At Least We Know . . .

Marrow

2012-02-15T07:29:00.001-06:00

I went to a small high school. My graduating class had about 80 if I remember right. We knew each other as small children. Many of us know each other now.

Michele D was one of our sweet classmates. Michele is just a genuinely nice person with a positive outlook without getting all Pollyanna about it. Two years ago she got physically tired beyond what was reasonable for a mother of two young children. She had leukemia. We watched her fight and cheered her through chemotherapy and radiation. She needed a stem cell transplant and her brother was a miraculous match. Something like 70 percent of recipients don't have a family match and must receive from a donor. Michele got better and better.

And then she had a really bad earache. The leukemia was in her brain.

How can a blood disease become a brain disease? I have no clue other than it's weird and unfair, but that's what happened. She has not written on her Caringbridge site since January. She wrote about how much she hated being sick and losing her hair and being in bed and the pressure it put on her family.

She wrote about how much she loves her family.

I have been registered as a potential donor on the National Marrow Donor Program list since 1996. I was barely married. I had no children. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I have never been contacted about being someone's match -- until this week.

So far I have been through a brief health history. If "my" patient needs me, I will be contacted in the next eight weeks. I am compulsively driven by the love I feel for my own family and my long friendship with Michele to do now what seemed so long ago as "perfectly reasonable."

While I wait to hear, I am praying for my dear patient -- that it will not come to this, that there will be unreasonable, miraculous healing. I am praying that if she or he needs me, I will be ready and that it will go smoothly and there will be healing through this.

I am praying for Michele -- for perfection in every area of her life right now.

A Poem for Tuesday

2012-02-14T09:58:00.000-06:00

This poem is for my Grandma Malmberg, the little girl in the picture above. She is no longer with me on earth, but she is always in my heart.

Valentine for Granny
Solveig Paulson Russell

Dear Granny, here's a valentine;
I made it just for you;
This rosebud and this paper lace
Are fastened tight with glue.

This little heart I painted red,
These flowers I made blue,
And Granny, look, here are the words,
"Dear Granny, I love you."

* Gigi, in case you have been wondering, would hit me hard if I called her Granny. She has taken her 88-year-old self and her new Kindle Fire and hopped on a bus for Mexico. I am not even kidding.

Anniversary 18

2012-02-13T07:30:00.000-06:00

Eighteen years ago yesterday I married the guy in the bow tie. He wasn't wearing a bow tie that day.

He is a good father.

A thoughtful musician.

Handy around the house. Or in this case, my mother-in law's house.

My dearest friend.
And because of him all of this . . .

. . . belongs to me.

Psalm 113:9
He settles the childless woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the LORD.

How to Avoid Practicing Piano

2012-02-10T07:00:00.000-06:00

A photo essay by Preschooler D.

Start by refusing to get dressed. No reason. It's an "at home" day.

Page endlessly through book while wearing ear muffs because you don't want to hear yourself play.

Glare at Mother.

Try to convince Dad that if he plays it will be the same thing. Better really.

Be very stubborn about it until you get sent to your room to have rest time.

Cheer up.

Without being asked get dressed by self. Come back downstairs. Play piano without being told.

Smile at Mother.

End of the Day

2012-02-09T07:00:00.000-06:00

Do you get to the end of the day and say to yourself, "Another great day where I accomplished everything on my to-do list! I can't wait to start with a fresh brand new to-do list tomorrow!"

No, that's not me at all. I pass a small patch of debris in the upstairs hallway that the work guys left that needs a little vacuuming. It's such a tiny spot. It would take two seconds, yet when it's out of sight, it's out of mind. I see it in the morning when I'm getting ready and I think, "I shall go down right now and get the Hoover." Then I get downstairs and get my coffee and start chatting with my sister on the computer and doing laundry and emptying the dishwasher and helping with homework, and the next thing you know I am going into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed and I see it. Again. Now Preschooler D is sleeping and I am getting ready for bed and I think, "Well. Okay. That's the FIRST thing I will get to tomorrow."

I do admire my optimism.

Writer's Block Wednesday

2012-02-08T07:25:00.002-06:00

Blah, blah, blah . . .

* No really. Nothing cute is going on. Nothing discouraging. I can't even whine about the weather. Just plugging away at our daily life.

* And . . .

* Um . . .

* So . . .

* It's my anniversary this weekend. We're going to Fargo. Yes, there's romance in Fargo!

* Ah . . .

Okay, we'll try again tomorrow.

Getting an Eyepatch

2012-02-06T07:00:00.000-06:00

Preschooler D and I played a lot of Wii Lego Pirates of the Caribbean while he has not feeling well. A lot. We finished the regular game. Now we have to go back and tackle the bonus features. I've had a really good time playing Wii Lego Pirates, and to be honest (because I always am with you), I let him play more than a preschooler probably should. I may have encouraged it. There was something just so satisfying about flinging my cartoon sword around and -- well -- hanging out with D.

Kindergarten round up is next month. I have a very sneaky suspicion that I am going to be what one local kindergarten teacher labeled "the Criers." She said the number one goal of a kindergarten teacher was to get the Criers out of the room so their children wouldn't also freak out.

Do you think that will be me, or do you think I will have pulled it together by that time?

