Happy Birthday, Angel!

Yesterday was my angel's seventh birthday. She was a little apprehensive, after witnessing the down-playing the husband and I did with our respective birthdays. She was concerned that we wouldn't make a big deal out of hers. (I tried to explain that after a person reaches a certain age, they just aren't as interested in celebrating yet another birthday, and birthdays seem like they are coming every couple of months now instead of the eternity between birthdays one experiences in childhood.) For my birthday, the husband made me breakfast. For his, I made him dinner. "But I still get presents, right?" the angel wanted to know.

And did she ever. She got a bed for her American Girl sized doll. (I say "sized" because neither the bed nor the doll are actually American Girl brand...not when Target has a knock-off brand for half price.) She had a party with her friends from school, and at this age they are still required to invite all the girls from their class. (7 girls...angel makes 8) Plus she invited her cousin/neighbor whom she plays with on a regular basis, even though cousin is a year or so older. She also invited my friend and her little girls, for a total of 11.

Now, I am not a fan of having kids in my house. My kids are lucky I let them stay sometimes. With the number of kids in the neighborhood and my angel being of prime "playdate" age, I have had to adjust. Luckily, the angel's best friend is as soft-spoken and gentle as she is, so I don't mind her coming over. And when my niece plays over, the girls have a great time and I feel totally comfortable laying down the law if I have to...after all, she's family. But we have never had 11 girls over at the same time before. (Okay, two of her classmates couldn't come, so it was really only 9 girls) I tried to think of an activity we could do that would be quiet, still and mess-free. For some reason, I thought of fingernail polish. (What?!?) So we did manicures at the party, with paraffin hand dip and painted nails with stick on jewels. It seemed to work pretty well, and it took about an hour. After cupcakes and presents, the girls played in the angel's room for 20 minutes until the moms came for them. This made the angel crazy! First, she doesn't really like people touching her stuff. (She gets that from me.) Second, they were being pretty loud and really, it was too many girls to get a good game of make-believe going. "Mommy, they're all talking at once and it's giving me a headache." (She gets that from me, too.) I'm hoping that next year I can remind her of this when she begins making plans for her birthday party, and then we can go to the movies or a skating rink instead. But for now, one more birthday under our belt.

Looking at the pictures, the angel actually looks older. Her face has lost some of that baby roundness, and she looks more like a...well, a kid. But after the girls had all left, and the grandparents were gone, she changed into her Barbie flannel nightgown and climbed into my lap (what's left of it) for a good snuggle. She might look older, but she's still my baby!

A first time for everything

I get one of these emailed to me pretty much every week. I usually have lots of time, and I kind of like filling them out. I've seen people post them on their blog instead, so I'll try it. Just go with me on this one...

1. Who was your FIRST prom date?
A kid named Sean. He lived in the next town, so we went to prom at his school. His dad drove us. (we were only 15ish! When your high school only has 200 kids, you invite the younger classmen too!) He is now married to one of my best friends, and they have two adorable kids. Funny how things work out!

2. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?
Communion wine. Does that count? Otherwise, probably a stolen beer from the basement fridge. Or maybe my own special peppermint schnapps/creme de menthe mixture smuggled out of the house in an empty NyQuil bottle. Ahhh, the memories.

3.What was your FIRST job?
I assume we're not talking about babysitting. The first job I had where taxes were withheld was waitressing at the Frosty Freez. It's a local diner, serving burgers and milkshakes. It was the summer I was 17. I was terrible.

4.What was your FIRST car?
1982 Nissan Sentra. It was white, with a lovely rust accent. The seats were lambskin, and I didn't want to know what was underneath those covers! A jack knife stabbed into the steering column turned the wipers on and off. (My dad kindly fashioned something more permanent.) I was the only person alive who could get the thing into reverse. (And that includes the previous owner) I think I paid $600 for it. I drove the stuffing out of that car, with only minimal maintenance. (A new starter, new clutch and new vacuum line, all installed by the husband back when he was the boyfriend.) I drove it for four years, and sold it for $50. That was a good car.

5. Who was the FIRST person to text you today?
I'm not a big "texter", so it is unusual that anyone would text me. But I did get one from my brother today. Texting is his only form of communication. Even if he is just across the room.

6. Who was the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
My angel, after she kicked me in the kidney. (After daddy leaves for work she climbs in to cuddle and snooze for an hour or so before we have to get up for school.)

7. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
Mrs. Connerton. Although, I think that was a couple husbands ago.

8. Where did you go on your FIRST airplane ride?
Charleston, SC for my cousin's wedding. It was my senior year of high school. I went with my mother and sister, and it takes all day to fly anywhere from Montana. We rode a 737 to Denver, a DC10 to Dulles and a CRJ to Charleston. Yes, I'm kind of a geek to remember that.

9. Who was your FIRST best friend?
Probably my friend Kelsi. We were best friends in kindergarten, and we remain best friends to this day. Thank goodness our husbands seem to get along!

10. Who was your FIRST kiss?
A guy named Josh. He was my eighth grade boyfriend. I bumped into him again when his wife and I were in the same childbirth preparation class.

11. Who was the FIRST person you talked to this morning?
My angel. "If you don't get out of bed right now you will be late for school...again."

12. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
Went pee.

13. What was the FIRST concert you went to?
In college I drove with some friends about 200 miles to see Bush, Goo Goo Dolls and No Doubt. Yeah, it was awesome!

14. What was your FIRST tattoo or piercing?
I got my ears pierced when I was 12. Just once each. (They did them at the same time, or else I might just have one done!) At 19 I pierced my belly button, to prove I was cool, apparently. The scar from that on a pregnant belly created two cute little stretch marks. Now my navel looks a little like a psycho-bunny. My skin however has that classic, ink-free look that never goes out of style.

15. What was the FIRST foreign country you visited?
When we lived up by Glacier National Park, I think my parents took me to Canada. I don't really know about that.

16. What was the FIRST movie you saw in a theater?
I think I saw Bambi at the drive-in, but the first movie I went to without a parent was Labyrinth. David Bowie still freaks me out a little.

17. When was your FIRST detention?
I don't think I ever had traditional "detention" for misbehaving. I did have to do some hard time after school for not finishing my homework. I think I started that in second grade.

18. What was the FIRST state you lived in?
I was born in Minnesota.

19. Who was the FIRST person to really break your heart?
See #1. (But not at 15! Later, when we were in college.)

20. With whom was your FIRST date?
A kid named Tim. I was in seventh grade and I met him at the movie theater. We saw The Little Mermaid. I think we even held hands. (Whoo hoo!)

21. What was your FIRST pet?
My family had a dog named Bess. I thought she was a sheep. By MY first pets were two fish named Tatsy and Logid. No, those are not typos.

22. Who was your FIRST roommate?
No counting my little sister, or the beeyatch I lived with in the dorm at college, my first roommate situation was with my friend Amy and three other girls. Yes, that's five of us in a three bedroom house...with one bathroom.

23. Who was your FIRST love?
My first real love was probably Jason, my senior year boyfriend. He was the first boy to ever tell me I was crazy. (The husband has since seconded this motion.) He was the guy who convinced me that I could be myself and someone would still want me. Every teenage girl should have that.

24. What was your FIRST screen name.
Not sure what they mean by screen name. I would have chosen "hotsytotsy", but I think that one's taken.

25. When did you have your FIRST baby?
I had my angel in 2001. I was 25. The husband and I were living with my parents at the time, waiting for our house to be ready. My brother was living there too, so there were five adults and one baby under one roof. I swear that girl never got put down until she started walking!

Happy Holidays!

Yeah, I said it. The dreaded "generic" holiday greeting. Lately I have been inundated with propaganda pushing "the true meaning of Christmas" and the "reason for the season" and a lot of other nonsense. This, combined with other Judeo-Christian morality being legislated down my throat is starting to become annoying.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love Jesus as much as the next girl. I have not one but three adorable little nativity scenes among my Christmas decor. I go to church on Christmas Eve and my absolute favorite Christmas song is "Oh Holy Night." After church, I wish everyone a "merry Christmas", because it is a religious celebration.

