy. "Do you think you can fix this situation?"
"Yes. I will find us a rowboat," and with that, she climbed down, went out the door and shut it behind her.

The only way I can explain this is that she must have heard someone make a crack like, "If we get any more rain, we're going to need a rowboat."

Cutting the Hair

The before shots.
You'll be so shocked at the outcome.

On Saturday, the girls and I went for our semi-annual haircuts. I know, I know, I'm terrible. It's one thing that I never even consider getting my hair cut until it's a mop of uselessly uneven layers, but to inflict such trauma on my precious innocent children too...

In any case, the three of us headed out to the salon bright and early. So that the number of people disturbed by their gales of cackle-laughs (they totally got this from me) and open-floor-means-I-must-RUN-ness was relatively low. I'll admit it, I also hoped they'd still be sleepy.

The after shot.
Also, check the smile. Is she happy, or
planning to devour your soul?
You'll never know.

Maren: Maren was the first of us to undergo the chair. She has these precious perfect curls and I have avoided the cutting of the hair up until my babysitter started shooting me threatening glances. Because in addition to her precious curls, she had bangs to her chin. Not that we ever cut bangs, it just appears that they grow that way. Constantly in her eyes - that way.

I was a bit nervous about her behavior in the chair, but she was honestly a little angel. She sat still and looked where Ms. Kathy pointed and told her all the colors represented on her little aquatic-themed smock.
Because I am obsessed with those little Shirley Temple curls, I asked for the slightest possible trim and bangs. We were vair pleased.

Me: Next up was me, because Brynna wanted to go last. I'm not going to prattle on about my new hair cut (like I'll obviously do about my children's) but I got the same thing as last time and like it half as much. It looks the same, I'm just not feeling it this time. The Husband says I didn't like it at first last time, so I'm hoping I just need a few weeks' growth. My hair grows wicked fast. Also, it hasn't really quit raining since then, which means that my hair is almost as curly as Maren's, and while I think hers is tres adorable, I think mine is hideous curly, so... There you have it. Self depreciating blahs.

Brynna: Last but not least, the hardest to please little lady since the Princess with the pea under her mattress. I've been trying to coax her into getting a short cut. She looks so good with a short cut, a little bob action, stacked in the back. Slightly longer in the front. But she wants to grow it out, and I don't want to fight over hair. I remember hating my short hair in elementary school and swearing I would never make my kids cut their hair short, so I'm not making her. Even though I really want to.

In any case, she's got this constant bird's nest on the back of her head, so I asked for some layers in hopes of taming that mess and of course, a bang trim, because girl had the Veronica Lake swoop going on.

I forgot to get an after shot.
She wanted me to take this one, though.
Apparently, she's big on the
Eddie Munster look. 

While she was "getting her hair done" we chatted about the growing it out thing. She wants hair to her waist.

"If you grow your hair that long, you're going to have to let me fix it, otherwise it'll just be everywhere all the time," I cautioned.

"Yeah, well, a little. I'm not going to keep it that way," she responded.

"Are you going to cut it and send it to a kid who needs it like I did?" I asked.

"A girl," she replied.

*Sigh* I officially can no longer give her crap about the growing out. Because she's doing it for charity. Which is nice, really, and I love that she's even thinking about that, but also, well, I'll believe it when I see it.

Five Things on Friday - I Wish Edition

I started Spring Cleaning last weekend. I decided that instead of stressing it during the weeks, I would clean two rooms per weekend and be wrapped up at the end of April. Each weekend, I would concentrate on the rooms cleanliness, but also on organization, purging what's unneeded and unwanted and making sure that the system works for us. So far, I'm halfway through my kitchen. It is way harder than I thought.

In the first place, I'm very unorganized. In the second place, I'm very easily distracted. And finally, I'm a terrible cleaner. Seriously, there are some skills that I, at 32 years old, still have not mastered. Like mopping. So, for your amusement and my continual goal of sharing things I never thought I would share:

Five Things At Which I Wish I Was Better

1. Cooking - I cook a lot, which is to say that I spend a lot of time in the kitchen and food is produced when I am done. I am loathe to call it cooking, though. I make very little totally from scratch, preferring the method of "improving upon" to actual scratch cooking. I am a pretty good cook and when I do cook, it almost always turns out, except for baking. I never really learned to bake. If your recipe includes rising, it will probably scare the crap out of me. I don't do more real cooking, because I do most of my cooking at 6:00, in a rush to get something on the table in time for the girls to make bedtime and tired out from a long day of well, sitting at my desk. I swear, it's tiring. In any case, I wish I was a better and more prolific cook. For my kids and my self-worth and my grocery bill.