I was having a small mid-life crises when I found out I was pregnant with D. I didn't know what to do with myself. My career in weekly newspapers had come to an end and I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. Since then I have discovered I make a pretty good career Stay-At-Home Mom. I see no reason for me to change careers at this point, but it will be an adjustment.

Am I writing about this every other day now? I feel like I have said most of this before. It probably won't be the last time. You have my permission to skip these days in the future. I don't think I am done obsessing about it. I'll try to remember to label them "More Working Through Kindergarten Issues."

Live From the Sick Room

2012-02-01T10:26:00.001-06:00

Piano Practice

2012-01-25T15:54:00.003-06:00

Colin's homework is getting harder. Sixth grade was our last year of forced reading time. I thought we were never going to make it through those books -- but how I long for them now. Now we have pre-algebra and mixed fractions and frog dissection parts and a haiku assignment on the art of Mongolia. I am exhausted by the end of homework time. I can't imagine how Colin feels.

Being a man of predictable habits, every day when Colin finishes his homework and his Bible memory work, he asks the same question, "Should I practice piano now?" Every day my answer is the same, "Yes, go ahead."

And I listen to my son play piano. He plays beautifully. He plays effortlessly. He plays without struggle or argument, brain strain or strife. He doesn't want my help. He doesn't need my help. I couldn't help him if I tried.

We both heave a sigh of relief at piano practice time.

(I meant to take a serious photo, but Colin was laughing so hard at me, I couldn't resist this one.)

A Poem for Tuesday: Write Your Own

2012-01-24T14:31:00.001-06:00

Blog read-friend Mary Postage* had this website oneword.com posted on her Facebook page one day and I'm just in love with the idea. I say "idea" because (now, we are always honest with one another) I haven't been brave enough to try it.

But I am going to right now . . .

*Her name may or may not have been changed slightly to protect the innocent.

From the Sick Room. Again.

2012-01-23T12:49:00.002-06:00

Honey, would you like to be upstairs in bed on downstairs on the couch?

I don't want to be alone.

Okay, I am going to be upstairs. You could watch Sesame Street in my bed.

Awwwwwwww . . . when I'm in bed my eyes close.

Yes. Well. That's a risk, for sure.

Things I Need to Remember to Tell

2012-01-20T14:23:00.000-06:00

Do you remember a trip we took to Florida a couple of years ago in January. It was literally freezing which was not fun for the Minnesotans looking for some sunshine and warmth. It was fun for us, though, to laugh at the instructions the Floridians were getting on how to survive the weather.

It's gotten normal Minnesota cold this week and driving home from that baby shower last weekend I was feeling sorry for myself that I live in such a miserable climate when Garrison Keillor came on. His opening remarks were about the cold weather and what a relief it was to us Minnesotans that it had returned. We don't know how to behave when the temperature is above normal in January. We wouldn't enjoy living in Hawaii (no matter what we would tell people). God has chosen us to live in this climate because we can take it.

I loved that.

It really made me chuckle later this week listening to the exploits of my new friend Nancy who has recently moved here from sunny Southern California. Nancy has a tremendously good attitude about it for a women who, until recently, could go surfing in the ocean any time she felt like it. She was laughing pretty hard at herself when I saw her last night because she had taken her dirty car through the car wash yesterday when it was 30 below. Now if you think about this with some serious thought (and I don't mean to say Nancy isn't a serious thinker, she just didn't think this all the way through), you will see the error of her ways. After going through the car wash, she and her daughter stopped for a few minutes to get groceries and had a difficult time opening the doors of their car which were now frozen shut.

Also Nancy did not take the snow forecast into consideration because if she had, she would have realized the amount of salt which would be on the roads, making her car just as dirty today as it was yesterday when she washed it.

There are things about living in a different climate that we do not think about because some of us have never had to. I feel in a bit of a panic now. I feel a little responsible for Nancy. What other lessons of life in the snow belt does she need to know that I do not think about because I have always lived here.

Pump your brakes on ice (unless you have anti-lock brakes).

Check the forecast before you blow snow in March because it might melt/and or snow more that same day.

Dress in layers.

Just because some anxious ice fishing guy has driven his pickup on the ice does not mean it's safe. That's God's method of natural selection.

No matter what they tell you to put in the winter emergency kit in your car, you will never use any of it. It will just be a waste of a chocolate bar come summer when you find the old thing half melted in the back. Carry your boots, mittens and cell phone at all times. You're good.

Ta-Da!

2012-01-19T14:43:00.003-06:00

I know you have been waiting for news on the bathroom. Ernie, T--- (Troy? Ted? Theo? The plumber.), Tile Guy and Snookie the Taper have been gone since the first. I have been waiting for everything to be just so and all clean and lovely before I showed you.

I have come to the realization that is never ever going to happen. So without further ado . . .

TA-DA!

We are missing a mirror. We have tried two. One was too small and one was too large. We are awaiting a third.

And . . .

There's the upstairs shower. Very exciting! Sure it was handy to be able to talk to one another through that cupboard, but we are adjusting.

The one downside is that I am forgetting about the laundry because I don't see it piling up because I am not in the basement every morning. I will adjust to this as well!