However, as much as some people may regret it, Christmas is also a holiday. The secular portion of this, my favorite holiday by the way, cannot be so easily amputated. My angel asked me what Christmas trees had to do with the baby Jesus, and, having decided long ago to give her (relatively) honest answers to honest questions, I replied "nothing at all." See, the tree, and the wreaths, candles, lights, holly, mistletoe, Santa, reindeer, bells, and all that Christmas-y stuff has nothing to do with baby Jesus. Or, more accurately, baby Jesus has little to do with those celebrations.

Whoa, whoa, whoa...put down your pitchforks and let me explain! All the "secular" elements of Christmas find their roots in the pagan celebrations of Winter Solstice. Basically, anyone who lives in a northern climate can appreciate the importance of a little merry making during a long, cold winter. When Christianity came to these regions, the people were reluctant to give up their beloved winter celebration. So in a brilliant stroke of PR genius, the church said, "you can keep your celebration. But it will be a Christian celebration from now on." By choosing the birth of Christ, (which the Bible doesn't actually give a "date" for...in fact, it was after the lambs so it would probably be more accurately placed in Feb or March) it could be a happy celebration for everyone! And that I think is the true spirit of Christmas. Inclusion. To understand that our message is more likely to be heard if it comes from a place of caring and understanding, and that sanctimonious, "I know better than you" preaching would have had the opposite effect.

I think it is also important to note here that only about 20% of the world celebrates Christmas at all. We often forget in our little vanilla town that Christianity is not everyone's cup of tea. My daughter's school has a Christmas play every year, and usually with a surprisingly overt Christian theme. I'm not sure how they are getting away with it, other than our town is overwhelmingly Christian and it never occurred to anyone to mind. But it is a public school, and I would feel terrible for any poor little Jewish kids that might move to town.

I don't think it's hypocritical to step out of church with that warm, happy feeling on Christmas Eve and immediately wonder what Santa is up to. I also feel that it is a nice thing to acknowledge that some people don't do things the way my family does, and that their way isn't "wrong". Just different. Afterall, this is the season for peace and goodwill, and not just toward those who think the same way we do.

So, Happy Holidays! And here's hoping for Peace on Earth!

It's beginning to look...

...a lot like Christmas! Yes, the holiday season is upon us. I usually put up the decorations after Thanksgiving, and every year it seems to take longer than the year before. It could be that I tend to add new decorations every year. (I average one new plastic bin a year.) It could be that we move so often we rarely spend more than one Christmas in any one place, which means I have to take time to plan and measure to see where the decorations will look best in our new place. Or it could be that I'm hobbling around these days.

Apparently, I have an ailment where the hormone that is supposed to "loosen" my ligaments to make room for the baby is working overtime. This makes certain movements like sitting, standing, laying down, walking, breathing and blinking extremely painful for me. So this year I sat on the couch and directed the kids to do the decorating. It took those little slackers most of the day to do it to my specifications! (I'm kidding, of course. Like I would let those little monkeys touch my decorations! Kids have "jam hands" you know...)

This is the first year that I was able to put lights on the outside of the house. In the past, we have lived in apartment buildings, but this year we live in a townhouse, so I took advantage and clipped some lights to the gutters. I got in trouble for this. First from my neighbor, who said I was "opening a can of worms" and now his live-in girlfriend was going to make him decorate the house too. (He was only a little bit kidding.) But also from the husband because I was trying to do it myself. (Memo to him: if you don't want me on a ladder, you should offer to help. Just a suggestion.)

Anyway, the effort of decorating can take the wind out from under you in the best of circumstances, and even more so if the simple effort of getting up off the floor is excruciating. Ordinarily I would self-medicate with red wine, but I don't even have that as an option these days. I'm trying a new medication, Lindt truffles, and that seems to be taking the edge off. So I think I'm going to lay on the couch surrounded by chocolate wrappers for a few days. You know...to recover. Happy decorating!

It's a boy!!!

The husband and I just got back from the ultrasound today, and we're having a baby boy! The image seemed pretty clear to the tech, even though I thought it looked a little like a fish skeleton. She kept saying, "here's the heart, and here's the stomach, and here's a kidney..." and I was like, "we'll have to take your word for it!" There was one shot she was trying to get, but apparently either I or the baby were not in the right position. She pushed and mushed until I swear she was getting readings of the table below me. Then she tipped the table back so I was inverted in an attempt to get the baby to pull his head out of my a@@. She did manage to get a picture of his face (kind of) even though his little arms are trying to protect his little head from the attack of the sticky wand! The poor little guy looks traumatized!

We've known the sex for about three hours, and we've already been asked if we have a name picked out. In a word, no. The husband and I are terrible with boys' names! I like old fashioned names, like Nicholas, Alexander, or William. The husband likes caveman grunts, like Bill, Bob, Jim. (I tried to convince him that these are not names, but nicknames--shortened versions of longer names.) We both agree we don't want anything too "trendy", but we can't agree on what that may be! Well, we don't plan to officially "name" him until he's born, so we've got some time. (We don't want to tempt the wrath of whatever from high atop the thing!)

I think he looks a lot like the angel did in her ultrasound. And also, a little like my sister's kid, which must mean that chin is hereditary! We're just so happy to have him! Now, I'll have to make some kind of trade agreement to get rid of all the pink stuff in storage...

Solving the economic crisis

Okay, I am not an economist. Half the time I can't figure out how to balance my checkbook. And it appears I'm not alone. Huge companies aren't able to balance their checkbooks either! The 50 year old hippie lady next door has a wonderful bumper sticker on the back of her van that reads "The problems we face cannot be solved by those who created them." So why are we dumping huge chunks of money into failing companies? Not just huge, unfathomable chunks of money! 700 billion dollars? That's a 7 with 11 zeros!

The next big thing is the bailout of the auto industry. (BTW, I love the word "bailout", like they are some punk kids who had to call their dad after getting busted for something...) My gut says don't do it. My wallet says it had better happen. See, the husband works for a platinum mine. And one of the biggest uses for platinum is...(pause for dramatic effect) catalytic converters. That's right, the auto industry. So if they tank, there are going to be huge layoffs, which lead to numerous foreclosures as half the town will be out of work. We're talking shanty towns, just in time for winter! (Awesome.)

But I saw an email the other day that seemed to have the answer. Give us the money. 700 billion divided by 135 million taxpayers is roughly $5,000 a piece! If you're married, that's $10,000! What would you do with ten thousand dollars? Pay off some debt? Take a vacation? Maybe put a down payment on a new car? Even if all you did was put it in a savings account, that would dramatically increase your bank's working capital, making it possible for them to pay their loans and so on. Sounds win/win to me! The banks aren't failing because they don't have enough money. They're failing because we don't have enough money! Even if the auto industries get help and turn their production to hybrids and other fuel efficient cars, it's not going to make a lick of difference if no one is buying cars!

Huh. Maybe I should be an economist after all.

The forgotten holiday...

Here's to Thanks-giving, our often maligned and forgotten holiday. Today I finally got around to replacing the Halloween decorations with Thanksgiving ones. There aren't a lot to choose from. For Halloween we get spooky ghosts and spiders and orange and purple lights for the house. Don't get me started on all the Christmas decorations! (I fear I may need to add yet another plastic tub to my collection!) But what do we get for Thanksgiving? Turkeys. I've even seen some that sing and dance, but that's just annoying, not festive! My Thanksgiving decor consists of some window clings depicting pilgrims, American Indians, the "horn of plenty", and pretty maple leaves. I also have a couple leafy garlands left over from our wedding decor, (We got married in November. In fact, our anniversary is on Thanksgiving this year. 9 years!) some fake gourds and the Fisher Price Little People First Thanksgiving playset artfully displayed in the space we usually save for old magazines, junk mail and scented candles we can never light because they might start the junk mail on fire. But that's all. (And I have much more than most people!) I just bought a leafy pinecone wreath and some scarecrows for the outside of the house. Why, you may ask? (It's what the husband was asking!) Because Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays!