2. Gardening - I would really, really love to have a yard that doesn't make my house look abandoned. Really. However, I am missing something vital. Last year, I spent about 5 hours weeding a 3x3 flower bed and the next day, THE NEXT DAY, the weeds were already so tall you couldn't see the flowers anymore. I want to plant more flowers, but I'm afraid to because of my wonderweeds. I have two beds in the front of the house and I haven't even looked sideways at the bigger one. It has grass in it and it's hard to mow because it's surrounded by sidewalk, so I totally let it get about waist high and pretend it's decorative grass and this is an artistic choice. The only thing I can successfully grow, it seems are bushes. I have a beautiful Rose of Sharon and a delightful Forsythia and a Lilac that is totally being choked out, so I'm even kinda failing at that.

3. Shopping - People are all the time telling me that they got this fabulous skirt for $3 or picked up a lovely dress at Good Will for $5 and I'm always floored, because the only marginal outfit I am wearing right now cost me $50 and that's just jeans and a shirt. The thing with getting bargains on great stuff is that you really have to shop. A lot. You have to invest lots of time into finding deals. I hate shopping, so I don't want to invest lots of time into it. To be fair, I only hate shopping because I never find anything and then buy something I don't really like in desperation and pay far, far too much for it.

4. Fixing Stuff - With all due respect to the man I married, I do most of the fixing at home. And my house bears silent witness to my incompetence. Eight holes surround the curtain rods in Brynna's room and the caulk that I applied just weeks ago is already cracked and peeling in the bathroom. I have decent tools and plenty of understanding of the basic working order of them, but for some reason, I am still unsure that those curtain rods are anchored in studs.

5. Time Management - I come home every day with a completely unreasonable to do list because I don't know what I can get accomplished. Then, I get distracted and tired and don't get hardly anything done. I think, I'm just gonna sit down and read one chapter and then I'll feel refreshed and get back to work and the next thing I know, it's bedtime and I've read seven chapters and watched three tv shows. The kitchen, on the other hand, is still piled high.

Okay, enough of my uselessness. What do you wish you could do better?

Overheard at Subway Today

The setting: A small Subway restaurant right off the interstate located in a gas station.
The characters:  

• Mr. and Mrs: An elderly couple. Judging by their appearance, early to mid 70's. Judging by their accent, Michiganders. Judging by her white pedal pushers and her oh-no-oh-no-my-burning-retinas green top, snowbirds.
• Kid: A subway employee. Judging by appearance, 14. Judging by maturity and patience: 50. Judging by accent: middle Eastern.
• Lady: Another subway employee
• Checker: Another subway employee

Kid: What can I get you, ma'am?

Mrs: We're going to share a sandwich.

Kid: Okay, what would you like?

Mrs: Tell me about your Veggie Delight.

Kid: Well, you can have your choice of any of the veggies...

Mrs: Is there meat on it?

Kid: No, it's vegetarian.

Mrs: It's what?

Kid: Vegetarian.

Mrs: What?

Kid: Vegetarian. Vegetables only. No meat.

Mr: Can we add meat.

Kid: ... No. You can get any of the veggies on any of the sandwiches, though. 

Mrs: So we can have vegetables on a chicken sandwich?

Kid: Yes.

Mrs: Okay, we'd like a mublelicious.

Kid: I'm sorry, what.

Mrs: A chimmmmmm.

Kid: I'm sorry, what?

Mrs. A CHICK-EN SAND-WICH.

Kid: Okay, what kind of bread would like (points to sticker).

Mrs: This one (pointing to the sticker that he can't see on his side of the glass.)

Kid: I'm sorry, I can't see, which one.

Mrs: This one, this one right here.

Kid: (Totally stabbing in the dark) Honey wheat?

Mrs: Yes.