A Poem for Tuesday

2012-01-17T13:39:00.006-06:00

It finally got true Minnesota cold today. I think we have hit our high of 6 degrees. There's still not much snow, but here's a beautiful poem about it anyway.

Velvet Shoes

Elinor Wylie

Let us walk in the white snow

In a soundless space;

With footsteps quiet and slow,

At a tranquil pace,

Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,

And you in wool,

White as white cow's milk,

More beautiful

Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town

In a windless peace;

We shall step upon white down,

Upon silver fleece,

Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes:

Wherever we go

Silence will fall like dews

On white silence below.

We shall walk in the snow.

New Baby (not mine, thank you very much)

2012-01-16T07:00:00.000-06:00

* Hey, I am noticing that certain words in this entry may be linked to advertisements. I need to figure out how to make that stop. Don't click on anything. I didn't create any links. We don't do advertising here on At Least. We are just about working through the craziness.

When I was in high school I was involved with my church youth at a state level. While I am no longer a part of that particular denomination, I still keep in contact with several of the very, very good friends I met there.

Roberta, Alison and I called ourselves the Sashes. We wore shiny scarves as sashes, thus the name. It was our all-girl rock band name -- only we were too avaunt-guard to be a rock band. We sang folk songs and Broadway "hits." Well, we thought we were fabulous. Our first long-playing record album was going to be "Rhinestone Kind of Night." I know you had to be there, but -- trust me -- we were hilarious. Or at least we thought so.

I wanted to show you a picture of us then, but I could not find one. I would have suffered the truth of big hair for you. I could find Ali and Birdie, Birdie and me, Ali and me . . . but not the three.

Well, anyway, it's 30 years later. If I told you the kinds of things each of us has been through you wouldn't believe it. You would think I was making it up. Ups and downs. Downs and ups. Sickness, heartache, failure. Things not so hilarious as our made-up record albums.

Today Roberta is a lawyer and pottery artist. She won't admit to either one, but she is. Alison has been literally all over the world. She teaches English as a second language. Most recently she taught in Iraq where she met Josh and came home with this most precious and delicious surprise:

That, friends and loved ones, is her first one. I won't give her age away, but you know how old I am, so you can guess Ali's about the same. It's not the best picture of the tiny baby Sash, but look -- oh, look! -- at my friend. Look at that beautiful and delighted face as she starts a brand new phase of life and hear the splash of my tears of happiness for her as they hit my keyboard.

As I think back on the trials we have faced and the many different starts and stops we have had to make, I think you just never know when new adventure is on its way. Sometimes life throws you a surprise you just want to throw right back.

But sometimes life throws you a surprise you just can't believe is really yours.

Isn't it interesting? Isn't it good?

Expiration Dates

2012-01-13T12:37:00.002-06:00

Something is wrong with this little video, but I do not have time to make you another one and you don't have time to wait, so listen to the soothing sound of my voice and I think you'll get my point.

And brrrrrrr . . .

2012-01-11T12:25:00.000-06:00

What's not to love about the ever surprising weather patterns in Minnesota. Today is cold and icy . . . and cold. On a plus note, my sinuses seem to feel better when the weather is more winter-like and less spring-like. It was hard to know what to cheer for -- the lovely moderate temperatures and sinus pain, swelling and pressure OR cold wind blowing an icy chill down the bone and the ability to breathe. Right now, I am on the fence.

There must be a middle ground somewhere. Where can I go where I can both breathe and be warm? This place must be free of yucky bugs and tropical snakes and large rodents. It should have water, but I am not into flooding of any kind. Also, I can get a little claustrophobic, so I can't have too many tall things surrounding me -- for example, buildings or mountains.

Perhaps, I'd better stay put.

A Poem for Tuesday

2012-01-10T12:09:00.002-06:00

It's another nearly 50 degree day here in Central ~~Florida~~ Minnesota. This poem struck me funny as I think of Minnesota trying to have a more southern like climate.

The New Duckling

Alfred Noyes

'I want to be new,' said the duckling.
'O, ho!' said the wise old owl,
While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling
To tell all the rest of the fowl.

'I should like a more elegant figure,'
That child of a duck went on.
'I should like to grow bigger and bigger,
Until I could swallow a swan.

'I won't be the bond slave of habit,
I won't have these webs on my toes.
I want to run round like a rabbit,
A rabbit as red as a rose.

'I don't want to waddle like mother,
Or quack like my silly old dad.
I want to be utterly other,
And frightfully modern and mad.'

'Do you know,' said the turkey, 'you're quacking!
There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;
And, if you're not utterly lacking,
You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!'

'I won't,' said the duckling. 'I'll lift him
A beautiful song, like a sheep;
And when I have--as it were--biffed him,
I'll give him my feathers to keep.'

Now the curious end of this fable,
So far as the rest ascertained,
Though they searched from the barn to the stable,
Was that only his feathers remained.

So he wasn't the bond slave of habit,
And he didn't have webs on his toes;
And perhaps he runs round like a rabbit,
A rabbit as red as a rose.

From the Sick Room

2012-01-09T17:57:00.000-06:00

Mommy?

Yes, my love. What is it? What can Mother do? Do you need water? Would you like a light snack or does your tummy hurt? Do you think you need to throw up? Are you hot? Or are you cold? Do you need more blanket? Does your head still hurt? What can I do?