I, like many of my generation, did not study the "art" of cooking at my mother's arm. Not that she didn't try, of course, but I was simply not interested. Having grown up far from extended family, we created our own extended "family" of my parent's friends and their children, to whom I am still close, just as much as my own cousins. Our childhood Thanksgivings were hosted by one of these "aunties", so I never really saw all the work that was put into the meal. My family always brought the pumpkin pies and cranberry dish. (Except the year of the "bloody cranberries". For more details see my sister's blog!) As children grow and procreate, these events became too big, and have been subsequently discontinued. Time goes on.

But not to worry, I still have my husband's family, and they have a gathering every year. And a gathering it is, too! I know I have previously mentioned the size and scope of my husband's family, so suffice it to say that they do not have a sit-down dinner! It actually feels a little like eating at a soup kitchen, with the paper plate dripping gravy as you precariously balance it on one knee to avoid the children who insist on running through the house. (There are so many kids now, I'm not sure I even know all of their names!) Not really what I had in mind.

One year I decided we weren't going anywhere for dinner, but where going to stay home and cook it ourselves! (I think every young bride goes through a phase like that.) I got some great recipes off the internet and out of the BetterHomes cookbook. (The red and white checked one...my cooking bible!) I planned it out meticulously, every ingredient and exactly how much time everything needed. (For me, cooking is more like math than art, something to be carefully calculated!) And you know what? It was amazing! Seriously, I wasn't over stressed (mostly because we were eating mid-afternoon so I didn't have to rise at the butt-crack of dawn to get the turkey in the oven!), everything came out the way it was supposed to, or mostly anyway. We watched football and drank wine and ate on real china (my great-grandmother's) with real linens and candles and everything. We all loved it, and so I've been doing it ever since! I usually invite my parents and my brother (I would have my sister too, but she lives far, far away!), and every other year we have the stepsons around the table as well. This is a holiday devoted to family and food and being thankful for what you have. What a great idea! And I can't think of a better way to spend it than eating with my family in an environment where I can actually converse with them! (And not have the "thing that I'm thankful for" be that it's all over!)

I guess it's okay that I can't buy Thanksgiving lights to put up, or that the only movies for this holiday are the Peanuts' Thanksgiving ones. If it was more commercialized it might ruin some of the...romance, for lack of a better word. Besides, when the bird carcass is the trash and dishes are done, (and believe me, that could take a couple days!) it's time to put up the Christmas tree anyway! But until then...Happy Thanksgiving!

Do I know you?

Nothing says "small town" quite like election day. I know I bitch about small town life a lot, but there are some really great things about it too. One of the funniest, and most annoying, things is not how many people know you, but how many people think they know you!

My favorite election day tale happened when the husband and I had just moved back to this town after living out of state for awhile. Now, we both grew up here, went to school here, and even got married here. We'd moved away for about 4 years, but no one seemed to notice that we'd ever left. I approached my polling place, which in this county is the same as everyone else's. (Our county has 5, or maybe 6 precincts, and they all vote at one large community center. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that's entirely within the "law", but no one around here is worried about those pesky little details.) This was the first year they were requiring photo ID's, and the little old ladies who had been acting "election judges" since the election of Truman, were both flummoxed and militant about the ID thing. Since I still had a Michigan driver's licence (my Montana licence hadn't come yet) I chose to use my passport as photo ID instead. This was my first mistake. The first challenge was to get by the dragon at the gate, the one who determined if you were registered to vote. This woman lived next door to me the whole time I was living at home, and her son and I were close friends in high school. And yet...
"Hi there, sweetheart. Your ID please," she asked. I presented it to her. "We need a driver's licence, honey. Or some other form of government ID."
"Yes, I know. This is a passport." She stares at me as if I were speaking another language. "It's ID issued by the federal government, and there's my photo, right there."
"Well, let me check," she sighs, and checks her list of acceptable ID. Of course, it's right there at the top of the list. "Okay, then," and she flips through her tome of names in search of mine.
"Are you sure you're registered, April?" she asks me.
"Yes, and my name is Autumn."
"Oh, silly me! Let's see..." she continues to look. I notice she is looking in the "M" section, because my husband's last name starts with M. I, however, did not change my name when I got married, something difficult to explain to these women, some of whom may have been present for the delivery of the Gettysburg address. I inform her of my name, thinking all the while that she is still holding my passport, and the name is printed right on there! Seriously, if she wasn't even going to look, then why give me such grief over my choice of identification? I can feel the people behind me in line growing restless. How dare I try to use alternate ID! How dare I not take my husband's name! What was I trying to do here?

Finally able to pass the gate, I entered the auditorium and head for the table marked with my precinct. More trouble. You see, I grew up on the west side of town. The husband and I now lived on the east side of town. (Sigh)
"I think you want precinct 2, don't you?"
"No, I live on the east side of town now."
"Really? Are you sure? When did you move?" one lady asks me.
"Oh, no," offered another lady, "She and her husband just moved in down the street from us."
"Yeah," I said, all the while wondering if this gal hadn't vouched for me, (and how the hell does she know where I live? I don't know who she is!) how long would I have had to stand there and argue with these women before they simply checked the book? After I wore them down, they finally handed me a ballot and I went on about my business.

So, you can see that I can really feel for these people who stood in line for 4 hours to vote. I didn't stand in line at all and it still took almost a half hour to get a ballot, defending my life choices along the way.

Only two days 'till Halloween!

Any of you with children are familiar with the "is it Christmas yet?" syndrome. Time seems to just draaaag for these young ones, especially when they are anticipating a fun event. My angel has awakened every morning this week saying, "Only five days 'till Halloween!" and etc. Her enthusiasm is admirable, but it can get old fast. This is the same child who wanted to decorate for this same "holiday" the second week in September. Although, who could blame her, the stores all were Halloweened up. I told her we had to wait at least until October before we put up Halloween decorations! (BTW, the length of holiday display has been carefully negotiated during the tenure of my marriage, and the final compromise has been holiday decorations may only display for 1 month, with the exception of Christmas decorations which may display for up to 2 months. There are no real ramifications of breaking this ordinance, other than the husband will be annoyed.) She is also bugging me to carve the jack o'lanterns, which at her age is really more of a chore for me. Yes, she will help with the seed removal, the best part purely for it's gross-out factor, but the lion's share of the "carving" will fall on my shoulders. Then I volunteered to help with her party at school, and the parade following that. And then there's trick or treating. And you know what? For all my labors, she probably won't even share her candy with me! (At least while she's awake, wink, wink.) I tell you what, holidays are a lot of work!

My sense of snow

Oh how I love the first snow of the year! Here in southern Montana we got our first snowstorm the other night. I was so excited I ran to fetch my angel and the husband so they could enjoy the beauty of the falling snow illuminated by the street lamp. We sat with our noses fogging up the window for a few seconds, then the two of them wandered off. Clearly they do not hold the first snow in as high esteem as yours truly. I started my mental Christmas list and continued to stare out the window as visions of sugar plums danced in my head.

Then came morning.

I always forget how much longer it takes to get anywhere when you have so much more clothing to don! I had to hunt up a hat and gloves for the angel. (Luckily they were exactly where they were supposed to be...a rare treat around here.) I also had to locate said items for myself so I could knock the snow off the car. While the car is warming up, I had drag the garbage can to the street through 5 inches of snow. A lot harder than it sounds. Where was the husband during all of this, you may ask? (That's what I was asking.) Sleeping soundly in his bed. He may have sensed his parenthood was being called into question just below the bedroom window, because he did wake and dress in time to see us off.

