So the local coffee joint (a very cool, crunchy granola, mom'n pop place) allows local artisan types to sign up for 1 month of wall space at no charge.
It's also worth mentioning that this "coffee bar" was, undoubtedly, originally built to be a regular sort of bar. One wall is bare brick face, the other houses an envious bar, complete with stools and kick rail, that runs the entire length of the building.
Several weeks ago I happened to be chatting with the owner and proprietor of the place, Mike. Talk turned to photography. I mentioned my fledgling portrait business and - blam - Mike told me about this awesome way that the shop helps local artists out.
So today was the day to put up my wall for the month of August. Which I did. 10 of my favorite pieces of work, neatly (and symmetrically!) now hang against the several-hundred-year-old brick wall.
I have only shown my work to a very few people. I have never displayed anything I have created for general public consumption before, with the exception of the poem that won me an award in the fifth grade. I got my picture in the paper with the other regional winners, and my poem published in the local paper. I was, of course, mortified.
I know, given the fact that you are now reading this blog - wherein I lay open my most humiliating and personal thoughts and experiences for the world to see - it may seem like a bit of a contradiction for me to say that I am hesitant to put my work out there for critique by the masses. I have no explanation for this phenomenon, other than to say that I don't usually run into strangers who know me from this blog. When it does happen, my reaction is generally to get exquisitely, painfully self-conscious, and escape as quickly as possible. Go figure.
SO. My photos are now up, along with a flier detailing the number and email address at which I may be reached to schedule a photo session. If the reaction of the regulars and staff at the coffee shop is any indication, maybe this won't be so bad after all. At least nobody threw up. That's a good sign, right?
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
I *heart* my geek.
My husband projects an image of gruffness and cool when serious, is charming and flirtatious when playful, and full of masculine machismo when surrounded by other manly-manly-men types.
Only those of us who know and love him best know the deep, dark, dirty truth. My husband is a consummate geek. A geek who happens to be married to an adoring but mercilessly snarky wife.
Take, for example, this IM exchange we had today. I was ecstatic to find a copy of "Where the Wild Things Are" for sale at a local kids boutique. Jack and I made plans to read it before his "quiet time" this afternoon. I had to share my find with T, for whom this book also holds a special place in childhood nostalgia.
ME: We went to the consignment shop after coffee. The boutique in the back? It had "Where the wild things are". I bought it for 8 bucks. I regret nothing!
HIM: That's okay, I'm going to GamesWorkshop which I found down the street and spending 300 dollars on miniatures.
ME: Huhwhat? No you're not! Especially not if you want the carpets cleaned, you're not. We have Stanley Steemer coming in on Friday.
HIM: Clean houses don't make me happy! My spiritual center is found within pewter army men with laser guns.
ME: That is wrong on so many levels.
HIM: You should incorporate that statement somewhere in your life. I suspect your life would improve by a good margin for at least 10 minutes after saying that.
ME: Sure. It can be my "incantation of +10 life quality". Now roll for the bonus!
HIM: Come on now! My bag of dice are feeling tender - I don't touch them as much as I used to!
ME: I won't be touching your "bag of dice" either if you spend 300 bucks on pewter figurines. Might wanna take that into consideration...
HIM: Touché.
Only those of us who know and love him best know the deep, dark, dirty truth. My husband is a consummate geek. A geek who happens to be married to an adoring but mercilessly snarky wife.
Take, for example, this IM exchange we had today. I was ecstatic to find a copy of "Where the Wild Things Are" for sale at a local kids boutique. Jack and I made plans to read it before his "quiet time" this afternoon. I had to share my find with T, for whom this book also holds a special place in childhood nostalgia.
ME: We went to the consignment shop after coffee. The boutique in the back? It had "Where the wild things are". I bought it for 8 bucks. I regret nothing!
HIM: That's okay, I'm going to GamesWorkshop which I found down the street and spending 300 dollars on miniatures.
ME: Huhwhat? No you're not! Especially not if you want the carpets cleaned, you're not. We have Stanley Steemer coming in on Friday.
HIM: Clean houses don't make me happy! My spiritual center is found within pewter army men with laser guns.
ME: That is wrong on so many levels.
HIM: You should incorporate that statement somewhere in your life. I suspect your life would improve by a good margin for at least 10 minutes after saying that.
ME: Sure. It can be my "incantation of +10 life quality". Now roll for the bonus!
HIM: Come on now! My bag of dice are feeling tender - I don't touch them as much as I used to!
ME: I won't be touching your "bag of dice" either if you spend 300 bucks on pewter figurines. Might wanna take that into consideration...
HIM: Touché.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Breaking Radio Silence
Hello, internets. How have you been?
I'm hanging in there - quite nicely in fact.
A couple of things have happened recently that we should probably discuss.
First up: Jack, my 10 pound wonder-baby, who entered this world with a shriek and made all the other babies in the hospital nursury look like toy dolls, turned 4 years old. I know several "mommybloggers" who write letters to their kids on their birthdays. I do write the letters, but I do it with an ink pen in a journal made of actual paper. Some day, each of my boys will get their own book of those thoughts, written in my own handwriting.
That said, I will mark here that he's like a tiny version of me, only smarter and with better intuition. He is also the most intelligent, funny, and sensitive kid I know.
So. The next bit.
After some discussion, T and I were able to agree that the sting has passed enough to talk about something I was actively not talking about. You might remember vague references to "something that happened" over the past few weeks. There's no easy way to say it, so here it is.
We had a miscarriage.
All things considered, we were very fortunate. It happened early. It happened away from home, and (because it was early) I was able to deal with it without Jack understanding that anything was going on. He was too distracted with all the wonders of our vacation.
So, we're okay. It was tough there for a bit; we were already in pregnancy mode around here - making plans, tossing around names. But we're taking a short break from procreation and just focusing on enjoying this little life we have built for ourselves. Also? We're being very thankful that I didn't go nuts.
A few years ago, this would have devestated me and risked a depressive relapse. Today? I'm sad, but fully accept that sometimes life doesn't go the way you plan, and you have to be thankful for what you have that is going right. In my case, these 2 little boys that make my days so insane and delightful? They are going pretty damn right. Apparently, all that therapy and my cursory foray into Buddhist practices? Actually worth the time and trouble, after all.
It doesn't hurt that Toby has also learned to say "Yeah!" in the affirmative, and now uses it proudly - and with great gusto - at every opportunity.
"Tobin, are you ready to take a bath?"
"YEAH!!"
"Tobin, would you like to have a snack?"
"YEAH!!"
It also doesn't hurt that he usually accompanies this with the international symbol for "GOAL!", arms raised victoriously over his head. It's a good life lesson - to celebrate every small accomplishment as though you just scored the winning shot in the World Cup.
I intend to do some dishes later. I will then follow this up with a very embarrassing end-zone victory dance. Thankfully, only the children and the dog will see this. The children think it's hysterical. The dog thinks I'm insane, but is quickly distracted with a well-time liver snap.
As for my own inner-critic? I just crank up the Mika and drown her out.
I'm hanging in there - quite nicely in fact.
A couple of things have happened recently that we should probably discuss.
First up: Jack, my 10 pound wonder-baby, who entered this world with a shriek and made all the other babies in the hospital nursury look like toy dolls, turned 4 years old. I know several "mommybloggers" who write letters to their kids on their birthdays. I do write the letters, but I do it with an ink pen in a journal made of actual paper. Some day, each of my boys will get their own book of those thoughts, written in my own handwriting.
That said, I will mark here that he's like a tiny version of me, only smarter and with better intuition. He is also the most intelligent, funny, and sensitive kid I know.
So. The next bit.
After some discussion, T and I were able to agree that the sting has passed enough to talk about something I was actively not talking about. You might remember vague references to "something that happened" over the past few weeks. There's no easy way to say it, so here it is.
We had a miscarriage.
All things considered, we were very fortunate. It happened early. It happened away from home, and (because it was early) I was able to deal with it without Jack understanding that anything was going on. He was too distracted with all the wonders of our vacation.