Kid: I'm sorry we're out of chicken.

Mr: Turkey.

Mrs: Cold cut trio.

Kid: The turkey or the cold cut trio.

Mrs: Turkey? I didn't say turkey. Cold cuts.

Kid: Okay. What kind of cheese?

Mrs: Yes, please.

Kid: Which kind?

Mrs: Yes, cheese is fine.

Kid: You want all of the cheeses?

Mrs: What?

Kid: Which kind of cheese?

Mrs: They all look the same.

Kid: We have pepperjack, provelone, american and sprinkle cheese.

Mrs: I'll take sprinkle.

Kid: Do you want this toasted.

Mrs: Everything but hot peppers.

Kid: Do you want it toasted.

Mrs: Yes, everything but hot peppers.

Kid: Toasted. In the oven. Do you want it toasted.

Mrs: Oh, yes. That sounds nice.

Kid: Takes it to the oven.

Mrs: (yelling) You didn't put on my vegetables. I wanted vegetables. Everything but hot peppers.

Kid: We'll put on the toppings after it's toasted. 

Mrs: Everything but hot peppers.

Kid: After it's toasted. So the veggies stay crisp.

Mrs: No, NO PEPPERS!

Kid: After it's toasted, we'll put on the veggies.

Mrs: (To Mr. Loudly.) I don't know if he's deaf or if he doesn't speak any English.

Lady: What veggies would you like?

Mrs: EVER-Y-THING BUT HOT PEPPERS!

Lady: Everything?

Mrs: Yes.

Lady: Spinach and lettuce?

Mrs: EVERYTHING BUT HOT PEPPERS.

Lady: Okay.

Mrs: I SAID NO HOT PEPPERS!!!!!!!!!

Lady: These are banana peppers. The jalapenos are hot. (looking at the lady) Okay, I'll take them off.

Lady: What sauce?

Mrs: Hominamumble

Lady: What?

Mrs: Hominamumble.

Lady: I'm sorry...

Mrs: HONEY MUSTARD.

Lady: Okay.

Checker: What did you have?

Mrs: A sandwich.

And scene. It was pretty much all I could do to not fall over myself through most of this. I don't know what was more amusing, the deaf lady being totally rude about not being heard and understood or the fact that there are people out there who just plain don't understand Subway. I mean, it's 2011. Everyone's been to Subway. Right?

In any case, I'm so glad I was late leaving for lunch or I would have totally missed the joy. Also, this kid deserves an award.

I'm Judging You - But Only on Completely Random Traits, So Take Comfort in That

I like this woman so much, I've
already forgive the bear shaped bottle.

A few weeks ago, we had a board meeting for Identity Protected Small Nonprofit  I Work At (IPSNIWA)*. I keep the minutes for these things, which means that I spend a relatively small portion of the meeting scribbling intensely while the motions are worded and reworded and tabled and GAH! make up your mind. Most of my time, however, is spent doodling and making up stories in my head about the people around me.

Our board is a nice enough bunch of people and I like them, but you know, you've got to wonder if anyone is secretly murdering teenagers or feeding their mother-in-law tiny doses of poison on their morning toast. As I was looking around the room, trying to decide who to cast as a character in my mental story of woe and horror, I noticed something. Dried Blood Red.

Let me go back. There was a time in my life, when I actually was A Person Who Owned Nail Polish. But because I am an unrepentant nail biter, I only owned three colors: baby blue, black and dried blood red. Why? Because I strongly feel that if you have skin visible between your nail and fingertip, you shouldn't ignore that and move on with fashion. I embraced the oddity and used odd colors. Except for dried blood red, which I found amusing because my nails were almost always bleeding and it also kinda made it look like I'd just clawed my way out of a coffin and what self-respecting morbid geek girl doesn't want to project that aura?** 

In any case, I was looking at my Board member's dried blood red nails and thinking how she is probably cooler than I think. I bet she's got listenable music in her car RIGHT NOW. And I realized that I was totally judging her based on her nail color. I've known the woman for two years, I know her clothes, her voice, her votes (in IPSNIWA votes only, not really politics) and here I sat, judging her based on nail color. Then I realized that I do it a lot.