Now, I'm staring out the window, and I gotta tell ya, it's not as pretty anymore. We probably got around 9 or 10 inches out of this storm, and our yard is covered with grassy trails where a snowman was being created. Footsteps mar the front lawn and the vehicles no longer look like cute little snow cakes. The magic is gone, I guess. So...anybody know how long until spring?

These are a few of my least favorite things...

Disclaimer: I love being a mommy. I love my angel with the intensity of a nova. (So it's probably a good thing the peanut is coming along, to diffuse some of that white-hot spotlight.) That being said, there are a few things about motherhood that I could really do without. Below is a short list, though certainly not comprehensive, of things us mommies tend to dislike:

1.) Vomit. Somewhere between "Mommy I don't feel so good" and changing sheets at three in the morning I have wandered out of my comfort zone.

2.) Poop. Normal, contained diapers are bad enough, but we really hate the explosive poop that shoots up the back, over the top and starts back down the other side. I've been tempted to call in a HazMat team.

3.) Shots. They tell us they are necessary. It's for the baby's own good. (Although the jury is still out on that one, but that's a blog for another time.) But the look of betrayal in a 6 month old's eyes is more than sleep deprived mommies can take! (To add insult to injury, we have to pay for this privilege!)

4.) False advertising. Okay, just advertising. Last Christmas, all my angel wanted was a Disney Princess Fantasy DVD Game. In the commercial, the game turned all the girls into princesses! Who wouldn't want that? Explaining to my angel that the game wouldn't actually turn her into a princess was an exercise in futility. It reminded me of an old adage: Never argue with a drunk or a fool. (or a five-year-old)

5.) Other people's kids. Just because you have kids doesn't mean you have to like all kids across the board. My angel has a few friends that are just joys to have over for play dates. She also has a few friends that I no longer permit in my house. The drama of cliques and alpha girls begins in first grade, and the whole thing makes me want to home school her. Sure, some people say that doing so could stunt her social skills, but let me tell you something, some of the "social" skills she's learning in school could use a little stunting. I don't believe that sassy-ness is an inherent trait in six-year-olds. I think it's pack behavior.

Don't get me wrong, there are some really great things about being a mommy. There is absolutely nothing like soft baby skin. (And don't even get me started on the "baby" smell) The magic power of a kiss and a Barbie band-aid to heal boo-boos. A snuggly toddler in feety pajamas, or a snuggly first-grader who isn't feeling well. All this stuff makes up for the rest, I suppose. Except maybe the vomit.

Sleep, glorious sleep

This is my ode to sleep. It is entirely under-rated as a hobby and totally unappreciated as a cure for a great many ailments. How often have you heard someone say, "It'll be better in the morning." And you know what, it almost always is. I believe my next major purchase will be a new mattress. After all, we spend about 1/3 of our lives in bed. (For me it's more like 4/10, but who's counting?)

I love sleep. But you know who hates it? The very young. They have absolutely no respect for the sanctity of sleep. Ironically, they need more than the rest of us. Or do they? I'd like to see some data on this one. My angel could stay up all night, until she simply crashes into a puddle on the floor. My darling step-son has been surviving on 2 hours of sleep for most of his life! (That's cumulative, by the way.) My husband has trouble sleeping if he takes a nap in the afternoon. (Which then necessitates a nap the following afternoon, perpetuating a dangerous cycle.) On the other hand, if I were lying prone, in a cool, dark place, I could sleep for 24 hours if no one woke me. Apparently, it's a gift.

I can sleep anywhere, too. You know those people you see sleeping up-right in a plastic chair in the airport? That's me. It's a talent I've developed from a very young age. I have also passed this talent on to my angel. As evidence, I would like to present you with a little game called, "Guess Who's Sleeping." I posted some pics of my angel and I (as a child) in the blissful state of a stolen nap. Can you guess who's who? (Yes, I know, the photo quality and the "That 70's Show" props often give it away, but just play along. Okay?)

The first one is me, half on a chair and half on an ottoman. The second is the angel...half on the couch and half on an ottoman. Now more:

How small do you have to be to sleep on a chair? I think my angel (top) and I (bottom) have proven that a little "tucking" goes a long way.

Am I hungry or sleepy? There's no need to decide! At least she made it half-way through her sandwich! I couldn't even wait for lunch to be served!

So, go on, enjoy a nap now and then. It's good for you! I promise, no one will judge you. In fact, they'll probably be jealous!

Room for a princess

In preparation for our newest family member, my angel is giving up one of her bedrooms. (Okay, before you judge me, allow me to explain.) Previously, she had her bed and dresser in the smallest of the secondary bedrooms, (which is the size of a reasonable walk-in closet) and her toys in the larger bedroom, also known as "the playroom". After a half-hearted discussion on where the baby will sleep, my angel magnanimously offered her "bedroom" for the baby, moving her bed and dresser into the "playroom". I personally think she was simply laying claim to the larger of the two rooms. She's no dummy.

All the "experts" say that these kind of moves should be done early, so the older child isn't feeling displaced by the baby. (Although, any kid who's paying attention at all will know they're getting displaced a little.) The angel is quite happy with her new room, which is crammed to the gills with her things. (Her favorite colors are pink and purple, and it shows.) Here are a couple pics of the new "princess" room:

The daybed fits in a little nook in this strangely shaped room. The wooden loft offers space both below and above for playing, and doubles as an extra bed for Brother #2 when he visits for summers and weekends. (Brother #1 is 17 and has a job, so he rarely sleeps over these days.)

The next step is to get the husband to dig out the baby things from the storage shed. (And I do mean dig, as they are in the back, on the bottom.) However, hauling endless loads of stuff into the house tends to give him a nervous condition, so this might have to wait until after the holidays, when I am undeniably distended with his child. (I think he doesn't really believe in pregnancy until he can see it with his own eyes)

Am I glowing yet?

Everyone always says that pregnant women have a "glow" about them. I suppose we do have a different aura, possibly from our complete inability to think about anything but the baby we are carrying. It still surprises us how everyone else can go entire hours without thinking about our pregnancy! (Husbands can go for days without thinking about it, until they are brutally ripped back into reality by the bundle of raging hormones that used to be their wife.)

But you know, I think that is only part of the "glow". Personally, I think anyone can have the glow, even if they are not expecting, but following these simple steps:

1. Immediately, and completely, quit smoking, drinking alcohol and caffiene, and stop taking drugs. (both the street variety and the OTC stuff which includes Advil and artificial sweeteners)

2. Begin eating well balanced meals and taking a multi-vitamin the size of my first car.

3. Drink a ton of water, which should be easy because after you cut out the stuff above, water is pretty much all you have left.

4. Sleep for 10 hours each day. This should include at least one nap.

5. Avoid harsh chemicals. This gives you the perfect excuse to let your roots grow out, and to skip out on household cleaning. In fact you should give up cleaning completely to make time for the nap mentioned in Step 4.

I promise you, if you did all the things mentioned above, you will be "glowing" in no time. Well, all this healthy living is making me sleepy, so...

Shout out to plastic bins!

Without plastic bins, my house would look even worse than it does! Someone asked me recently what my organization "scheme" was. Apparently some people organize with baskets, others are label freaks. I am a plastic bin girl.

In my younger years, before kids, I used to have an entire room dedicated to sewing and crafting and general packrattery. After 4 moves in as many years, as well as the addition of my angel and all of her stuff, it was time to pare down. I bought some clear plastic tubs for crafting materials, and have been striving to keep only the stuff that will fit in the bins. I have one filled, to the brim, with paint and painting supplies. Another contains Sculpey clay and molds, while a third holds cards, stencils and pretty pens. The fourth holds my sewing do-dads (bobbins, thread and what-not) but my sewing machine is separate, as well as any fabric for a specific project. The exception to this "bin" rule for crafting is my knitting paraphernalia. I do loves a good yarn sale! I try to keep it organized in my bedroom, though I could probably open a small yarn shop with my current stash. These days fancy yarn costs about 6 dollars a skein, so when I find them for two bucks, I tend to stock up.