So, we're okay. It was tough there for a bit; we were already in pregnancy mode around here - making plans, tossing around names. But we're taking a short break from procreation and just focusing on enjoying this little life we have built for ourselves. Also? We're being very thankful that I didn't go nuts.
A few years ago, this would have devestated me and risked a depressive relapse. Today? I'm sad, but fully accept that sometimes life doesn't go the way you plan, and you have to be thankful for what you have that is going right. In my case, these 2 little boys that make my days so insane and delightful? They are going pretty damn right. Apparently, all that therapy and my cursory foray into Buddhist practices? Actually worth the time and trouble, after all.
It doesn't hurt that Toby has also learned to say "Yeah!" in the affirmative, and now uses it proudly - and with great gusto - at every opportunity.
"Tobin, are you ready to take a bath?"
"YEAH!!"
"Tobin, would you like to have a snack?"
"YEAH!!"
It also doesn't hurt that he usually accompanies this with the international symbol for "GOAL!", arms raised victoriously over his head. It's a good life lesson - to celebrate every small accomplishment as though you just scored the winning shot in the World Cup.
I intend to do some dishes later. I will then follow this up with a very embarrassing end-zone victory dance. Thankfully, only the children and the dog will see this. The children think it's hysterical. The dog thinks I'm insane, but is quickly distracted with a well-time liver snap.
As for my own inner-critic? I just crank up the Mika and drown her out.
Monday, July 23, 2007
The Frailties of Youth Revisited.
I was not, at all, a rebellious teenager. The worst vice I could claim to the age of 18 (other than the very occasional diet coke) was staying up into the wee hours of the morning reading books. This made getting through the following day's regimen of chemistry lectures, english homework, and trig equations somewhat problematic -- especially considering I thought school in general was about as useful as a third nipple.
I grew up. I went back to college for a second time and found that I had hitherto untapped brains, ones that allowed me to.. like.. take notes, and study for exams, and.. read the assigned material. I know - what's your superpower?
Last night, however, I revisited those days of yore. At approximately 6pm on Sunday evening, I discovered that by not checking the mail box on Saturday I had left my copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" in the box for an entire day. 24 whole hours! Wasted!! I resolved to remedy this situation as quickly as possible and, as of about 7pm, I was earnestly engrossed in the pages of this cultural phenom.
Every few chapters I would glance at the clock, marking the minutes that had ticked by. When the big and little hands rolled around to the 12 and I was 3/4 of the way through the book, I gave up trying to put it down and get to bed and surrendered to the superior might of the book. My will was weak, my flesh was willing, and when I finally looked up with a sigh from the final lines, it was 3am.
My husband is exasperated, to say the least, with my total lack of adult control.
Then again, by finishing the book in roughly 7.5 hours? I have cleared the way for him to begin reading it immediately. So he's pretending not to notice that I'm swatting at imaginary insects and wearing a matching set of luggage below my eyelids.
When HE is the one seeing fnords and carrying on conversations with the coat rack? I'll turn a blind eye, too. Because I love him, and because I've totally been there.
The book? It should come with an FDA warning label. S'all I'm sayin'.
I grew up. I went back to college for a second time and found that I had hitherto untapped brains, ones that allowed me to.. like.. take notes, and study for exams, and.. read the assigned material. I know - what's your superpower?
Last night, however, I revisited those days of yore. At approximately 6pm on Sunday evening, I discovered that by not checking the mail box on Saturday I had left my copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" in the box for an entire day. 24 whole hours! Wasted!! I resolved to remedy this situation as quickly as possible and, as of about 7pm, I was earnestly engrossed in the pages of this cultural phenom.
Every few chapters I would glance at the clock, marking the minutes that had ticked by. When the big and little hands rolled around to the 12 and I was 3/4 of the way through the book, I gave up trying to put it down and get to bed and surrendered to the superior might of the book. My will was weak, my flesh was willing, and when I finally looked up with a sigh from the final lines, it was 3am.
My husband is exasperated, to say the least, with my total lack of adult control.
Then again, by finishing the book in roughly 7.5 hours? I have cleared the way for him to begin reading it immediately. So he's pretending not to notice that I'm swatting at imaginary insects and wearing a matching set of luggage below my eyelids.
When HE is the one seeing fnords and carrying on conversations with the coat rack? I'll turn a blind eye, too. Because I love him, and because I've totally been there.
The book? It should come with an FDA warning label. S'all I'm sayin'.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Long Live The King
The king has returned. The man? He is back in the castle. All is right with the world.
We celebrated his homecoming by heading out for sushi at the new-ish local place, where they have something called a "Good Time Roll" that includes tempura flakes, cream cheese, and cherry brandy sauce. Need I say more? Yes, the good times... they rolled. And then the children spontaneously combusted at the shock of things going back to normal, and Mommy and Daddy crawled into bed in a stupor and immediately passed out.
I took a mental health day today. For all our sakes, this had to happen.
First I hit up ye olde Haircuttery and had a few inches hacked off my (crooked since I chopped it myself in a fit of frustration) hair. The back is now textured, tapered, and fluffy, while the top and front are still long and shaggy. It's not a bad look for me, and somehow manages to toe the line between Too Much Punk Rock and "oh no!" Mom hair. Pictures to be posted sometime next century or when I find the stupid battery charger, whichever comes first.
Following the haircut I headed over to Kohls and picked up a few things to get me through till I lose enough weight to move completely into the next smaller size. Thank providence for their sales, I got out of there for under 30 bucks with a couple decent shirts.
Capped off the day with a 3 mile jog and a few minutes of David Beckham footage. That man? He is easy on the eyes.
Finally, got the news that my Gram had surgery today, it went well, and it looks like she's going to be okay. I've been actively trying to not think about her being in the hospital - a necessary tactic when one is half a continent away. But she is on the mend, and expected to recover quite nicely.
Remember when I said that everything was going to be okay? I love it when a plan comes together. Cheers.
We celebrated his homecoming by heading out for sushi at the new-ish local place, where they have something called a "Good Time Roll" that includes tempura flakes, cream cheese, and cherry brandy sauce. Need I say more? Yes, the good times... they rolled. And then the children spontaneously combusted at the shock of things going back to normal, and Mommy and Daddy crawled into bed in a stupor and immediately passed out.
I took a mental health day today. For all our sakes, this had to happen.
First I hit up ye olde Haircuttery and had a few inches hacked off my (crooked since I chopped it myself in a fit of frustration) hair. The back is now textured, tapered, and fluffy, while the top and front are still long and shaggy. It's not a bad look for me, and somehow manages to toe the line between Too Much Punk Rock and "oh no!" Mom hair. Pictures to be posted sometime next century or when I find the stupid battery charger, whichever comes first.
Following the haircut I headed over to Kohls and picked up a few things to get me through till I lose enough weight to move completely into the next smaller size. Thank providence for their sales, I got out of there for under 30 bucks with a couple decent shirts.
Capped off the day with a 3 mile jog and a few minutes of David Beckham footage. That man? He is easy on the eyes.
Finally, got the news that my Gram had surgery today, it went well, and it looks like she's going to be okay. I've been actively trying to not think about her being in the hospital - a necessary tactic when one is half a continent away. But she is on the mend, and expected to recover quite nicely.