So, since then, I've been thinking about what other random criteria I use to judge people. So far I have come up with the difference between your clothes and your kids' clothes (ie, are you treating them like a barbie doll or a mini me), your hair cut (soccer moms, beware), your email address (I cannot take anyone @aol.com seriously) and what section of the library you hit first.

I want to feel bad about this, I really do, because I don't want to be Judgey McJudgerson and the Judgermatics. But also because I know that prudes can paint their nails blue, cheerleaders can have soccer mom hair and sometimes the grandparents are buying most of your kids' clothes. (Seriously, I almost never buy my kids clothes). But I also know that you have to make these calls based something.

No matter how idealistic I am, I know that I can't actually consider every single person on the exact same field. Say I am at a conference and there are 3,000 people there and I am wandering around on my lonesome. I'm going to have to talk to someone and I can't say two words to everyone there. I, instead, am going to have to pick someone. So, I pick based on nail polish. Or hair style.

And in the grand scheme of things, I think it could be worse. I could be judging people on their bank account or gender (although I do that, too, just a smidge) or car. Really, nail color seems pretty harmless.

And if I automatically pony up to the woman in jeans and a tee shirt while her daughter skips merrily along in a pink tutu with red corduroy pants and a Burger King crown, isn't it just really because I think we have something philosophically in common? If I am more willing to share a reading table with the guy with graphic novels and sci fi than with the lady with cookbooks and DVD's, doesn't that just make some sort of weird sense?

So, what do you think? Am I a horrible person? Do you do it too? What random criteria do you use for judgement?

*I don't like that "at" at the end, but it makes it more pronouncable. IPSNIWA - say it. Now try IPSNFWIW. Really?


** Okay, okay, maybe a lot of them. Whatever. Look, I have the vampire white skin and the witchy black hair. I'm playing to my strengths here, I promise. 

The Texting Two Year Old

Maren is a techie kid. She gets it from me. Brynna is six and has just in the last couple of months figured out talking on the phone. She still couldn't call 911. She won't learn the send button. But Maren, wow. She can work the remote (something that Brynna doesn't do), she can make phone calls and send text messages, she plays games on my mom's fancy-schmancy touch screeny smart phone. And she gets it. She understands that when you send a text, it appears on another person's phone and then they can send you a text back. If you really want to make those little gray eyes sparkle, show her a shiny new electronic toy.

Most of her texts look something like this: aldskfjl    powlehcolasdi;;;;;;;alkdkleicsekwenfkvk

Because no matter how smart she is, she still can't read or write. The interesting thing is that now she's figured out who can.

Maren's babysitter, the incomprable MiMi, master of the universe, and I text each other throughout the day. This morning, for instance, she informed me that all the clothes in the bag that I send for the week were pajamas. (Which means that the bag of clothes I packed is in the living room floor and this is the bag of pajamas she packed for me on Friday. That's only slightly embarrassing.*)

In any case, Maren now requests daily that MiMi text me and ask who is picking her up. ** So, every afternoon I get a text asking who is picking her up and I reply with whatever the answer is. Pretty much it's me. And if it's not, I try to make it Papaw, because I hate for anyone else to have to deal with the crushing blow of nonexcitement.

Maren has also suddenly turned against baths. I don't know why, but apparently it is only the baths that I give. She doesn't freak out when MiMi gives her a bath or when NiNi gives her a bath, or when MawMaw gives her a bath. Just me.

Also known as Sheepdog.

So, as a follow up to the typical, who's coming today question, I received the following:

"She also wants to know if it's bath night tonight. She doesn't want one...."

When I responded that it was, MiMi asked if I wanted her to do it before I pick her up.*** As tempted as I was, I responded that no, I feel like she's got to get used to the idea that this is going to happen and happen often.

The moral of today's story is that technology is a great thing, but not nearly as great a thing as finding a minion to use it for you. And, I suppose, when you are this cute, there is always a minion to be found.

* It's not. It's totally and completely embarrassing. It says, "Hey, you know, I just left that laying around all weekend and never even looked at it. In fact, most weeks, I just pull pajamas out of there one day at a time, instead of doing the grown-up thing and unpacking the bag into her dresser. Because I am lazy. And you, well, you are the amazing woman who keeps my kid and does her freakin' laundry."