Aside from crafting, I've also found plastic bins invaluable for holiday decorations. The husband seems to believe that most people have roughly two boxes of Christmas decorations and that's it. Well...I have ten Christmas boxes. The benefit of the plastic bins is that the stuff inside stays clean and dry, they stack really well in our storage shed, and you can get them in different colors for different holidays! My Christmas ones are mostly green, my Halloween/ Thanksgiving boxes (yes, plural) are black and orange and the Easter boxes are clear.

We also use plastic tubs for toys. My kids don't have a toy box, they have several. This helps keep the My Little Ponys out of Barbie's household and vice versa. The goal is to only have one type of toy out at a time, which works most of the time! (Sometimes the Ponys need a Lincoln Log corral.) But my favorite tip, stolen from one of my teacher cousins, is the Lego blanket. Most people with Legos know they are a serious PITA to clean up! (Pain In The Ass) And anyone who has ever stepped on a Lego knows the pain of not getting every single one. We designate a smallish blanket (we use an old baby blanket, but my cousin was using an old bedsheet) and all the Legos HAVE to stay on the blanket. (When I see them off the blanket, I take 'em away) When the playing is over, you just pick up all of the corners of the blanket and drop the whole thing into a plastic tub. Done.

One thing is certain. If we ever build our own house, and the husband would like that, we are having a "Mommy's room" for sewing and crafting. Mostly so I have a space to stack all of my plastic bins!

Happy organizing!

Weddings and Funerals

I am finding an alarming resemblance between the two. You put on nice clothes, you sit in church and everyone's crying, though for distinctly different reasons. Then you go to a reception and eat on paper plates, either perched on your lap or occasionally on linen covered tables. You talk to the people around you, typically the same people you talk to everyday, so there isn't that much to say. And there tends to be flowers everywhere, though no one can say exactly why.

Last weekend we attended my niece's wedding. (I'd like to take this time to remind you that the husband comes from a huge family; he is the baby out of nine kids. And his nieces and nephews range in age from 1 to 32. Our peanut will be the 30th grandchild!) It was a beautiful spot and was an outdoor wedding. So, naturally, it rained the whole time. And man was it cold! It's amazing how easily we are chilled in early fall after being warm all summer. (But 40 degrees is cold...I don't care who you are.) The wedding party shivered their way through the ceremony, then climbed into their ski jackets like the rest of us! Otherwise, it was a beautiful wedding. (Congratulations, Angie and Jon!)

This afternoon I am attending a funeral for a sweet lady. We all called her "Oma", which is German for "grandma", even though she was not technically our grandma. She was the mother of one of my mom's dear friends, and the grandmother of one of my friends. She was always in attendance at holiday gatherings, and she was not only sweet but hilarious! She had a thick German accent, which seemed to get thicker if she'd had a few glasses of wine! (Or a couple cordial cups of Cherry Herring!) And she talked so fast that sometimes you could hardly understand her. But when you could, she had some of the most amazing stories to tell! I interviewed her for a Philosophy paper I was writing a few years ago, and she led a fascinating life. She lived in Germany during WWII. Some stories she couldn't tell because her blood pressure would skyrocket, and her doctor asked her not to go into those stories anymore. (We can imagine the kind of atrocities a young woman might witness during a war that was taking place practically in her backyard.) But some were funny! Like the time she and her girlfriends filled stockings with excrement and climbed up on the roof to throw them at the Russian soldiers below! (What can I say...girls will be girls!) And when the war was over, she and her baby would go to the train station everyday to see if her husband would be on it. He was being held in a POW camp, so he wasn't on the train. But everyday she'd be there, just in case that was the day he'd come home. Someone at the train station offered to adopt her baby, since they figured she was a widow and just hadn't dealt with the loss yet. But she and the baby kept checking the train everyday until one day, he was on it! (That's the kind of stuff that only happens in movies!) They were able to emigrate here after the war, and lived back east until moving out to Montana in their golden years. Oma was the person who made my angel laugh for the first time when she was a baby! (Although, to be fair you couldn't help but smile when you were talking to Oma!) She had an amazing life.

I suppose that's the best any of us can hope for. At the end of our days here, people will look back and say "She lived an amazing life."

Enciente

At long last, I am pleased to announce that the husband and I are expecting another child! This will be my second (biological) child, and number three or four for the the husband, I lose track. Because of our previous problems, I was waiting until week 12 to make any "announcements", but it turns out everyone already knows. Apparently, I really am that bad at keeping secrets, even my own. Mostly it stems from the fact that I haven't been drinking alcohol for the past couple months, which from everyone's reaction is extremely out of character for me. (I'm not sure I like the way that I'm portrayed here...) Not drinking at my sister's wedding was a dead give-away for most of my friends and family, and the ladies at golf league noticed right away! But, I think that most people knew that we were trying, and they were ready to pounce on any little info that might indicate good news.



The husband and I have been "trying" for about 4 years now. The first two years were unofficial, but when that didn't pan out we sought medical assistance. After some tests, thankfully covered by insurance, we were diagnosed with "unexplained secondary infertility". (Which is medical code for "we have no idea what's going on, but we checked the Magic 8 Ball and your 'outlook is good'...") I took some prescriptions and had some more blood work done, (If you ever need blood drawn, ask for Linda. She's the best.) and only two years later, here we are!



There are a few things about this pregnancy that differs from when I was pregnant with my angel. First of all, because of my recent miscarriages, I am tentative to get super excited or run out and start shopping for the baby. Not that I'm not excited, but there is a part of me that has to hold back a little, for self-preservation. And that's too bad. Another thing that is different is with my angel I started to "show" at about five months. With this baby, I started to show about five minutes after the pregnancy test. Right now my jeans are fastened with a rubber band, and I'm only 3 months along! The best part about this pregnancy is that the husband gets to experience it! When I was expecting my angel, he and I were living in different states. (Not intentionally! It just happened to work out that way with our jobs.) So he missed a lot of the middle stuff, really only being present for the beginning and the end! Now he knows the joys of morning sickness, (I can't stand the smell of meat cooking!) exhaustion and all the other little first trimester gems!

If everything goes as planned, my peanut will be joining us the middle/end of March. I'll try to keep you posted as news develops. In the mean time, keep your fingers crossed!

Hurray for school!!!

Shhhhh...hear that? I know, me neither! Isn't it wonderful! At long last, the first day of school has arrived. That means 6 1/2 hours to run errands, fold laundry and catch up on many other tasks that my angel seems to hinder more than help.

Not that I don't miss her dearly. It's all the "other" kids that make these few hours off so refreshing. See, my darling daughter has already joined a biker gang. We have five little girls between the ages of 5 and 8 within a five house radius, and they all have a bike. That in and of itself is bad enough, but we also have a couple nests of teenagers in our neighborhood, which means more teenagers visit them, which means an influx of teenage drivers zipping to and fro. The combination of inexperienced drivers (who are distracted by the other eleven people in the car) and little girls on bicycles (some of whom have not fully mastered the art of "braking" yet) is enough to strike fear into the hearts of most of the adults on our street.

Call me over-protective, but I have no fear of being the neighborhood b####, and I'll stand on my porch and yell at kids to watch out for cars, whether they are mine or not.

But not today. Today there were no little cyclists in the street. Today no one was knocking on my door every half hour looking for my angel. (The reason they knock is because the husband disconnected our doorbell after the second day.) Today they were all blissfully ensconced in the halls of academia, learning important things, like who has a Hannah Montana shirt and who got a Strawberry Shortcake backpack. (Ideally there is also reading and math going on, it's just not the part of the day my angel remembers best.)

So, happy first day of school! (even if yours is still to come.)