Remember when I said that everything was going to be okay? I love it when a plan comes together. Cheers.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Search-A-Palooza 2007
My recent favorites among the search terms that have led some poor, misguided souls to this site:
stories of having pants taken down by a woman for the first time for sex and spanking
For the record? A woman has never taken my pants down for sex OR spanking, nor have I ever blogged about such an experience. If it ever happens, though? I'll be sure to post all the sordid details, in between hits off my crack pipe and swigs of Jack Daniels.
jumping jacks dilate cervix
Sadly, jumping jacks at full term will only make the baby angry and very likely cause you to rupture something. I do not recommend this as a means to induce labor, nor to dilate the cervix. Believe you me, I tried.
moms being tickled
And here I thought I had heard about every fetish there was. I mean, if a conservative Congressman can have a diaper fetish catered to by hookers and still help run the country, I guess anything is possible. Just be aware? Anyone who attempts to tickle THIS mom is likely to end up with a sharp knee or elbow thrust in the direction of very tender body parts. (Shoot, there's probably a fetish for that, too, out there somewhere.)
homemade bazooka bean cans
This might be the coolest way anyone has accidentally google'd me - ever! I mean, it's gotta be like a snipe hunt, right? Beans! Explosions! ... Add in a box of matches and a dark room and this is pure (fifth grade) comedy gold!
stories of having pants taken down by a woman for the first time for sex and spanking
For the record? A woman has never taken my pants down for sex OR spanking, nor have I ever blogged about such an experience. If it ever happens, though? I'll be sure to post all the sordid details, in between hits off my crack pipe and swigs of Jack Daniels.
jumping jacks dilate cervix
Sadly, jumping jacks at full term will only make the baby angry and very likely cause you to rupture something. I do not recommend this as a means to induce labor, nor to dilate the cervix. Believe you me, I tried.
moms being tickled
And here I thought I had heard about every fetish there was. I mean, if a conservative Congressman can have a diaper fetish catered to by hookers and still help run the country, I guess anything is possible. Just be aware? Anyone who attempts to tickle THIS mom is likely to end up with a sharp knee or elbow thrust in the direction of very tender body parts. (Shoot, there's probably a fetish for that, too, out there somewhere.)
homemade bazooka bean cans
This might be the coolest way anyone has accidentally google'd me - ever! I mean, it's gotta be like a snipe hunt, right? Beans! Explosions! ... Add in a box of matches and a dark room and this is pure (fifth grade) comedy gold!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Tomorrow is Christmas, It's Practically Here!
Tomorrow my husband comes home. In my world, this is much cooler than Christmas. In fact, if you wanted to combine Christmas, New Year's Eve, July Fourth, and my Birthday all into one uber-holiday, still this would not come close to the unadulterated joy that I am anticipating on seeing my man.
In spite of the fact that we have not had an actual evening out all alone since... um... wait, wait.. I know we've had at least one since Toby was born... I suppose last year's Office Christmas Party? Yeah, that would be last December. Merciful heaven, I really should stop trying to remember that, because it's really too depressing to fathom.
BUT! I digress!
In spite of this, we somehow manage to be ridiculously happy and in love. (If you just threw up a little - in your mouth - just then? You should probably stop reading now, as this is only going to get more syrupy.) (It's my blog, I'm allowed.)
When I was a little girl, imagining what it would be like to be married, not a single one of those naive fantasies even came close to the real thing. Instead of the galant white knight who worships the ground I walk on? I got a guy with a sense of humor who does dishes and changes diapers.
Okay, so he worships the ground I walk on, too. But, really, after a few babies? That whole "Does dishes" thing? That's about as sexy as it gets. Like female Viagra, but better (and completely minus the risk for priapism).
We laugh at the same things. We're both obsessed with "So You Think You Can Dance". We're both also obsessed with good food - the more exotic, the better, as long as the taste blows the mind. He bathes the kids, and even though I give him a hard time for having a seat and reading the latest issue of "Wired" while the kids splash around in the tub, he really does get them washed and into their jammies and ready for me to tuck into bed with a kiss and a pat.
After two whole weeks of parenting without a partner, I have realized just how much I depend on him to help me keep this place running. I have also realized how much I depend on him to keep ME running - to keep me sane, and fill my days with laughter and insightful commentary on this mad old world we live in.
And so it is, with heart in throat, that I have realized once again just how fracking lucky I really am. With my Grandma in the hospital, everything we have been through the last weeks and months, and my last nerve beginning to fray as I clean up the second broken glass and third pile of animal vomit, I pause to consider that I have every reason to be a total wreck at this point.
Every reason but one. And in a few hours, he'll be winging his way homeward with stories and presents and one of his world-famous bear-hugs.
Everything is going to be just fine.
In spite of the fact that we have not had an actual evening out all alone since... um... wait, wait.. I know we've had at least one since Toby was born... I suppose last year's Office Christmas Party? Yeah, that would be last December. Merciful heaven, I really should stop trying to remember that, because it's really too depressing to fathom.
BUT! I digress!
In spite of this, we somehow manage to be ridiculously happy and in love. (If you just threw up a little - in your mouth - just then? You should probably stop reading now, as this is only going to get more syrupy.) (It's my blog, I'm allowed.)
When I was a little girl, imagining what it would be like to be married, not a single one of those naive fantasies even came close to the real thing. Instead of the galant white knight who worships the ground I walk on? I got a guy with a sense of humor who does dishes and changes diapers.
Okay, so he worships the ground I walk on, too. But, really, after a few babies? That whole "Does dishes" thing? That's about as sexy as it gets. Like female Viagra, but better (and completely minus the risk for priapism).
We laugh at the same things. We're both obsessed with "So You Think You Can Dance". We're both also obsessed with good food - the more exotic, the better, as long as the taste blows the mind. He bathes the kids, and even though I give him a hard time for having a seat and reading the latest issue of "Wired" while the kids splash around in the tub, he really does get them washed and into their jammies and ready for me to tuck into bed with a kiss and a pat.
After two whole weeks of parenting without a partner, I have realized just how much I depend on him to help me keep this place running. I have also realized how much I depend on him to keep ME running - to keep me sane, and fill my days with laughter and insightful commentary on this mad old world we live in.
And so it is, with heart in throat, that I have realized once again just how fracking lucky I really am. With my Grandma in the hospital, everything we have been through the last weeks and months, and my last nerve beginning to fray as I clean up the second broken glass and third pile of animal vomit, I pause to consider that I have every reason to be a total wreck at this point.
Every reason but one. And in a few hours, he'll be winging his way homeward with stories and presents and one of his world-famous bear-hugs.
Everything is going to be just fine.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Ninja Parenting: Birds and Bees Edition
Jack: "Mommy? When I was a baby in your belly, how did I get out of there?"
Me: "Well, we went to the hospital, and the doctor took you out."
Jack: "But how did he take me out of there?"
Me: "Umm. For now? Let's say through my belly button."
Jack: "But how did the doctor open your belly button?"
Me: "I'm not exactly sure. Ask me again when you're older, okay?"
Jack: "Okay, Mommy! Can we have ice cream for lunch?"
Me: "Well, we went to the hospital, and the doctor took you out."
Jack: "But how did he take me out of there?"
Me: "Umm. For now? Let's say through my belly button."
Jack: "But how did the doctor open your belly button?"
Me: "I'm not exactly sure. Ask me again when you're older, okay?"
Jack: "Okay, Mommy! Can we have ice cream for lunch?"
Worth Having Kids Just To Hear Lines Like These.
"M0m-eeeee! Toby ate all my bikini bread!" (zucchini bread)
"You're the best mommy - EVAR! ... Can I have a marshpillow?"
"Today is Pips's Birthday! [his imaginary friend]. Can you make him an imaginary train cake?"
Him:"Mom? I really miss Dad."
Me: "Me too, baby. But I'm glad I have you to keep me company."
Him: "I'm glad you have me to keep you company, too."
"You're the best mommy - EVAR! ... Can I have a marshpillow?"
"Today is Pips's Birthday! [his imaginary friend]. Can you make him an imaginary train cake?"
Him:"Mom? I really miss Dad."
Me: "Me too, baby. But I'm glad I have you to keep me company."
Him: "I'm glad you have me to keep you company, too."
But I'm Really A Cynic.
Conversation on moving to the Czech Republic:
T: There's a lot of hold-over from the Soviet days here. Gray buildings, beaten down people.
Me: Is it totally depressing???
T: Not at all. But nobody smiles at each other on the street.
Me: Would I be comfortable there? I mean... I smile at everyone on the street. It's almost a nervous habit, really....
T: You'd be fine. I mean, you might want to tone it down a little, in general....
Me: You're saying the people there wouldn't like me?
T: No, no. They'll love you. But I think they'd be annoyed by your optimism.
T: There's a lot of hold-over from the Soviet days here. Gray buildings, beaten down people.
Me: Is it totally depressing???
T: Not at all. But nobody smiles at each other on the street.
Me: Would I be comfortable there? I mean... I smile at everyone on the street. It's almost a nervous habit, really....