Mommy?

Yes, darling, what do you need?

I need you to move out of the way. You're blocking the TV.

Oh . . . yeah . . . sure. I'll just move over . . . here . . .

What I meant was . . .

2012-01-06T13:52:00.001-06:00

First of all it's 45 degrees and still climbing in Central Minnesota right now. If I had my makeup on I'd make a little movie for you . . . but I don't. It's unusually warm. I have snow boots I bought this fall I haven't worn yet. Go figure.

Okay. Have you even made a comment you that was a perfectly innocent statement of fact only to have your listener (or two) reel back in horror and proceed to tell you how wrong and short sighted you are?

I have. Um, recently. It feels awful. I think the worse part about it is I thought my listener(s) knew me better than that -- might have given me the benefit of the doubt. Might have said, "I'm not sure what you mean."

No, I think the worst part of it was trying to tell this story to a dear friend through email today and making it more complicated by comparing the incident to a situation where I might actually have been short sighted. My analogy was confusing and I have made it worse yet by sending 15 follow-up emails. "No, what I meant is this . . . Do you see where I am heading . . . Let me give you another example." She hasn't responded yet. Maybe she's fallen into coma. Or more likely maybe she's giving me a chance to settle down.

What is it about finding people who really understand us, or understand our intentions at least, that can make us so crazy? I know I am not alone in this.

Sometimes we get so wounded we clam up and refuse to make friends.
Sometimes we make as many friends as they can so that we never have to be close to anyone.
Sometimes we say too much.
Sometimes we don't say enough.
Sometimes we don't give relationships enough of a chance.
Sometimes we hang on too long.

This is making my mind spin. I am going to eat a leftover caramel and quit feeling sorry for myself. Hooray for the healing powers of homemade candy.

Birthday Boy

2012-01-05T13:21:00.001-06:00

Well, the decorations still aren't down, but we had to take a break yesterday to celebrate Preschooler D's 5th birthday.

I won't lie to you. I don't particularly think of myself as sentimental mother, but . . . well . . . that picture seems like yesterday. I am sure we took it yesterday. I think he is watching for Colin. Look at that saggy, romper butt. Look at his chubby little feet. Look how he barely can see over the screen

Ah, jeepers.

No, I tell you. Childhood goes so stinkin' fast. Next thing you know your tiny baby is being surround by his peers acting as candles.

He's coloring with thin markers instead of those chubby crayons.

Why, tomorrow he'll probably be getting his license or graduating from college.

Heaven help me from rushing things.

Marking the Ornaments

2012-01-03T14:59:00.001-06:00

Some years I put the Christmas ornaments away with more care and organization than others. This year Brent and I have terrible colds. I'm souped up on TheraFlu, so I'm not really sure what's going on. One year my mother-in-law made some comment about marking things in case she died that year. I don't remember exactly what she said, but it drew eye rolling and heavy sighing from all family members. She was in no more danger of dying that year than anyone else.

Keeping track of several Caring Bridge sites this year and the death of my college friend's husband this fall reminds me that every Christmas, every year, every day brings change. We don't know how next year will be different than the last.

So . . . it feels a little morbid and I creep my own self out, but it is important to me to take the time to mark and put away the kids' ornaments because I think the only one who knows for sure whose ornament is whose is me.

Here's Colin's ornament from his Aunt Cyberspace Sarah this year. I've just noticed. It's got that horrid song about spring being late on it.

No! I told you I am souped up on cold medicine!! Marshmallow World is the horrid song about spring being late.

Post Christmas Life

2012-01-02T10:13:00.000-06:00

Preschooler D with cousins in Wisconsin last week.

You must jog over to little Minnesota Mom Margaret's blog. She presses on celebrating Christmas here on day nine. There is a misconception that the 12 days of Christmas are before Christmas. They actually start with Christmas Day as day one with the partridge and all that. They end on Epiphany, the day which tradition says is the day the wise men finally made it to Baby Jesus. There should be more celebrating after Christmas day. It was a painful stab in my heart to go to my local grocery store last Monday and find that they had put the Valentine candy out. Come on, little hometown grocery. How pre-ghost Scrooge of you.

Colin singing carols with some new Wisconsin friends.

My mom was really good at making Christmas last until Epiphany. I hardly ever make it. I insist on having my trees lit through January 1, but today I am starting to take things down. The personalities in my family thrive on schedule, order and sameness and we have had a lot of excitement the past month.

Speaking of January 1, who besides me stumbled into the den yesterday, blurry eyed, coffee in hand only to discover the Rose Parade never takes place on a Sunday.

Cyberspace with small niece and me with a Christmas tree coming out of my head.

The Bag, part 2

2011-12-26T10:45:00.001-06:00

Remember this blog entry?

Well, how loud did I yell when I looked down into the gift bag at my feet and saw this:

What a merry Christmas! I am so easily amused.

And I don't think that's a bad thing . . .

Merry Christmas

2011-12-25T11:31:00.003-06:00

Merry Christmas from my crazy family to yours!

S'on Jeremy, Preschooler D, CAAB Rachel

Favorite S'daughter Shelby
(who has a hard time smiling and keeping her eyes open. We took 20 pictures to get this one.)