End of Summer

Alas, summer is drawing to a close. So far we've had a pretty good one. I for one have learned a lot, though my kids seemed to have learned very little. Here is a list of things I should have discussed with them at the beginning of the summer:

1. Towels are not disposable. If you bring a towel to the pool, make sure you bring one home with you. (If it happens to be the same towel you brought, so much the better.)

2. I am not your cruise director. It is not my job to entertain you, arrange for your entertainment, pay for said entertainment, nor transport you to and from your many entertainments! If occasionally I do decide to do these things, a "thank you" is in order.

3. The phrase "I hate _______" will not be well received. ("Hate" language never is in my house.) If you tell me you're "bored", I will provide you with a list of chores you may do to kill the time. Do not say, "I have to do everything around here!" unless you are willing to back it up.

4. When you are away from my sight, you should still behave as if I where standing right behind you. It's a very small town, and I get reports from people you didn't even know I knew.

5. When you sneak candy from my (apparently) not-so-hidden stash, do not tuck the wrappers behind the couch or under the DVD player. Eventually they will be found, and you will have only put off my retribution. On the other hand, the chances of me sifting through the garbage are pretty slim. I still have the feeling you don't know where I'm going with this...

6. If you are thirsty, get a drink. If you are hungry, grab a snack. Any waitressing I do must be rewarded with a tip.

7. I don't care if his feet stink. I don't care if she snores. I have to sleep with your father, and believe me, any smelly feet/snoring issues you have pale in comparison to what I have to deal with.

8. Moms need to know where their kids are at all times. If you go over to Cassidy's house, but end up at Maddie's, that's a memo I need to get. Never forget that the length of your leash is purely at my discretion.

9. Occasionally I have plans, and my plans supersede any plans you may have. Why? Because I said so.

10. When I say to watch out for cars, I mean parked cars as well as moving ones. When I say to put on sunscreen, I mean actually apply it, not just take the bottle with you. When you come home with a skinned knee or a second degree sunburn on your shoulders, don't look at me like I did this to you. A lot of pain in your life could be avoided if you would just listen to Mama!

Okay, I know this sounds a little deja'vous. (Almost like I heard it all when I was a kid.) Apparently, kids are all the same. Or the "mother" curse is working. It's hard to tell...

Everyone enjoy these last few weeks of summer!

"Where's my dress jeans?"

Is there some sort of Y chromosomal aversion to dressing up? In case you haven't been following along, my sister is getting married next week, and every member of my little family unit has been asked to participate. For my little angel, the flower girl, this is no hardship, considering the fact that she could live her whole life in a Sleeping Beauty halloween costume and be just fine. But for my three ushers, the wardrobe choices have met much more resistance.

To premise this story, I feel that I need to remind everyone that we live in Montana, where jeans are considered acceptable attire for weddings, funerals and even the ballet! My darling husband had never owned a pair of pants that wasn't made of denim until I purchased him a pair of chinos for a first-class stand-by flight. He wore jeans to our wedding! (Okay, I let him. Sometimes you have to pick your battles.)

But this bride is asking for suits and slacks to be worn by the wedding party (and rightfully so!) which sent us on a shopping trip. She ordered suits for the guys, including my dad, brother and husband, from her home in St. Paul. Luckily, she only wants the boys to wear black slacks and blue polo shirts. But this caused enough of an argument outside the dressing room of JCPenneys, which had a few other mothers snickering behind their hands. Here is an excerpt of what was said, almost verbatim:

"The pockets on these pants pooch funny."
"That's because you're wearing them too low; pull them up to your waist."
"This is my waist."
"No, it's not. Your waist is up here."
"No way! I don't want to look like Erkel!"
"You don't look like Erkel. This is your natural waist."
"But all my other pants are down here."
"These are dress pants. They are not jeans. They are not going to fit like jeans!" (I'm thinking of recording this little mantra so I can play it over and over and save my voice.)
"Now, tuck in your shirt."
"I thought you said we were going to wear polos!"
"You are."
"You don't tuck in polos!"
"Um, yes you do! See that mannequin there? Tucked. And that one? Tucked. Ever see Tiger Woods? He's wearing a polo, and it's tucked in!"
"Whatever."

And that was just the little one. I'm not sure I can include the conversation the husband and I had about how a suit should be worn!

The point is, there are plenty of men who wear suits everyday. And I personally think they look fabulous! But around here, I'm pulling teeth to get my guys to dress in what would be known as "casual Friday" wear in the rest of the world. (Sigh) I'll try to snap a picture of us all dressed up. It might be the only time it ever happens.

Boat Float

Last weekend I got to participate in the annual Yellowstone River Boat Float. Sounds pretty cool, unless you are from here and then you know that it is really no big deal. The premise started out to be boaters following the trail of Lt. Clark. (Of Lewis and Clark fame.) But unless Clark was floating through Bourbon Street, it might have changed a little. (You know, there were "beads" being traded in Clarks time as well. I might have to think about this one...)

The husband and I decided to float the second leg of the three day trip, since our cool spring has led to flood stage, raging river levels which basically closed the first leg due to un-seasonal danger. We floated with the husbands brother, his brother's wife (of heady blog fame), his brother's son (he's 17, and we needed a designated driver!) and the husband's other brother. (Have I mentioned the husband comes from a big family?) In another boat was one of the husband's sisters, her husband, and a couple of their friends. It was a really fun group, or it would have been if I had hung out with any of them! I spent the whole day chatting with heady on one end of the raft, while the nephew did the lion's share of the rowing, (after his father was de-throned during a rather rocky coup-de-tas led by the "queen" herself!) and the "brothers" whispered and giggled like junior high girls.

Apparently we put into the river a little too early. (Or just in time, as far as I'm concerned.) The men, and by "men" I mean "boys", were a little disappointed that they didn't get to see a bunch of drunk girls in neighboring rafts raising their bikini tops in exchange for beer or beads. (Think Mardi Gras.) Although, the river was super fast and high, and even the drunk girls were wearing life jackets, which tends to cut back on the flashing a little bit. We did hear of such debauchery amoung the later floaters, which I think has convinced the brothers that we all got out of bed way too early.

We were camping at the down-river site, and a campground that should welcome roughly twenty groups of campers suddenly took on a Woodstock-type air, with probably 400 campers and only one bathroom. Seriously, tents were popping up where no tent belonged. There was one dude sleeping in a hammock strung between two pick-up trucks. But the tiny town had a great party, where they block off their main street (approx a block and a half long) for a street dance, where the combined age of the "band" was 750 for the five of them. But at least there was plenty of beer, and apparently that's the important part. And from the sound of the party that went on at least until the husband and I left around 10 the next morning, there were plenty of sparkler bombs, too.

So, if you happen to be in the Yellowstone river area in mid-July, you should definately join in the party. But don't forget the sunscreen! (Especially if you plan to show things that haven't seen the sun before...like my shoulders!)

Happy Summer!

Did you miss me?

Hello all! Sorry I haven't been paying too much attention here lately, but you know, it's summer! Okay that's not really an excuse because I still spend a great deal of time on the internet. But I have been keeping busy with my multitudes of unfinished projects, some of which have a deadline that is fast approaching. For any of you who happen to be outside the "circle of trust" I am referring to my sister's wedding.

I got married back in the nineteen hundreds. (Just barely. November of 99!) My wedding was a huge but simple affair. I was married in a century old church and had a candle light service. Both the husband and I come from large, Nordic farming families, so we had fulfilled our guest quota with immediate family! Because we had a lot of guests (who all lived within a 40 mile radius) we didn't have dinner, just drinks and dancing and cake. (By the way, if you'd like to hear a story of how my first cake hit the wall, you should check out my sister-in-law's blog, link to the right! Thanks again for the second cake, Heady!)