**Because she wants Papaw. She never wants me. I am always a disappointment. I try not to take it personally.


***Listen, peoples, I just want everyone to know, I want to say it right here on the internet for all the world to see - I do not pay this woman enough money. If I handed over my entire paycheck twice a month, she would still be underpaid. I adore her.

Five Things on Friday - Fictional Heroines Edition

Last week, I wrote about my rel-life heroines. The women who inspire me to be and do better. This week, I'm going to share my fictional heroines. In some ways picking fictional heroines is easier, because they seldom have those pesky character defects you find in real people. Eleanor Roosevelt had a notoriously bad relationship with her daughter, and I don't idolize that at all.

On the other hand, sometimes it's harder to be inspired by someone who isn't real. For me, it's usually the very flawed who inspire me the most. I'll never be Ma from Little House on the Prairie, and I'm not all that interested in trying, but I do think she's a great mom. (Also, I understand that Ma was real, but I also think that since Laura is looking back as an adult on her childhood, some of the characterization of her perfect parents is probably the misty, rosy glasses of nostalgia.)

So, here they are: flawed just enough:

My Five Fictional Heroines

And she loved the snow too.

1. Lorelei Gilmore - My Mommy Friend Heroine - Lorelei is not without her foibles, but one thing she does flawlessly is walk the line between mom and friend. She manages to be someone who should be obeyed and confided in, which seems ridiculously hard to me. Of course, it helps that Rory is the perfect child... Plus, bringing new meaning to snarky. I absolutely love Lorelei's sarcasm and wit. If I could come up with comebacks half as fast as she does... And you can't fault her for the way she lives either. She's built the life that she wants, much to the chagrin of her parents, and she's followed her dreams her own way.

I wish I could wear more hats.

2. Elizabeth Bennet - My Smart Girl Heroine - Ah, Elizabeth. Elizabeth is the perfect smart girl, including the fact that she isn't quite as smart as she thinks she is. Which, alas, is kinda normal with smart girls. She is, however, extremely self-aware and amends her wrong thinking as quickly and completely as possible. I can't help it, but I think that Elizabeth is the perfect romantic heroine. Of course, I hate romance, so take that with a grain of salt. Elizabeth would.

I actually love both Sarahs.
It was very hard to choose.

3. Sarah Connor - My Takin' Care of Business Heroine - Here's what I love about Sarah: she didn't start out all that great. She was just getting by, but when the world changed and she had to fight, boy, did she learn to fight. Sarah quickly became a major force in the world. A force for good and for right, a force trying to save the world from itself, but also a force for John. Sarah Connor, in addition to being an all around amazing woman, is one of the strongest women in the Sci Fi world. You absolutely can't beat her. And, as producers of two Terminator movies have now found out, the story just doesn't work as well without her.

I'm gonna make one of those
sweaters. I promise.

4. Molly Weasley - My Don't Touch my Daughter Heroine - Molly has long been one of my favorite characters in the HP universe. Her worry mixed with optimism is just about the formula for my life. Of course, she's worried about the death and destruction of her family and the wizarding world and I'm worried that I'll forget to pay the electric bill, but still. We're like sisters. But at the end, when she steps in and fights Bellatrix, well, I don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't already experienced this joy, but let's just end by saying that there was out-loud cheering from this reader and I can't wait to see it on the big screen. Preferably in the infamous sweater, please.

Oh, Ellen, how the boys have
needed you.

5. Ellen Harvelle - My Playing with the Boys Heroine - When we first meet Ellen in the second season, she's running a roadhouse catering to hunters and managing the flock. (Which is sort of like being in charge of all the toddlers.) Ellen is everyone's mama, but in a really endearing way. You don't want to disappoint Ellen, but you know that even if you do, she'll still be there for you. When we finally get to see Ellen fight in Season 5, though. Wow. That woman is something. She is everything I want to be - the perfect cross between Marmee and Buffy. She can hold her own with anything or anybody. Losing Ellen was like losing a friend, and I'm still not sure I'm over it. At least we know for sure that in this universe, there's a heaven for hunters.

Okay, your turn. Who's your fictional hero? Who do you think you would be most like if you were plunged into another world? Who do you want to be like, even stuck in this one?