Colin

Big Daddy and me, your crazy hostess

Solstice Dance

2011-12-22T09:33:00.001-06:00

Christmas is a Time for Miracles

2011-12-21T17:53:00.001-06:00

The tile guy was here! The tile guy was here!

I had to choose the color of my grout. This decision sealed my choice to never ever build my own home. I cannot handle it.

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-12-20T10:48:00.003-06:00

I have two words for blog-reader friend Sue: Decapitated Reindeer. If you were a small child in the Alexandria, Minn, area during the 1970s, you might know what I am talking about. Alexandria has some city decorations that look like decapitated reindeer. Sue insists it's just me. If I get a chance to go past the street where these decorations are currently hanging, I will photograph them for you and you can decide. Until then, you will just have to use your imagination. I find them frightening.

In cheerier holiday news, here's a poem by the Wind in the Willows guy:

Christmas Carol
Kenneth Grahame

Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet —
You by the fire and we in the street —
Bidding you joy in the morning!

For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and benison —
Bliss tomorrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!

Good man Joseph toiled through the snow —
Saw the star o'er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go —
Welcome thatch, and litter below!
Joy was hers in the morning!

And then they heard the angels tell,
"Who were the first to cry Nowell?
Animals all, as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!"

School Concerts

2011-12-19T07:34:00.000-06:00

Blog reader-friend Mary thought that I should blog today about singing in the alumni choir at Colin's concert yesterday, but there's not much to say. I thought I didn't need the music. I did.

It's been such a fun season of holiday school concerts with the sons.

Director son . . .

Middle school son . . .

Preschool son . . .

There are great disadvantages to having kids 21 years apart from oldest to youngest, but one of the advantages is there is very little fighting. One of the most fun parts of these concerts for me was watching the brothers cheer one another on at each concert. Oldest couldn't be at youngest one's school concert, but after Colin's concert he took time to hang out with just D which warmed the cockles of this mother's heart -- especially since he played a Wii game of which I have grown particularly weary.

Then Jeremy got in his new car and drove home to his own home where his wife was waiting. That probably doesn't happen when your preschooler is done playing with his brother. HA!

FOUR! FOUR days to solstice!

Tree Topper

2011-12-16T12:32:00.001-06:00

Maybe you know the story of how, when Cyberspace Sarah got married, she most looked forward to topping her tree with her own tree topper. She could not have her own tree topper, though, because of the cute thing her husband had done as a small child. One year while Brennan's family was decorating the tree, Brennan ever so innocently asked, "Why do we put a star on top of the tree? Baby Jesus should go on the top of the tree. Christmas is about Jesus." (or something like that.) Cute right? Thereafter his family's tree was topped by Baby Jesus and when Cyberspace got married, she married the Baby Jesus Tree Topper.

What was she supposed to say? "There will be no Baby Jesus on my tree!"

No. No. No.

As her sister, I always found the story hilarious. I take my tree toppers very seriously. In fact, the reason Cyberspace looked forward to having her own tree was because my angel went on top of our tree at home.

So flash forward to this year when Preschooler D decorated the tree in our kitchen. I went to the basement to dig out the hand blown glass topper I had gently and carefully hand carried home from Germany. It's a thing of beauty. Multi-colored. Shiny. If you put it on the tree just right and the tree lights shine through it . . . brings tears to a gal's eye every time.

"Okay!" said D. "Now we need a Baby Jesus Christmas Star."

Um . . . but, son. Look at Mother's beautiful hand blown glass topper. Shiny.

"D," said I. " We don't have a star. We have this."

He looked at me. "We could make one."

And so we did. And, you know what? It's beautiful. Multi-colored. Shiny. If you put it on the tree and the lights hit it just right . . . brings a tear to a mother's eye every time.

A Poem for Tuesday on Thursday

2011-12-15T16:07:00.002-06:00

Okay, you know I don't go for overly-cute. Puppies and kittens and chain letters threatening angel attack and all that are not for me. I saw this at my mom's this afternoon, though. Maybe it's the dark. Maybe it's because I have some boys. I don't know . . . I liked it.

Mary,
When Jesus was a boy did he
Swing on the gates of Galilee,
Bring home foundling pups
And kittens,
Scuff his sandals, lose his mittens,
Weight his pocket with treasure
Adult eyes can never measure,
Scratch his hands and stub his toes
On rocky hills where cactus grows,
Set stones and quills and bits of thread
On the windowsill beside his bed
So that on waking he could see
All yesterday's bright prophecy?
Did he play tag with the boys
Next door,
Tease for sweets in the grocery store,
Whittle and smooth a spinning top
In his father's carpenter shop,
Run like wind to sail his kites,
Smile and sigh in his sleep at night,
Laugh with you in long-lost springs
About a thousand small, endearing
Things?
Is he the one who said that you
Should always dye your dresses blue?
With eyes bright as cinnamon silk,
Red lips ringed with a mist of milk
Did he . . . lifting his earthen cup
Say, "Just wait until I grow up?"

Mary O'Neill

Where's the snow?

2011-12-14T11:01:00.002-06:00

Just to compare, here we are walking to the living nativity last Christmas.

Ready for Tile Guy

2011-12-12T06:00:00.000-06:00

While I took to my bed yesterday to take in a few Christmas movies on Ion (because I no longer get the Hallmark channel for whatever reason), Preschooler D and Dad finished painting the bathroom.