I did do a lot of projects for my wedding, like printing my own invitations (before it was trendy, or easy!) and making my own veil. Because I somehow got the label of being "crafty", my sister has asked me to grant her the favor or making her wedding favors. And I don't mind in the least, but if she does feel a little guilty I could really use a shoulder massage! The favors are going to be champagne glasses with the couple's initials and the date etched on them. The whole thing began with my mother's penchant for drinking from actual glasses instead of those silly little plastic things. (Probably a good idea, since I always lose the bottom of mine and then I just have to chug it. Not pretty.) We located them on sale for a really good price! Almost cheaper than the plastic ones! So now I have to etch 136 glasses! Okay, I volunteered to etch 136 glasses. I did make a couple templates, so I can do 6 at a time, and the etching goo only has to stay on for about five minutes. Hopefully, it'll be pretty fast and easy. Here is a prototype:

You probably can't see the pattern very well, but there are some little mountains, the couple's intials and the date. (Which is 08-08-08, so we might as well play it up!) I think they'll be great. Especially when mine is filled with champagne.

Another wedding I have on my calendar is that of my niece, who is getting married in September. I recently attended her shower, and I gave her a "towel cake", similar to those diaper cakes you see at baby showers, but this one is made with kitchen towels and wash cloths. Here's a pic:

I added some kitchen utensils. It was kind of fun to go to a bridal shower for a young bride. Most of my friends now are either on their second marriage or have been single long enough to have set up household.

Anyway, thought I'd let you in on what I've been up to. I'm also working on a new baby bootie pattern, just to throw out a little preview. Details to follow! Happy wedding season...I mean, summer!

The art of doing...nothing!

"Nothing" has gotten a bad rap. For instance, when there is an unnerving silence upstairs where the kids are playing you call up to them, "What's going on up there?" , "Nothing," they answer, which you know means anything but! Or for you guys, when your wife keeps slamming dishes around in the kitchen, you ask, "What's wrong?" and she answers "Nothing!" (Which, unless you are a complete idiot means that something is in fact wrong, and you should probably find a flower/jewelry shop soon!)

The concept of "nothing" is difficult to fathom, especially for one of my training, which has been taught to view ideas such as "zero" and "infinity" as actual things, not just abstract concepts. I can't help but be reminded of a movie, The Neverending Story, (which, by the way, everyone should see!) in which they said it all:
"I was looking for (something, I can't remember exactly) and instead found...nothing."
"You mean there was a hole?"
"A hole would be something, but this was nothing!"

For whatever reason, that line spoke to me, and I have carried such a "definition" to this day. When I ask people what they are doing, sometimes they say "nothing". And I have to disagree.

Many people say that watching TV is doing "nothing". That hanging around the house is doing "nothing", or that eating lunch is doing "nothing". My point is, people are never doing "nothing".

And yet there is something to be said for sitting and not doing anything else. (Notice, I don't refer to this as nothing because I believe that if you are alive, you are doing something!) In fact, there was a quote,(I can't remember the author, but if anyone knows, please comment because I would like to credit him or her!) that said, "In my opinion, the definition of a well ordered mind is someone who can stop and just enjoy a few minutes in his own company." To me this means someone who can sit, really just sit, and not do anything else. Seriously, try it! Set a timer for five minutes and just sit there, thinking, for that time. It really is powerful. I once heard of a church minister who, instead of giving a sermon one Sunday, asked the parishioners to observe "five minutes of silence". At first, people were looking around, and babies were fussing, but after a few minutes, the people really started to hear their own voice, and several of them started to cry. Apparently they hadn't heard it for awhile.

Which brings me to the definition of "introverted" and "extroverted". If you were to ask any of my childhood friends, they would all tell you that I am an "extrovert". What they meant was, that I enjoyed being the center of attention, and also enjoyed the theater arts. That I put myself out there for others to see. But that isn't what "extrovert" means at all! I discovered that I was an "introvert" when I was in college, taking a communications class. An introvert is someone who needs to be alone to "re-charge" their energy, and multitudes of people actually deplete energy from these people. An extrovert is someone who needs to be with people to "re-charge" and they can't stand to be alone for very long. During my childhood, I would spend every Saturday morning playing, by myself, with my toys. At big family gatherings, my mother would notice my absence and find me behind the couch, building with blocks all by myself. The point is, I needed this time alone. That my alone time keeps me sane. And yet, I have friends for whom the term "alone" is something that scares them. They need people.

I don't want to say that my way is the best way, but I need my alone time, and yet I seek out the company of others. I only hope that others who need people will occasionally seek out their own company, if just for a little while. There is something to find, when all the chaos and lists and daily chores have had their time, and all that is left is your conscience and desires. I encourage you to seek it. For just when you think you are doing "nothing" do you discover yourself. And sometimes, you don't even recognize her.

The song in my heart...

Music makes the world go round. As many of you will agree, at some point in your late teens early twenties you just get off the music train and that's your music for life. (The same thing tends to happen with fashion and hair, but I encourage you to fight to stay on the train as long as you can!) Not that I don't listen to modern music. I try to keep up with the new artists, but you really only have the luxury of spending half your annual income on "records" when you are quite young. (After which you have to pay rent and crap.) My style is complicated, but only because I graduated high school in 1995...a mid-decade train-stop.

Everybody tends to group music into decades, you know, like the 50's, 60's, 70's and so on. But I think that is a bogus grouping. I feel music should be grouped on the mid-decade. For example, 1955-1965 is mostly dance-party/leader of the pack, 1965-1975 is angry war anthems/age of Aquarius, 1975-1985 is disco/KISS, etc. For that reason, my "style" lands somewhere between "hair bands" and alternative rock. I love 'em both, and have "Slippery When Wet" and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" in my collection.

The funny thing was, the husband is also a "hair band" guy, but we have found that our definition differs greatly! This separation reminds me of my next door neighbor and good friend when I was in high school. He always carried two mixed tapes with him at all times, one labeled "F***ing Kick A** Music" and the other labeled "Mega Wimpy Ballads". This glaring difference in hair band music defines the difference in the husband's music taste and mine. We thought we liked the same kind of music, and that is wrong. We liked the same bands. He is "Welcome to the Jungle" and I am "November Rain". (Although, we each appreciate the other songs) He is "Rock you Like a Hurricane" and I am "Winds of Change". I laughed because he will talk about bands I've never heard of, like Ratt, Loverboy and others. And I love bands like Warrant, Firehouse, Poison and dare I say it out loud, Mr. Bigg. (Stop laughing! "I'm the one who wants to be with you" spoke to me!) Pretty much all the songs that were played at my 7th grade dances, I loved! And I never bothered to listen to the "other" songs by those artists. Skid Row's "I remember you" was my break-up anthem. (Until I discovered Alanis Morrisette!)

Yes, I did graduate to "grunge". I still have my combat boots and plaid button-ups in the back of my closet! (My kids are going to celebrate 90's day during their homecoming week!) The Counting Crows was the first CD I purchased. I can sing along with Pearl Jam and Nirvana. (As well as anyone can. Were there even lyrics to those songs?) A crazy-afro-white boy friend of mine figured out what "Champagne Supernova" meant, but he forgot after he sobered up. Alanis and Jewel came at the time of my life when I was floundering, so their angry/painful lyrics will always remind me of that time.

I suppose that's what it's supposed to do. "More Than Words" reminds me of my 8th grade boyfriend, the first boy I ever kissed. "You Oughta Know" reminds me of my college boyfriend who cheated on me. That was the "coolest" I'll ever be, and I'm glad I'll always have the music to remind me.

But lest we thing we "own" our music, I'll never forget the day my step-son wanted to play a CD of this great new song by a "cool new band". The band was Aerosmith. I laughed, and could only recall the day I wanted to play a cassette for my parents, the same "new" band back in 1988. I'm sure they laughed as well, and couldn't help but think of the first time they listened to a record by Aerosmith in their own "music prime". There are some things that speak to us, across the generations.

And I really miss the obvious love ballads, if for no other reason than I don't want that old, stiff-armed sway dance to disappear! (That old six inches of separation rule is sounding better and better as my kids are getting older!) And the whole thing might boil down to the fact that "I Wanna Know What Love Is".