T: You'd be fine. I mean, you might want to tone it down a little, in general....
Me: You're saying the people there wouldn't like me?
T: No, no. They'll love you. But I think they'd be annoyed by your optimism.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Aum Parenting. Don't Try This At Home.
Having been a single mother for almost 2 weeks now (Hi Honey! Buy me something pretty in Prague! Like a handsome Czech manny!!!! (male nanny) Kthxbye!)
Yeah, so it's safe to say that the Zen has been decidedly absent from my own particular parenting zoo this week. Case in point: I once again emoted on my poor hair. This time, I dyed it a lovely shade of medium-chestnut brown with auburn-ish hilights, and it's actually quite lovely, so that's not such a bad thing. Right? Wrong. You see, after dying and drying, I found my neck was all sweaty and the one longer layer in the back was sticking to it and making me too incredibly hot and sticky and I'm hoping this run-on sentence will distract you from the fact that I then reached back and snipped off a half inch or so of hair from my own head. It's actually pretty straight, so it could be much, much worse, but for the record - I do not recommend cutting your own hair in a fit of freak-out-ish-ness. It's not for the faint of heart.
Have I mentioned I'm not going to blogher? Oh, I have? Well, how about in the last 24 hours? No? Okay. So, I'm not going to blogher. But I am at least going to book a nice long pedicure and massage or something when T gets back into town. Or I'm going to spend a month on a commune, growing veggies in the sunshine and reading. I haven't decided which. I'm leaning towards the former, though, as my feet are in dire need of some serious attention. There have been rumors of a neighborhood petition to ban me from wearing sandals outright. It's not pretty, baby.
So pretty much I'm hanging onto sanity by a thread at this point. I'm more anxious than ever to find out about the Prague move on way or another, because if we are not headed to points European as a family, we are at least headed someplace that gives me access to civilization. Preferably, someplace in striking distance of a Metro station - I have not been to downtown DC in so long, I really couldn't tell you when it was. And some small part of me? She needs Georgetown with its snobby vintage shops and funky jewelry stores, Adams Morgan and its spectacular Ethiopian food (Hello Meskerem!), and even the National Zoo. Those silly pandas and their shenanigans...
3 more days. Then? I can go back to being only partially insane, instead of the raving lunatic I have become. A little sanity goes a long way, my friends. Especially when it comes to child rearing.
Yeah, so it's safe to say that the Zen has been decidedly absent from my own particular parenting zoo this week. Case in point: I once again emoted on my poor hair. This time, I dyed it a lovely shade of medium-chestnut brown with auburn-ish hilights, and it's actually quite lovely, so that's not such a bad thing. Right? Wrong. You see, after dying and drying, I found my neck was all sweaty and the one longer layer in the back was sticking to it and making me too incredibly hot and sticky and I'm hoping this run-on sentence will distract you from the fact that I then reached back and snipped off a half inch or so of hair from my own head. It's actually pretty straight, so it could be much, much worse, but for the record - I do not recommend cutting your own hair in a fit of freak-out-ish-ness. It's not for the faint of heart.
Have I mentioned I'm not going to blogher? Oh, I have? Well, how about in the last 24 hours? No? Okay. So, I'm not going to blogher. But I am at least going to book a nice long pedicure and massage or something when T gets back into town. Or I'm going to spend a month on a commune, growing veggies in the sunshine and reading. I haven't decided which. I'm leaning towards the former, though, as my feet are in dire need of some serious attention. There have been rumors of a neighborhood petition to ban me from wearing sandals outright. It's not pretty, baby.
So pretty much I'm hanging onto sanity by a thread at this point. I'm more anxious than ever to find out about the Prague move on way or another, because if we are not headed to points European as a family, we are at least headed someplace that gives me access to civilization. Preferably, someplace in striking distance of a Metro station - I have not been to downtown DC in so long, I really couldn't tell you when it was. And some small part of me? She needs Georgetown with its snobby vintage shops and funky jewelry stores, Adams Morgan and its spectacular Ethiopian food (Hello Meskerem!), and even the National Zoo. Those silly pandas and their shenanigans...
3 more days. Then? I can go back to being only partially insane, instead of the raving lunatic I have become. A little sanity goes a long way, my friends. Especially when it comes to child rearing.
Friday, July 13, 2007
One Word Meme
Spotted on CurlyGirl. Shamelessly borrowed (Nobody tagged me. Because nobody EVER tags me. Except with the Thinking Blogger award, which I never managed to give away, because everyone I would have given it to had already got it, as far as I could tell.) I have a lot of exposition in there, don't I? That's why it's good this is the ONE WORD meme.
1. Where is your cell phone? purse
2. Relationship? spectacular!
3. Your hair? faded
4. Work? never!
5. Your sister? which?
6. Your favorite thing? sleeping!
7. Your dream last night? none
8. Your favorite drink? Coffee
9. Your dream car? 442
10. The room you’re in? kitchen
11. Your shoes? none!
12. Your fears? death
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? thin
14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? family
15. What are you not good at? living
16. Muffin? bran
17. One of your wish list items? time
18. Where you grew up? California
19. Last thing you did? dishes
20. What are you wearing? clothes
21. What aren’t you wearing? lipstick
22. Your pet? obnoxious
23. Your computer? Dell
24. Your life? insane
25. Your mood? exhausted
26. Missing? Husband!
27. What are you thinking about right now? sleep
28. Your car? minivan!
29. Your kitchen? rules
30. Your summer? vanishing
31. Your favorite color? green
32. Last time you laughed? today
33. Last time you cried? dunno
34. School? someday
35. Love? surrounded!
There. Now I tag Allie, Stitches, and 1LDSmom. I've shown you mine now, ladies. Time to show me yours... *grin*
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Reasons To Stay Sane and Flash a Smile.
* Baking waaaay too much zucchini bread.
We had several zucchinis (zucchinii?) that were teetering on the brink in our refridgerator, so yesterday I bit the bullet and baked my little heart out. I used to bake all the time, but have got out of the habit in recent years. So! We now have zucchini muffins, zucchini loaf, and a yet another zucchini loaf baked in a bundt pan. I'm stocking the freezer, and we'll be eating it for breakfast from now until New Year's, I expect.
* Funky Beaded Necklaces
I have quite a collection, now. I love the way the beads rattle together when I run down the stairs to grab something-or-other that one of the boys forgot (and absolutely must have in time for bedtime). I like fidgeting with them when I'm watching t.v. or thinking really hard about something. Like today - I was thinking really hard about what the hell I was going to do with all that zucchini bread. And there they were, handily around my neck, clickety-clacking between my fingers as I pondered this earth-shattering question. And then - BAM! - the answer came to me. This, THIS, is why we bought the World's Biggest Chest Freezer and stuck it, half-empty, in our basement. Tah-dah!
* Sudden rain showers
It was overcast most of the day yesterday - not to mention muggy. It's that antsy sort of weather, the kind where you know that the intent is to rain, but Mother Nature just can't seem to get on with it. Then, unexpectedly, you hear a timid rapping on the back door. You turn, thinking perhaps it is an uninvited guest - maybe a neighbor coming to tell you that the fence is falling apart into his yard again. But before you have the chance to finish the thought - or rise from your chair, you hear the rest of the downpour and realize it's a thunder-boomer. Also - if you happen to be me (and I do - happen to be me, that is) you remember that you left the windows of the minivan cracked open and then you go running out into the storm in order to roll them back up. Of course, you get soaked to the skin in the process and spend the next half hour looking like a particularly bedraggled form of drowned rat. But you don't mind, because it's the first time in a long time you remember being out in a summer rainstorm.
* Fried Green Tomatoes
Thanks be to T's mama and her stop at the Sweet Corn Man's veggie stand. 3 green tomatoes have been camping in my fridge, just waiting for me to get up the gumption to wash them, slice them, and dress them in raw egg and cornmeal wrapping. Today? I had gumption to spare. And they were delicious.