He was very serious about it. Hopefully -- someday -- there will be tile there, but I'm not going to tell him. It kept him busy while I waited to see if Santa's daughter would find true love on the Ion channel.

Writer's Block Friday

2011-12-09T11:09:00.001-06:00

Blah, blah, blah . . .

* Pumpkin Pie Pop-Tarts. Nothing wrong with that.

*Made clerk at Gymboree laugh pee-in-your-pants style when I mentioned I was worried I was turning into Grandma because I thought Justin B. should pull up his pants. She and her grandma had been watching him on Michael Buble and Grandma did not see the point either.

* My mother brought an advent calendar back from Germany for me this year and it's hard. By this I mean the numbers are tiny and hard to find. Maybe if I put my readers on. See above.

* Bathroom Update: Nothing to report. Still waiting for flooring guy and tile guy.

* Looking forward to Christmas concerts starting tonight with director s'on Jeremy's high school concert, followed by Colin's junior concert, followed by the preschool program for Preschooler D.

And now a word from Grandma . . .

2011-12-07T09:23:00.001-06:00

Okay, not really Grandma, but can anyone explain to me why Justin Bieber needs to belt his pants below his butt? Go Google it. I'm not putting a picture of his butt on my blog.

Look, I am a teen of the 80s. I understand that pop celebrities need to express themselves through fashion. I know Michael Jackson's glove or Madonna's underwear or Prince's purple platforms. It was all odd, but they were pop stars so it was odd/cool, but Justin's pants are simply impractical. I watched him perform on the Today show. He spent the whole time while he sang pulling up his pants and pulling down his sweater in the back. I watched him on a Michael Buble special last night and he had to -- literally -- waddle on to the stage.

I don't get it.

Oh . . . what goes around comes around. When I was in sixth grade, my uncle wrote a column on how strange he found Michael Jackson. I got all fired up and wrote to the paper, "How can you print this? I've heard JT sing!!"

They printed my letter. In his next column, my uncle referred to me as a "whipper snapper."

Great. Now I'm going to start calling kids "whipper snappers." Where's this guy when I need him?

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-12-06T12:45:00.001-06:00

Brrrrrrrr . . .

When Icicle Hang by the Wall
William Shakespeare

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipped and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
"Tu-whit, tu-whoo!" A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
"Tu-whit, tu-whoo!" A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

I just looked up poor Joan. She is working in the kitchen, adding cold water to the soup or whatever to keep the pot from boiling over.

Dark December

2011-12-05T08:11:00.001-06:00

The sun rose in Central Minnesota at 7:46 this morning and will set at 4:38 today. We will have about eight hours of daylight today -- except it's overcast. To compare, our reader friends in Arizona had the sun rise at 7:18 and set at 5:20. They will get about two extra hours of daylight today -- except I read it might freeze down there. (Bless your hearts, Arizona sisters! Put on your sweaters!)

You know that secretly in my heart of hearts I love my home state, right? I really wonder if I would feel right living in another state. That is the gosh honest truth. It's green and lovely here in the summer. The snow can be beautiful. The cold puts hair on your chest . . . or something.

But -- truth be told -- these dark days are not easy for some of us. Some people handle it just fine. Others struggle to maintain good mental health. Yesterday I started crying in church and I could not stop. Would not have been a big problem except I was standing up front playing bass guitar and then I had to sing a special song for some departing missionaries.

Problem.

Just before we started, the pastor turned and said, "Let's sing the shortened version."

No. No, we can't do that. I can't do that right now.

I cried all the way through it. What a mess -- an honest mess -- but a mess.

AND my girl Anne Burrell got eliminated off the Next Iron Chef last night. Why did I even get out of bed?

Because . . . we press on through the dark and the tears. Right? At least we know and all that.

Start the countdown with me. Solstice starts December 22 -- just in time for Christmas. We are S-17!

Decorating Tyrant Retires

2011-12-01T10:07:00.001-06:00

My sister Cyberspace Sarah will testify that I used to really have a thing about having Christmas decorations be "just so." There was great ceremony to the order and routine of holiday display.

I let Preschooler D do most of the decorating of a tree we put up in the kitchen this year. I don't know. I like it.

It says, "Put things where you can reach."

It says, "Too much is never enough at holiday time."

It says, "No one looks at that side anyway. Why get shook up about even distribution."

Cyberspace is probably scarred because I would rearrange her decorations after she'd gone to bed, but I think the Christmas tyrant in me has retired. I'm leaving this tree as is.

Bathroom Waiting Game

2011-11-30T07:00:00.000-06:00

Shout out to adooma who sent us this link to the NYC saw festival! It will give you a taste of our Thanksgiving Eve. Our saw guy plays most like the first man shown in the video.

Okay.

So.

We're this far and now we wait:

Actually we are a little farther. I took this just before Snooky the Taper came. Apparently there is an art to taping and very little actual tape. Now we wait for it to dry and then Snooky will come back 2-5 more times. Then we paint because the floor guy doesn't like the painting done after he installs the floor because the ladder can dent the flooring . . . or something. Then we wait for the tile guy who has two houses to do and the owners want them done before Christmas. (Do I not want my bathroom before Christmas?) Then we wait for the electrician again. Then . . . I get a little foggy. There's more.