Pomp and Circumstance

Well, I've finally made it! It only took me five years! (Plus 8, if you count all those years between high school) I graduated on Sat. May 3rd, and it came just in time to keep me from jumping off a bridge or something! Here is a photo, and please note the bottles in the foreground. Every graduation party should have this as the foreground for pictures. (BTW, that's me in the gown, with my folks, the husband and my angel)

The ceremony was long...at least for me. My high school graduating class consisted of a whole 44 people, so I just wasn't used to a ceremony of this magnitude. (Although, the more people I complain to, the more people tell me that my 2 hour ceremony was nothing, and that they have attended graduation ceremonies that lasted all day and into the night where everyone just slept in their chairs and finished up in the morning. I hope that was an exaggeration.) Anyway, I graduated Magna Cum Laude with a BS in Mathematics and minors in Physics and Statistics. I was also awarded the 2008 Outstanding Graduating Student in Mathematics. To accept this award, I attended the Convocation, where I bumped into an old classmate of mine who's husband (also a classmate, who I'm going to call "The Joker") was getting the Outstanding Blah Blah in History award. This was great, as our tiny hometown was well represented at this award ceremony. But you know who I really wish could have been there? My high school Geography teacher. This is a woman who once accused me of cheating, because I was failing her class and at the last minute pulled a 98% final out of my kiester. (Her comment was that she would accuse me of cheating off of my best friends, co-valedictorians and sitting right next to me, except that my score was higher than theirs. It never occurred to her that the reason I was failing was because I didn't turn in any homework, not that I didn't understand the subject.)

This teacher also had run-ins with The Joker while we were in high school. One winter's day we were sitting in the pizza-oven that was our Geography classroom, (the heating/cooling system in that school was ridiculous) our teacher was diligently writing who-knows-what up on the board, droning on and on about India or something. The Joker (who sat behind me) took this opportunity while her back was turned to sneak out the window that was wide open to help alleviate the oppressive heat. He returned seconds later with a gigantic icicle, the size of my leg! (and I'm 5'9") These icicles consistently grew along the gutters of the school, waiting patiently to impale some unsuspecting student who was foolish enough to try to enter or exit the building. The Joker silently placed the icicle next to the teachers desk and returned to his seat as the rest of us struggled to contain our laughter. The teacher reached for something on her desk and was startled by the large shaft of ice leaning against it. The class erupted with hilarity, except The Joker, who was studiously taking notes. She didn't have to wonder who was responsible.

For those reasons, I think she may have enjoyed hearing our college professors go on and on about how studious we both are and how we are such an example to other students. (It was so hard for me to keep a straight face!) The Joker's plan is to be a History teacher. Now if the Mother's Curse ("I hope your kids act just like you do!") works for old teachers as well, then he's got his work cut out for him! (Although, it'll be really hard to top the icicle thing!)

When it rains...

My life is a series of stressful weeks interrupted by months of boredom. I wish that I could take the time to enjoy things as they come...one at a time. Alas, it is not to be. This week, my schedule is packed, which means that the best I can hope for is just to survive it, rather than enjoy it.

Let me preface by saying I am a procrastinator, or at least, I will be when I get around to it. I have 6 or 7 projects for school hanging around my neck that HAVE to get done this weekend. (So obviously, I thought I'd type a blog post instead) I also have to clean the house this weekend, something I've been putting off for the last month or so. (The Everest of dishes in my sink is a testament to how stubborn the husband and myself can be. We are each waiting for the other to graciously take care of it. 3 weeks and counting...) My sister is visiting from Minnesota with my adorable, and mischievous, nephew to work on her wedding plans for this August. My angel has a field trip to dig for dinosaur bones at a local ranch, which really just means that she will come home with a rock I have to pretend is a fossil and two bricks of mud that were previously known as her tennis shoes. I am graduating from college next Saturday, and the husband is giving me a party. (And "giving me a party" generally means I must clean my house and take care of all the arrangements. A real gift) I also have to attend an award ceremony because I am graduating Magna Cum Laude and also the math department is giving me some sort of Outstanding Student Award, which I feel I should show up to accept. (We hope not to stay at the reception too long, as the department heads will be there and I want to take my award and run before they realize what a huge mistake they've made and that I don't actually know how to do any math. I was hoping to keep that a secret until after the diploma is in my hand!) In the middle of all of this is May Day or Beltane, which is a wonderful little pagan festival celebrating the returning fertility of the Earth and it's inhabitants. My angel and I usually celebrate by planting flowers and leaving little secret May baskets on the doorsteps of our neighbors, but that might get scratched for time this year. (Too bad, it's one of my favorite secondary holidays) I also like to celebrate Cinco de Mayo, but I'm not sure there will be time. (Not that I am in any way Mexican, I just really love guacamole and margaritas!)

In addition, I have some knitting projects for a baby shower next weekend and mothers day. (Which is only two weeks away!!) But I fear I must triage, so the homework gets done first. (Mom will understand. Mother's are pretty understanding about half-completed projects.)

Luckily, when this week is over my plans include...nothing. I have no plans for two months. I wonder if people will be confused if I try to move May 1st to June 1st...

"When are you having another baby?"

People ask me this all the time. I guess if you've had one child, the logical step is to have another. Why? Are other people really so invested in my family that they feel they should have a vote in our family planning meetings? And it's usually asked by a mere acquaintance, which is actually more annoying.
"When are you guys having another baby?" the pseudo-stranger will ask.
"Well, thank you for your interest in our sex life, (insert name here), but I'm not sure I feel comfortable discussing my fertility with you right now. But we are ready to order our food though, whenever you are."
I guess the question would be harmless enough if we didn't want more children. The problem is, we do, and we are really having a hard time having another child. So it's really sweet of you to pour lemon juice on the gaping wound of my heart. Thanks.

But people often say the most hurtful things disguised as sympathy. As I write this, I am suffering through my second miscarriage in less than a year. Most people think of a miscarriage as the end of a pregnancy. That's seems simple enough. Sure, the mother is sad... who wouldn't be, but it's not that big of a deal, right? Wrong. Miscarriage is a grisly, painful business with possibly life-threatening complications. And when I say painful, I mean it feels just like childbirth only without the happy ending. (For those of you who have never had children, or opted for the epidural, imagine your worst menstrual cramp and multiply it by 5. And for you men, I can't say for sure, but I imagine it would feel like getting kicked in the groin constantly for a few days.) But any woman can take that. It's the stupid things people say that really get upsetting. The worst part is, they're trying to make me feel better!
Here is a list of things not to say to women in my position, in case you have a friend or family member who goes through the same thing:
1. "It's probably a blessing." I know that the chromosomal mis-match that probably triggered this whole thing would not work out in the end, but I'm in a lot of pain here and it's really hard for me to see it as a "blessing". Not to mention all the daydreams I've had about the baby are up in smoke. I've lost a dream...that's not a blessing.
2. "It's God's will" or "God has a plan" or pretty much any phrase with the word "God" in it. This is often a pat answer, and I'm sure some people even believe it. But if there is a God, (and time's going to tell on that one) and He is doing this to me on purpose, then He can kiss my bleeding heiny. Maybe He's testing me, but if he really wants to test me, He should plunk four or five people in front of me spouting off about "God" and see which one I smother with a giant maxi-pad. (Don't forget the hormonal pollution I'm dealing with!)
3. "You can always try again." I guess. But if you don't mind, I'd like a moment to regret the loss of this baby, before you shuffle me off to worrying about losing another one.

These phrases tend to come out when people feel uncomfortable and don't know what else to say. But here's what you should say: "I'm sorry for your loss" or "I don't know what to say." Simple, easy to remember, and most likely true.

So the next time you find yourself scrambling for small talk and you are thinking about saying the "when are you having a baby" line, just comment on the weather. You'll still sound ridiculous, but at least you won't hurt any feelings.