Human popsicle

It reached today's high of 7 below just now as I drove home passing by several lakes. These lakes are filled with ice fisher people in their large warm fish houses complete with La-Z-Boys and satellite TV. I certainly would sit in one of them on a day like today. I would not be in a portable one. No, sir. Someone was sitting in a portable fish house. It's a sort of thing that you pull over yourself like a pup tent. Nope. Let me repeat: the high today was 7 below. Who in their right mind is sitting in a portable fish house?

What's that smell?

I love Sephora. I love the samples. How fun to try something new. Yet, I have just put something on my hair that smells like the back room of legendary Minneapolis music store, The Electric Fetus. (Not that such a room exists or . . .um . . . that I would know what it would smell like, but if you've ever been there I bet you know what I mean.) Who would choose to have their hair smell this way? I hope it works well.

Autism Speaks

Our son Colin is pretty high on the Autism Spectrum Scale. In fact, our school special ed department fudges a little so that he can continue to get the services he needs. Colin is not afraid to hug and he's getting better verbally all the time. I think that probably makes it easier for me to be nonchalant about autism. I've always seen it as the way God is creating Colin to be the man He needs Colin to be.

But there are thousands of parents in our country whose hearts are breaking every day because they don't see improvement and may never. Parents whose kids won't touch them. Parents whose kids can't tell them they love them. Kids who are locked in their own worlds. The group Five for Fighting has a website where they are donating money to Autism Speaks every time you watch a video on their site. Now that can't hurt much, can it?

http://www.whatkindofworlddoyouwant.com/videos/list/filter/autismspeaks

Way, way down Egypt way

. . .on Da' Nile.

I'll be 39 on my next birthday.

Lace up my Chuck Taylors and call me Rockii

What is it about the junior high years that leave us permanently scarred? Maybe it's just me.

Last night I was in a situation where I was singing with two other -- adult -- women who were laughing and whispering while I stood to the side like the mousy haired, big glasses wearing 7th grade geek I know I am in my heart of hearts -- listening to the Beatles and The Clash while everyone else worships Madonna. I left the room in tears. Honestly now. Will I not be 38 on my next birthday? Am I not married to a nice man? Do I not sport trendy jeans and a chic-chic purse (albeit a gift from my much trendier sister)? Yes. Yes. Yes.

So what's the deal? Pull it together. Buck up, girl. Next time I shall stride in with my head high humming "London's Burning" for the world to hear. Let them have their little secrets.

. . . we'll see.

BRIT WATCH!

Brittney pees on a fire hydrant! News at 10!!

Isn't it time to lock Brit up and just leave her alone for awhile? The silliest thing I saw this week (and I think that is saying a lot) was Donald Trump warning Brittney that she was following in the footsteps of Anna Nicole Smith. Like Donald Trump is the authority on all alcohol/drug/mental illness. Like Donald Trump was a personal friend of Anna Nicole's. Like we care what The Donald has to say about anything! (Honestly man, I don't want to start a Rosie fight, but do something about your hair.)

Now really, from a fellow human being traveling along the same time line in the 21st century perspective, I am concerned for Brittney. Clearly, the girl has issues. But in the big picture of the world, I am a little disgusted she is taking up so much of our media energy right now. Isn't there a war? Aren't there kids dying? Isn't the price of gas outrageous? Isn't there trouble in Pakistan? Aren't the presidential candidates doing something? At the very least, weren't the Golden Globes cancelled?

Brittney, do us a favor. They're tryin' to make you go to rehab, and I say yeah, yeah, yeah.

The Minutae of My Life

I am trying to clean off the kitchen table:

Here is my homemade cookbook and a list of menu planning from two weeks ago. I can recycle the list. Hmmmmm, where's the list from this week? Oh, yeah, there wasn't one. Best to leave the book here so I can make one for this week.

Here's is Colin's Awana book. We should leave that here so we remember to study. And a Scholastic order form. I think it's due tomorrow. Maybe I'll just leave it here so we can decide if we want anything at breakfast. Here's some homework he did predicting measurements. Very impressive. I'll just leave that until Brent walks by so he can see it.

Here's my purse. Must clean out. Later.

Oh, here's Baby D's first birthday cards. I should . . . probably file these . . . somewhere . . . later.

Hooray! An empty envelope! I can recycle that! Nope. Wait. It's from a bill. I think that one gets pain on line. But what if it doesn't?

A bowl of Christmas candy. I could throw that out . . . but it's got vanilla Tootsie Rolls in it. Those are so tasty. They don't have to be seasonal, do they? And Ghiradelli. We don't throw that.

Here's a receipt from a bridal shower corsage I bought. I kept this so when we settled up what everybody owed, I would have proof of my part. Only we never did settle up. Or did they without me? Doesn't matter. Hooray! Recycle!

This isn't going very well.

See Spot Run

Baby D has gone straight from crawling to running. I am exhausted.

Baby D turns 1

It was Baby D's birthday on Friday. I can't believe how fast this year has gone. When Colin was born people would say to me, "Treasure every moment. It goes so fast." And I remember thinking, "No, no. It's not nearly going fast enough -- all this crying and diaper changing and bottle making." Oh, but it did go fast and Baby D has gone faster yet. A year today we were just coming home from the hospital and getting settled. Now look at us -- still trying to get settled. HA!

It hasn't been easy. My sister loves a blog called "Antique Mommy" written by a woman who became a first time mother in her 40s. I'm not quite there, but Brent is and we thought our life was headed in a certain AARP direction. Then along came Baby D and we are on a totally different path. Totally different. Totally. It has taken some adjusting.

We stopped at Target today with Shelby on her way back to school. I asked the checkout child if she would please keep some things separate so that the college bags would be ready to go. She looked at me and looked at Daniel and looked at me. I gestured towards Shelby. Earlier in the day someone asked me if Shelby was my sister. (No, but thank you, I am flattered . . . and so should my actual sister be, I think.) Then while at Target Shelby and I stopped to talk to a great-grandma I am sure was not older than my mother. How can you tell what life stage a person is in?

Oh, it's all very confusing. But it goes. My friend Linda says, "God is good. All the time." And this is true. Baby D's laughter and bright spirit have filled up a space in our family we did not know was missing. Thank goodness He did.