So, to be honest, Brent and I were getting a little whiny this morning. We want our bathroom nooooooowwwww. We didn't know we would have this long to waaaaaaaaaait.

But then we remembered this video from Sunday:

And we remembered that when our bathroom is finished clean, drinkable water will flow out of those brand new faucets -- all we want.

Maybe everything else is bonus.

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-11-29T07:00:00.000-06:00

I'm going to sneak this little one in just under the wire.

November Night
Adelaide Crapsey

Listen . . .
With faint dry sound,
Like the steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.

Post Thanksgiving Blues

2011-11-28T07:00:00.000-06:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again, you must get some adult children. They are just so handy.

What a great weekend. Oh, I won't lie to you. I got tired. That was an awful lot of excitement from my average day to day existence, but how fun. Our Thanksgiving Eve started out with church service at our old church which features a guy who can play the saw and then we ate pie. What's wrong with that evening, I ask you? Nothing.

Thursday all of Big Daddy's children ate cinnamon rolls and watched the Macy's parade. Then they helped me clean up and cook for our big party that evening. I got so busy eating side dishes covered in cheese and my own tasty stuffing that by the time I got around to the turkey, I didn't even eat it. Too bad too. I make a tasty Alton Brown turkey.

Thanksgiving Camp Out

2011-11-24T06:38:00.001-06:00

All of Big Daddy's children were safely under one roof last night. This is in our spare room, and that was a problem:

No, not a problem. We can work around that.

Since D's room has the most floor space, I thought we'd put s'on Jeremy and Rachel in his room. When D saw the camp out in his room he decided he wanted to join. Can you see him over there? The dog chose this room as well.

It made me think of this song.* Jeremy and Rachel get my vote for best Thanksgiving Eve sports.

Colin got a sleeping bag and moved onto our floor. (You will recognize the carpet, of course.) He's under there. Trust me.

This left favorite s'daughter Shelby alone in Colin's room -- which is sort of funny as she is the most social one of us all.

What a good day to count our blessings whatever they are -- indoor plumbing, children, a good sense of humor.

Happy Thanksgiving, my blessed reader friend.

* Only the Holly Arlo Ronnie Pete way. You either know what I mean or you don't. I hope you do because it's worth it.

And they're back . . .

2011-11-23T07:00:00.000-06:00

Brothers and Bathrooms

2011-11-22T07:17:00.001-06:00

When Preschooler D was born, Colin took one look at him in the hospital and said, "I don't want this any more."

Too bad, kid. He stays.

Jeremy was staying with us at the time to help out, and I understand he and Colin had some sincere discussions about the benefits of being a big brother. I'm not sure Colin was convinced.

Now, Preschooler D, like any busy kid, does not like to take the time to stop and go to the bathroom. He's had a few accidents lately, and it irritates his mother. Oh . . . I mean me, I guess.

Yesterday he had another accident and in a firm and authoritative voice I told him to march upstairs and find clean pants. He marched -- wailing all the way.

Colin came into the kitchen where I was and asked, "Are you mad?"

No, I answered him. I just want D to understand that he needs to stop and use the bathroom.

A few minutes later I went upstairs prepared to finish the battle with my small son. I found Colin in the room helping his brother with his pants. "This happened to me when I was little too."

D looked up at him and said, "It did?!"

"Yeah, it happens to a lot of people."

Oh, friends and loved ones, when I am tiny little old lady in the nursing home, I will remember this moment of brotherly comfort passed from oldest brother to middle brother to youngest in a way ol' mom never ever could.

I still need D to stop and use the bathroom, though . . .

This is it! . . . maybe.

2011-11-21T09:48:00.001-06:00

Ernie, the plumber AND the electrician are here. Fortunately, I have a coffee date with my good friend Bess, so I am leaving. I'll probably buy some extra gravy in a jar while I'm out. Shhhhhh . . . don't tell my mother-in-law.

Silence of the Bath

2011-11-18T10:44:00.001-06:00

Our neighbor is having his roof redone. Last night when we went to bed the contractor's trailers were there. This morning they are gone and the roof is only half done. I'm not sure what that means, but it doesn't seem good.

The Afterbath (HA! HA! Get it?)

2011-11-16T15:56:00.000-06:00

That Ernie Birt doesn't mess around. Check out the hole upstairs that used to be the bathroom. Can you see on the wall that there was a second outlet behind the mirror. Can you say plug in the electric toothbrushes AND the nightlight?! Why would you cover up an outlet? I suppose the great-grandma who owned this house for 50 years before us didn't need it. She probably wash and set her hair. No need for dryer or curling iron.

Also there you can get a little peek at the vintage flooring that's underneath the vintage flooring. It's very cool, but it's about to be covered up, so enjoy it now.

The pink/orange of that cupboard never really bothered me, but -- wow! -- look at it now. That may require some paint. Of course, I'm not sure how much of it will be left when the shower goes in.

The plaster on the walls was done against a steel chicken-wire like mesh which fascinated and tormented Ernie. He'd never seen anything like it, so certainly I had not. It's gone now.

Have you ever seen the Money Pit?