* My Better Half
The bad news? T's Czech adventure was extended by another week, and I won't get to see him tomorrow as planned. The good news? He calls just to hear my voice and regale me with tales of eating pork knuckle and wandering the streets of Pardubice. And he insisted they get him back in time for Jack's birthday on the 24th - because it is important. As much as I worry about him being something of a workaholic, he's setting a good boundary line between work and life at this new job. Just knowing that he's spending half the time thinking "This would be so much cooler if Mel was with me to see it" gives me a really, extraordinarily, spectacularly big smile. Love rocks.
We had several zucchinis (zucchinii?) that were teetering on the brink in our refridgerator, so yesterday I bit the bullet and baked my little heart out. I used to bake all the time, but have got out of the habit in recent years. So! We now have zucchini muffins, zucchini loaf, and a yet another zucchini loaf baked in a bundt pan. I'm stocking the freezer, and we'll be eating it for breakfast from now until New Year's, I expect.
* Funky Beaded Necklaces
I have quite a collection, now. I love the way the beads rattle together when I run down the stairs to grab something-or-other that one of the boys forgot (and absolutely must have in time for bedtime). I like fidgeting with them when I'm watching t.v. or thinking really hard about something. Like today - I was thinking really hard about what the hell I was going to do with all that zucchini bread. And there they were, handily around my neck, clickety-clacking between my fingers as I pondered this earth-shattering question. And then - BAM! - the answer came to me. This, THIS, is why we bought the World's Biggest Chest Freezer and stuck it, half-empty, in our basement. Tah-dah!
* Sudden rain showers
It was overcast most of the day yesterday - not to mention muggy. It's that antsy sort of weather, the kind where you know that the intent is to rain, but Mother Nature just can't seem to get on with it. Then, unexpectedly, you hear a timid rapping on the back door. You turn, thinking perhaps it is an uninvited guest - maybe a neighbor coming to tell you that the fence is falling apart into his yard again. But before you have the chance to finish the thought - or rise from your chair, you hear the rest of the downpour and realize it's a thunder-boomer. Also - if you happen to be me (and I do - happen to be me, that is) you remember that you left the windows of the minivan cracked open and then you go running out into the storm in order to roll them back up. Of course, you get soaked to the skin in the process and spend the next half hour looking like a particularly bedraggled form of drowned rat. But you don't mind, because it's the first time in a long time you remember being out in a summer rainstorm.
* Fried Green Tomatoes
Thanks be to T's mama and her stop at the Sweet Corn Man's veggie stand. 3 green tomatoes have been camping in my fridge, just waiting for me to get up the gumption to wash them, slice them, and dress them in raw egg and cornmeal wrapping. Today? I had gumption to spare. And they were delicious.
* My Better Half
The bad news? T's Czech adventure was extended by another week, and I won't get to see him tomorrow as planned. The good news? He calls just to hear my voice and regale me with tales of eating pork knuckle and wandering the streets of Pardubice. And he insisted they get him back in time for Jack's birthday on the 24th - because it is important. As much as I worry about him being something of a workaholic, he's setting a good boundary line between work and life at this new job. Just knowing that he's spending half the time thinking "This would be so much cooler if Mel was with me to see it" gives me a really, extraordinarily, spectacularly big smile. Love rocks.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Lots of words... too few illustrations.
My battery is dead and I cannot, for the life of me, locate the battery charger for my camera. So the search will continue, and there are still no photos of the boys or our Ohio excursion. Also? I just realized we didn't take any photos with my sister. Because I am a moron.
So I'm sitting here and feeling rather sorry for myself - not the least of which because I will absolutely, definitely, and completely NOT be going to BlogHer in Chicago at the end of this month. Because there are people there I would really, really like to sit next to and learn from. Also? I would like to find MochaMomma and give her bum a good firm "hello" smack, and then wait for her to figure out who the hell I am. Because once she placed the face, she'd appreciate my unhinged brand of humor. And my fabulous shoes.
I've been thinking about this blogging thing again. Why do I do it? Now that I have family reading it, I have to admit to a certain level of self-censorship. I really need to quit that - to stop holding back because of what it might reveal about me to family. It's difficult, though. It's so much easier to be completely genuine when I have no idea who I'm talking to. It's the same reason I can have ridiculously fantastic conversations with total strangers at parties while I struggle to put my thoughts into words with people I have known for years.
I should clarify that - with some people I have known for years. There are a select few who know me, love me, and forgive (and even sometimes embrace) my meandering stream-of-consciousness ramblings (yes, I do that in person, too). My husband, for one. My friend the Rocash. Dr. Allie. Sheena. Trucker Man Dan. There have been others, but these are the ones who have known me longest and best, and were never frightened off when I start rambling aloud about the nature of existence or pontificating on the nature of morality or the idea of "God" as a way to describe Unified Field Theory, or vice-versa.
I like to talk a lot. Many times, I talk about things about which I have only a very rudimentary understanding. Other times, I talk about crochet patterns or recipes for a better breakfast burrito. (I have a killer one if anybody is interested.)
The problem, though, is that I live in the suburbs. Instead of bringing some sense of community, a "We're all in this together"-ness, I find it a place of isolation. A place where neighbors know very little about each other, unless somebody's husband is having an affair or someone forgets to mow their lawn.
So, in the end, I think the biggest reason that I keep on with this Blogging business is because it is often the closest I can come to having a meaningful conversation. Okay, so the conversation is mainly with myself - but, again, that is something I do in person, as well. It's a habit handed down from my mother, who always said that sometimes it was the best conversations she ever had. Of course, people look at me funny from time to time - like when I'm in the grocery store and don't realize I'm doing it. "Let's see... we need eggs, bread, milk, cheese... Oh! No, wait, I bought cheese yesterday, didn't I.... well, hummus and pitas, then. Something else snacky..."
A few things have happened lately that have made writing here difficult. One is the sheer weight of responsibility in being a wife, a mum, and a housekeeper, cook, maid, and taxi driver. The other, more recent and pressing, is a personal matter that I told my husband I would not blog about. I had no idea it would be so difficult.
Because, in the end, the people I want most to talk to about things are the ones who will just listen. I'm a great listener, too - don't get me wrong. But when my head is full, sometimes I just need someone to listen while the pressure valve releases. Someone who won't judge, or look at me differently because of the self-revelations that may be mixed in with all the chitter-chatter.
My sister mentioned that she and I have always got along - that she always knew I didn't judge her. I simply take people as I find them and, if they want to know something from me, I try to pass it along as best I know how. I don't assume everyone wants my advice. I don't expect everyone else to live according to my blueprint for their lives. I figure everyone is on their own path, and the best I can do is maybe talk when I have something to say, and keep my mouth shut if somebody doesn't want to hear it.
I think this is the one place that I can talk, and it doesn't matter if anyone wants to hear it or not. It's the one place I can have a conversation with myself, and let anyone who wants join in. Very few people have jumped into the discussion, to be sure... but as long as I live the conversation will continue in one form or another.
If I had the chance to describe life on the simplest level, it would be something along these lines: It's all one long conversation that began before I was born and will continue after I am gone, and for a brief, small moment I get to take part in it.
So I'm sitting here and feeling rather sorry for myself - not the least of which because I will absolutely, definitely, and completely NOT be going to BlogHer in Chicago at the end of this month. Because there are people there I would really, really like to sit next to and learn from. Also? I would like to find MochaMomma and give her bum a good firm "hello" smack, and then wait for her to figure out who the hell I am. Because once she placed the face, she'd appreciate my unhinged brand of humor. And my fabulous shoes.
I've been thinking about this blogging thing again. Why do I do it? Now that I have family reading it, I have to admit to a certain level of self-censorship. I really need to quit that - to stop holding back because of what it might reveal about me to family. It's difficult, though. It's so much easier to be completely genuine when I have no idea who I'm talking to. It's the same reason I can have ridiculously fantastic conversations with total strangers at parties while I struggle to put my thoughts into words with people I have known for years.
I should clarify that - with some people I have known for years. There are a select few who know me, love me, and forgive (and even sometimes embrace) my meandering stream-of-consciousness ramblings (yes, I do that in person, too). My husband, for one. My friend the Rocash. Dr. Allie. Sheena. Trucker Man Dan. There have been others, but these are the ones who have known me longest and best, and were never frightened off when I start rambling aloud about the nature of existence or pontificating on the nature of morality or the idea of "God" as a way to describe Unified Field Theory, or vice-versa.
I like to talk a lot. Many times, I talk about things about which I have only a very rudimentary understanding. Other times, I talk about crochet patterns or recipes for a better breakfast burrito. (I have a killer one if anybody is interested.)
The problem, though, is that I live in the suburbs. Instead of bringing some sense of community, a "We're all in this together"-ness, I find it a place of isolation. A place where neighbors know very little about each other, unless somebody's husband is having an affair or someone forgets to mow their lawn.
So, in the end, I think the biggest reason that I keep on with this Blogging business is because it is often the closest I can come to having a meaningful conversation. Okay, so the conversation is mainly with myself - but, again, that is something I do in person, as well. It's a habit handed down from my mother, who always said that sometimes it was the best conversations she ever had. Of course, people look at me funny from time to time - like when I'm in the grocery store and don't realize I'm doing it. "Let's see... we need eggs, bread, milk, cheese... Oh! No, wait, I bought cheese yesterday, didn't I.... well, hummus and pitas, then. Something else snacky..."
A few things have happened lately that have made writing here difficult. One is the sheer weight of responsibility in being a wife, a mum, and a housekeeper, cook, maid, and taxi driver. The other, more recent and pressing, is a personal matter that I told my husband I would not blog about. I had no idea it would be so difficult.
Because, in the end, the people I want most to talk to about things are the ones who will just listen. I'm a great listener, too - don't get me wrong. But when my head is full, sometimes I just need someone to listen while the pressure valve releases. Someone who won't judge, or look at me differently because of the self-revelations that may be mixed in with all the chitter-chatter.
My sister mentioned that she and I have always got along - that she always knew I didn't judge her. I simply take people as I find them and, if they want to know something from me, I try to pass it along as best I know how. I don't assume everyone wants my advice. I don't expect everyone else to live according to my blueprint for their lives. I figure everyone is on their own path, and the best I can do is maybe talk when I have something to say, and keep my mouth shut if somebody doesn't want to hear it.
I think this is the one place that I can talk, and it doesn't matter if anyone wants to hear it or not. It's the one place I can have a conversation with myself, and let anyone who wants join in. Very few people have jumped into the discussion, to be sure... but as long as I live the conversation will continue in one form or another.
If I had the chance to describe life on the simplest level, it would be something along these lines: It's all one long conversation that began before I was born and will continue after I am gone, and for a brief, small moment I get to take part in it.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Come Fly The Smelly Skies...
So T made it across the Atlantic and over to the Czech Republic.
When I flew to Las Vegas, I followed the prescribed protocol for items to pack in carry-on luggage, and put the rest in my checked bag. Because T was travelling internationally, he was advised to avoid the hassle of attempting to retrieve checked baggage by taking only 1 carry-on for the entire 5-day trip. Also? My husband has the dark and swarthy looks, including the so-brown-they're-nearly-black eyes, of a Middle Eastern gentleman, especially when rockin' his summer tan. This is especially bizarre, as his heritage - the best we can figure - is actually mostly German and Scandinavian. Even so, on the best of days, he can expect to be stopped and searched at least once on every airport outing.
It is worth noting that the following items were removed from him at the security checkpoint at Dulles:
- Deoderant
- Toothpaste
- Lotion
And so... poor T. His flight was not made any safer (or more comfortable back there in coach) by the confiscation of his toiletries. On the contrary, he merely arrived in Prague with the prospect of spending his first day there sweaty, smelly, with dry skin and bad breath.
May the TSA personnel who did this to him be cursed with horrendous body odor and incurable halitosis. And shingles, for good measure.
Hopefully he enjoys his birthday, in spite of the inconvenience of it all. It's the last time his birthday will start with a "2"... next year is the big 3-0. Just don't tell HIM that. He might spontaneously combust...
Happy Birthday, Baby. You are - officially - older than I am once more. Order a Pivo to celebrate and give yourself a big hug from me and the boys. You deserve it.
When I flew to Las Vegas, I followed the prescribed protocol for items to pack in carry-on luggage, and put the rest in my checked bag. Because T was travelling internationally, he was advised to avoid the hassle of attempting to retrieve checked baggage by taking only 1 carry-on for the entire 5-day trip. Also? My husband has the dark and swarthy looks, including the so-brown-they're-nearly-black eyes, of a Middle Eastern gentleman, especially when rockin' his summer tan. This is especially bizarre, as his heritage - the best we can figure - is actually mostly German and Scandinavian. Even so, on the best of days, he can expect to be stopped and searched at least once on every airport outing.
It is worth noting that the following items were removed from him at the security checkpoint at Dulles:
- Deoderant
- Toothpaste
- Lotion
And so... poor T. His flight was not made any safer (or more comfortable back there in coach) by the confiscation of his toiletries. On the contrary, he merely arrived in Prague with the prospect of spending his first day there sweaty, smelly, with dry skin and bad breath.
May the TSA personnel who did this to him be cursed with horrendous body odor and incurable halitosis. And shingles, for good measure.
Hopefully he enjoys his birthday, in spite of the inconvenience of it all. It's the last time his birthday will start with a "2"... next year is the big 3-0. Just don't tell HIM that. He might spontaneously combust...
Happy Birthday, Baby. You are - officially - older than I am once more. Order a Pivo to celebrate and give yourself a big hug from me and the boys. You deserve it.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Ways Not To Spend A Sunday.
I don't recommend spending your afternoon counting the minutes since your husband left to catch his flight to a far-away land. It's really not productive, and does nothing to get that sinkful of dishes clean.
I also don't recommend checking your email on a Sunday afternoon unless absolutely necessary, as it may possibly contain delicious little tidbits such as the following:
14:00, It has been noticed that our city water is brown.
Independent Fire Company IS using a Hydrant in our neighborhood to fill their truck for a Drill.
Calls are being made to see if there is anything out of order with this. In the interim:
-Do NOT wash clothes
-Do NOT Drink water
-Do NOT Bathe
They report that they are done drafting from our Hydrant, but the backwash (stirred up rust, dirt, etc. from idle pipes) could be in place for up to 24 hours.
That is just so freaking awesome, I can't begin to tell you.
Also? I do not recommend reading the newspaper, as it lately contains mostly bad news. Sitting on a chair to read the news online is also not a good idea, especially if your back is messed up and the pain increases exponentially upon remaining in the same position for very long.
Finally.. I do not recommend eating leftover pizza for lunch while whining on the internet about what a crappy day you are having. It definitely upsets the stomach.
I'm going to go watch a movie with Jack and giggle about all that laundry we need to fold and put away. See it? That laundry? Over there? It's gonna stay there at least one more day. Because the one thing I do recommend doing on a Sunday is taking a nap with a snuggly almost-four-year-old who tells stories about magic cars who visit far away lands. Lands where there are castles. (Because that's where Daddy is headed. Faraway Prague, and its castles.)
That's not a bad way to spend a Sunday.
I also don't recommend checking your email on a Sunday afternoon unless absolutely necessary, as it may possibly contain delicious little tidbits such as the following:
14:00, It has been noticed that our city water is brown.
Independent Fire Company IS using a Hydrant in our neighborhood to fill their truck for a Drill.
Calls are being made to see if there is anything out of order with this. In the interim:
-Do NOT wash clothes
-Do NOT Drink water
-Do NOT Bathe
They report that they are done drafting from our Hydrant, but the backwash (stirred up rust, dirt, etc. from idle pipes) could be in place for up to 24 hours.
That is just so freaking awesome, I can't begin to tell you.
Also? I do not recommend reading the newspaper, as it lately contains mostly bad news. Sitting on a chair to read the news online is also not a good idea, especially if your back is messed up and the pain increases exponentially upon remaining in the same position for very long.
Finally.. I do not recommend eating leftover pizza for lunch while whining on the internet about what a crappy day you are having. It definitely upsets the stomach.
I'm going to go watch a movie with Jack and giggle about all that laundry we need to fold and put away. See it? That laundry? Over there? It's gonna stay there at least one more day. Because the one thing I do recommend doing on a Sunday is taking a nap with a snuggly almost-four-year-old who tells stories about magic cars who visit far away lands. Lands where there are castles. (Because that's where Daddy is headed. Faraway Prague, and its castles.)
That's not a bad way to spend a Sunday.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Ode To A Friday Morning
Jack woke up this morning with a very large grin on his face. He changed out of his night-time pull-up and into his favorite Spiderman underoos. He decided the aluminum foil in his window (our way of tricking him into darkness at bedtime, since sunset now comes to our neck of the woods at the ungodly hour of 9:30pm) was no longer wanted and, very sweetly and carefully, removed it from the window pane. Then? He brought it to me in neatly wadded balls for the trash can. I informed him we should recycle all that foil. Eyes bright! "I will put it in the recycler, Mommy!" "Not without putting on some pants first, you won't, little man." "Awww, MAN!" And of he tromped, up the stairs to find a suitable pair of shorts. Then my genetics kicked in and, ADD assured, he thought to stop and let the dog out of his crate in my bedroom.
I can hear him now, talking to the dog about hurrying outside to go potty. Like a miniature version of me, championing Gizzy along to go and do his business. Positive reinforcement is apparently not lacking around here when it comes to matters of bowel function.
SO! I promised I would talk more about our vacation last week. It was short, sweet, and over much too soon. We drove to Canton on Monday and immediately landed on a tour of Harry London's Chocolate factory. This tour is short, sweet (pun intended) and just about right for small children to get the thrill of seeing all that candy without actually being able to get into any trouble. The tour itself starts with a free piece of chocolate and a short video about Mr. Harry London, himself. Following that, we were led into the room where they store the jillion-gallon tanks of hot, melted chocolate. Also? There was caramel, peanut butter, and confectioner's candy (aka "white chocolate") Next, it's up the stairs to a closed-in walkway above the factory floor. Jack pressed his little face up against the glass of the windows so firmly that I believe we might have left permanent impressions behind. For which I refuse to apologize - they really should expect such things in that place. I had to restrain myself to keep from licking the glass, so thick was the air with floating chocolate particulates.
After the factory tour and a quick check-in at our motel, it was off to my sister's. We took the tour of her new house, then packed up our respective broods into our respective mini-vans and headed out to a local restaurant for the biggest and most beautiful Reuben sandwich I have ever eaten. It consisted of pounds of corned beef and miles of swiss cheese. I ate the entire beast, and I regret nothing. It was sheer bliss.... as was catching up with my sis, and seeing her 3 youngest progeny. They have grown into real people. How this happened, how they have grown into actual humans from the toddlers I remember, is mystifying to me - as I refuse to believe I have aged as much as that. But they were lovely, and it was the perfect end to the day.
Day 2 was our trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. For T, this was a visit to Mecca. The building ("The Big Juicer" as our friend Kirkiez refers to it) is really not so unique looking from the outside - save for the giant, elongated football shape that protrudes from the rooftop. I found it somewhat oddly phallic, but admittedly that could be because my mind is a cesspool. I'll let you judge for yourself when I finally post the photos (tomorrow, I swear!).
It was interesting to learn all about the history of football, the teams that didn't make it (The Boston Shamrocks! The Canton Bulldogs!) past those early beginnings. Of course, we scoped out the Superbowl Rings (I kept thinking "Wonder Twins! ACTIVATE!") and the bronze heads of all those who have been inducted to Football Nirvana. It was all so impressive, it nearly convinced me to stop dreading the start of football season this year. Nearly. I'll maybe attempt to understand the regular season competition if T will at least forego the pre-season games. (Hear that baby?). The "I have to check out the players so I can put together my fantasy league team" excuse is not holding water with me this time. Pick up a Sports Illustrated and move it along.
Day 2 was capped off with a cookout back at my sister's, where we were joined by her husband - back early from a cancelled business trip. Except for my back (which earned me no end of taunting as I hobbled around like a 90-year-old woman) it was pure delight. Comfy and cozy and family and good food and all that is golden and soft-focus about summer.
Especially when I nailed an empty can with the pellet gun. From the back deck. At 50 feet. On my first and only try. Ka-Pow! Do not mess with me, because I will totally bruise your delicate bits with my pump-action pellet-gun prowess. (I need to get that on a t-shirt).
Day 3 was a jaunt up to the Akron Zoo. Yes, I saw snow leopards. I was actually left quite unimpressed, as they dozed under the hiding shade of a heavily-leafy tree. The river otters, on the other hand, provided quite a thrilling show. I giggled like a hyena, watching one of them dive and roll and swim through an underwater hollow log and such. Jack caught my enthusiasm, and we spent a good 10 minutes in front of the glass.. just watching the silly, carefree antics. I'm ambivalent about zoos in general... It's thrilling to see the animals up close that could otherwise be viewed only in pictures or on the telly. And I do understand that some valuable research comes of keeping these animals in captivity. But then I imagine how sad and depressing it is to be stuck in the same 4 walls for a long time. Then again, since there's not much I can do about it and - hey - we had a lovely day... well, I'll just leave it at that and enjoy the souvenirs from the gift shop. (A fridge magnet and an explorer's hat for Toby.)
And then it was off again home. The trip that took 5 hours going up was extended to 7.5 hours going home, thanks to the rain storms blowing across our path. This is where I once again stop and thank providence for the invention of the onboard DVD system. Curious George comes highly recommended, as you won't go insane listening to it over and over. (Thank you, Jack Johnson, for making such a re-listenable soundtrack. You deserve a special place in heaven).
So now we are home, a week has past, T started his new job, and life continues on.
T departs for the wilds of Prague on Sunday, so we're celebrating his birthday with his parents tomorrow. Which means I get to make a cake! (CAKE! Have I mentioned I love to make cakes?) And we'll probably try to do some sort of combined celebration for him and Jack when he gets back from ordering pibos with those wild Czechs.
Ahhhh, Summer. Whoever said these days were lazy did not lead my life. But at least these days are sunny and warm. I'll find my peace where I can.
I can hear him now, talking to the dog about hurrying outside to go potty. Like a miniature version of me, championing Gizzy along to go and do his business. Positive reinforcement is apparently not lacking around here when it comes to matters of bowel function.
SO! I promised I would talk more about our vacation last week. It was short, sweet, and over much too soon. We drove to Canton on Monday and immediately landed on a tour of Harry London's Chocolate factory. This tour is short, sweet (pun intended) and just about right for small children to get the thrill of seeing all that candy without actually being able to get into any trouble. The tour itself starts with a free piece of chocolate and a short video about Mr. Harry London, himself. Following that, we were led into the room where they store the jillion-gallon tanks of hot, melted chocolate. Also? There was caramel, peanut butter, and confectioner's candy (aka "white chocolate") Next, it's up the stairs to a closed-in walkway above the factory floor. Jack pressed his little face up against the glass of the windows so firmly that I believe we might have left permanent impressions behind. For which I refuse to apologize - they really should expect such things in that place. I had to restrain myself to keep from licking the glass, so thick was the air with floating chocolate particulates.
After the factory tour and a quick check-in at our motel, it was off to my sister's. We took the tour of her new house, then packed up our respective broods into our respective mini-vans and headed out to a local restaurant for the biggest and most beautiful Reuben sandwich I have ever eaten. It consisted of pounds of corned beef and miles of swiss cheese. I ate the entire beast, and I regret nothing. It was sheer bliss.... as was catching up with my sis, and seeing her 3 youngest progeny. They have grown into real people. How this happened, how they have grown into actual humans from the toddlers I remember, is mystifying to me - as I refuse to believe I have aged as much as that. But they were lovely, and it was the perfect end to the day.
Day 2 was our trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. For T, this was a visit to Mecca. The building ("The Big Juicer" as our friend Kirkiez refers to it) is really not so unique looking from the outside - save for the giant, elongated football shape that protrudes from the rooftop. I found it somewhat oddly phallic, but admittedly that could be because my mind is a cesspool. I'll let you judge for yourself when I finally post the photos (tomorrow, I swear!).
It was interesting to learn all about the history of football, the teams that didn't make it (The Boston Shamrocks! The Canton Bulldogs!) past those early beginnings. Of course, we scoped out the Superbowl Rings (I kept thinking "Wonder Twins! ACTIVATE!") and the bronze heads of all those who have been inducted to Football Nirvana. It was all so impressive, it nearly convinced me to stop dreading the start of football season this year. Nearly. I'll maybe attempt to understand the regular season competition if T will at least forego the pre-season games. (Hear that baby?). The "I have to check out the players so I can put together my fantasy league team" excuse is not holding water with me this time. Pick up a Sports Illustrated and move it along.
Day 2 was capped off with a cookout back at my sister's, where we were joined by her husband - back early from a cancelled business trip. Except for my back (which earned me no end of taunting as I hobbled around like a 90-year-old woman) it was pure delight. Comfy and cozy and family and good food and all that is golden and soft-focus about summer.
Especially when I nailed an empty can with the pellet gun. From the back deck. At 50 feet. On my first and only try. Ka-Pow! Do not mess with me, because I will totally bruise your delicate bits with my pump-action pellet-gun prowess. (I need to get that on a t-shirt).
Day 3 was a jaunt up to the Akron Zoo. Yes, I saw snow leopards. I was actually left quite unimpressed, as they dozed under the hiding shade of a heavily-leafy tree. The river otters, on the other hand, provided quite a thrilling show. I giggled like a hyena, watching one of them dive and roll and swim through an underwater hollow log and such. Jack caught my enthusiasm, and we spent a good 10 minutes in front of the glass.. just watching the silly, carefree antics. I'm ambivalent about zoos in general... It's thrilling to see the animals up close that could otherwise be viewed only in pictures or on the telly. And I do understand that some valuable research comes of keeping these animals in captivity. But then I imagine how sad and depressing it is to be stuck in the same 4 walls for a long time. Then again, since there's not much I can do about it and - hey - we had a lovely day... well, I'll just leave it at that and enjoy the souvenirs from the gift shop. (A fridge magnet and an explorer's hat for Toby.)
And then it was off again home. The trip that took 5 hours going up was extended to 7.5 hours going home, thanks to the rain storms blowing across our path. This is where I once again stop and thank providence for the invention of the onboard DVD system. Curious George comes highly recommended, as you won't go insane listening to it over and over. (Thank you, Jack Johnson, for making such a re-listenable soundtrack. You deserve a special place in heaven).
So now we are home, a week has past, T started his new job, and life continues on.
T departs for the wilds of Prague on Sunday, so we're celebrating his birthday with his parents tomorrow. Which means I get to make a cake! (CAKE! Have I mentioned I love to make cakes?) And we'll probably try to do some sort of combined celebration for him and Jack when he gets back from ordering pibos with those wild Czechs.
Ahhhh, Summer. Whoever said these days were lazy did not lead my life. But at least these days are sunny and warm. I'll find my peace where I can.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Cork Fell Out, and BOY Do I Stink.
Boy do I ever. Stink, I mean.
This is a good thing, though. Better than good, it's great.
I have recently tumbled into a continuing string of health issues, including more "My Body Is In Open Revolt" adventures while on our vacation (which I will write about soon. later. after tomorrow. I swear. But it rocked. And I want to die in a vat of chocolate at Harry London's.)
I decided it was finally time to dig up my Nike+ sneakers and iPod and put them to decent use. The time has come to respect my body a little more, and to whip it into enough shape that things like my spine will cooperate with me. (Plus, the exercise is supposed to help with the Sciatica... Which, for reasons I'm not at liberty to explain, I cannot get treated professionally until at least next week.) I'm rambling, aren't I? Yeah. Bear with me, people.
SO! Saturday night I strapped on my sneakers and my magic music box (iPod Nano, how do I love thee...) and went for a long run. I would guess it came close to 4 miles. I can't tell you for sure because.. I am broken, and somehow forgot to select the "begin workout" function on my iPod. So the run stats were not recorded.
I say "run" very loosely, since I have not been a runner of any dependability since approximately 1997. Back then I could run 5 or 6 miles with the aid of my trusty Walkman tape player and the mix tape that my friend Jenny made me, which totally rocked because it had a combination of STP and Duran, Duran and - c'mon - you wish you could have been as cool as all that.
10 years, 2 kids, and 30 pounds later it's more of a power walk. Which is actually better, because my knees are probably next to go. I'm not yet thirty, but somehow my body failed to notice this fact. It's under the impression it is closer to about 50 - hence the (likely) herniated disc or two in my lumbar spine.
SO! I got a few miles in on Saturday evening. Again, tonight, I headed out and managed to properly set the sensor to record all the workout stats: 2.95 miles, averaging 15 minutes per mile. Not setting any world records, obviously, but also not too shabby for a broke down old mare. The neighborhood was still light, the kids were out playing basketball and riding bikes while teenage couples strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. I never realized how many young couples with strollers there are in this neighborhood - I always assumed we were in something of a minority that way. It appears I was mistaken.
I can't guarantee I will be able to keep this up... I've had starts and stops, fits and spurts over the years as I attempted to get my body back into a healthy form. Even when we got married and I had only 150 pounds or so on my 5' 8" frame, it was more from calorie restriction, pilates, and ephedrine supplements than from actual disciplined workouts. That said, there is something about working up a good, honest sweat out on the pavement that kicks the senses into high gear and perks up the mind. Those Buddhist monks are on to something with that meditative exercise idea. Clears the cobwebs and pulls everything back towards the center.
Now if it just fixes sciatica, too, I'll be golden. And, hopefully, a few sizes smaller.
This is a good thing, though. Better than good, it's great.
I have recently tumbled into a continuing string of health issues, including more "My Body Is In Open Revolt" adventures while on our vacation (which I will write about soon. later. after tomorrow. I swear. But it rocked. And I want to die in a vat of chocolate at Harry London's.)
I decided it was finally time to dig up my Nike+ sneakers and iPod and put them to decent use. The time has come to respect my body a little more, and to whip it into enough shape that things like my spine will cooperate with me. (Plus, the exercise is supposed to help with the Sciatica... Which, for reasons I'm not at liberty to explain, I cannot get treated professionally until at least next week.) I'm rambling, aren't I? Yeah. Bear with me, people.
SO! Saturday night I strapped on my sneakers and my magic music box (iPod Nano, how do I love thee...) and went for a long run. I would guess it came close to 4 miles. I can't tell you for sure because.. I am broken, and somehow forgot to select the "begin workout" function on my iPod. So the run stats were not recorded.
I say "run" very loosely, since I have not been a runner of any dependability since approximately 1997. Back then I could run 5 or 6 miles with the aid of my trusty Walkman tape player and the mix tape that my friend Jenny made me, which totally rocked because it had a combination of STP and Duran, Duran and - c'mon - you wish you could have been as cool as all that.
10 years, 2 kids, and 30 pounds later it's more of a power walk. Which is actually better, because my knees are probably next to go. I'm not yet thirty, but somehow my body failed to notice this fact. It's under the impression it is closer to about 50 - hence the (likely) herniated disc or two in my lumbar spine.
SO! I got a few miles in on Saturday evening. Again, tonight, I headed out and managed to properly set the sensor to record all the workout stats: 2.95 miles, averaging 15 minutes per mile. Not setting any world records, obviously, but also not too shabby for a broke down old mare. The neighborhood was still light, the kids were out playing basketball and riding bikes while teenage couples strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. I never realized how many young couples with strollers there are in this neighborhood - I always assumed we were in something of a minority that way. It appears I was mistaken.
I can't guarantee I will be able to keep this up... I've had starts and stops, fits and spurts over the years as I attempted to get my body back into a healthy form. Even when we got married and I had only 150 pounds or so on my 5' 8" frame, it was more from calorie restriction, pilates, and ephedrine supplements than from actual disciplined workouts. That said, there is something about working up a good, honest sweat out on the pavement that kicks the senses into high gear and perks up the mind. Those Buddhist monks are on to something with that meditative exercise idea. Clears the cobwebs and pulls everything back towards the center.
Now if it just fixes sciatica, too, I'll be golden. And, hopefully, a few sizes smaller.
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