2011-11-15T09:37:00.001-06:00

Demo Day 1

2011-11-14T07:00:00.000-06:00

When we moved into this house 11 years ago, I found the 60's decor in the main bathroom "fun." Maybe even "quirky" -- in a good way, of course.

But can you see what's missing in this photo?

That's right. There IS a groovy tinted glass two way cabinet where Brent and I enjoyed acting out this commercial for several weeks when we first moved here. There IS NOT a shower.

So today my contractor Mr. Ernie Birt (no, really) is coming to make my bathroom less Mad Men and more . . . well . . . shower-ish. We shower in the basement now. It's not a huge deal, but as we have discussed my basement is not the tidiest, and it will be nice to not have to send guests on the carefully marked trail through the basement to the shower.

It really humbles a gal to have to do that, you know.

Leaving in the dark

2011-11-11T09:22:00.001-06:00

Before I fell asleep last night I was thinking about traveling to visit my great aunt. She lived in Karlstad, a little town on the Canadian boarder. I was sort of named after her. She was Lisa D. I was Lisa S. I wonder if my memories of trip to see her are what really happened or if my age at the time and time itself have confused things.

I don't know how many trips I might have made, but it all seems like one to me. I'm pretty sure it wasn't just one trip -- but that they were similar. We would leave while it was dark. I would be carried from my bed in my jammies and laid out in the backseat of the car -- Mom and Grandma and maybe an aunt. Where did the aunt sit? I suppose I didn't take up the entire backseat.

I suspect I started thinking about this because I saw a big steel thermos while shopping yesterday and I immediately thought of Mom and Grandma having a thermos of coffee in the front seat with them. I remember stopping to eat breakfast and changing into my clothes -- but I also remember taking food along. Was that lunch? Once you leave the town that had breakfast, there isn't much chance to purchase lunch before you get to Canada, so maybe we did.

I read one time that the problem with childhood memories is that they planted in our heads from the perspective of the age we were when they happened. What a four or five year old noticed on these trips are what is stuck in my head and the pieces that would make them make sense to a 42 year old are not -- like why on earth did we leave so early?

But there I was walking through the store, and I spotted the thermos and I thought of heading for Karlstad in the dark.

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-11-08T07:33:00.002-06:00

There's no significance to today's poem. It just made me laugh.

Daddy Fell Into the Pond
Alfred Noyes

Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And there seemed to be nothing beyond,
THEN
Daddy fell into the pond!

And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed." Click!

Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.

O, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
WHEN
Daddy fell into the pond!

Gifts for the Teen

2011-11-07T09:21:00.000-06:00

Having children spread so far apart means that for the past 10 years or so I have run into the same gift giving problem . . .

What to buy the teenager in my life?

This is an especial problem here in the early teen years when they want games and toys -- but not really -- but maybe they do -- but they don't want to be seen "playing" with anything -- but they'll be disappointed if all they get are clothes and practical gadgets.

I asked Colin this morning what was on his Christmas list.

I dunno. (This is a standard answer for nearly every question. What would you like for supper? How was school today? Would you like a swift kick in the butt?)

Well, maybe a racing game. (Okay! Now we're getting somewhere!)

For a PlayStation 3. (No. We don't have a PlayStation. We have a Wii. A PlayStation 3 is outside of the Christmas budget, especially for a family who just returned from "Central Florida.")

Colin looks at me and smiles and dashes upstairs.

I am back at square one.

Writer's Block Friday

2011-11-04T10:49:00.001-05:00

Blah, blah, blah . . .

I want to make it perfectly clear, I was not driving my car while trying to balance a wine glass on the center console. I was sitting in the driveway. I have reckless moments, but that is no longer one of them.
I just realized I have not eaten a fruit or vegetable since last Friday in the bus on the way to the airport when I ate a bag of grapes one of the boys rejected. This is bad parenting by example. This is bad for my general health. I'm not even sure how I managed it. I am usually better than this. I am going to eat a piece of cake while I drink my second cup of coffee and think about this.
It was leaf pickup here yesterday afternoon. My lawn looks clean and tidy and ready for a heavy blanket of snow. Hooray.

What's that smell?

2011-11-03T11:18:00.002-05:00

So last night the fancy schmancy radio in my car needed a little tweak which required me to sit in the car for a few minutes while a satellite zapped some information to my radio. Brent and I were having a little wine with our pasta, so here's what I thought to myself, "I shall take the rest of this glass of wine out to the car with me while I sit and wait for the zapping of my radio."

I got into the car and realized there was no good place to set my wine glass. Well, there shouldn't be, should there? There should NOT be a wine glass holder on the driver's side of the car or, really, anywhere in the car.

Now, this is the moment I should have said to myself, "This is not a good idea, dear. Take this glass back into the house." But -- no -- I did not do that. I placed it on the center console . . . and immediately knocked it off all over myself and the front seat and the front floor mat and all those handy little cubbies they put in the front of cars for you to stash your coins or maps or whatever.

You saw that coming, didn't you? Why didn't I?

I cleaned up the best that I could, but I just really, really, really don't want to get pulled over in the next few weeks. What am I going to say? "Well, officer, I had this bag of grapes and they slid under the seat and we didn't notice until they fermented . . . um . . . into wine."

The day I put the shorts away

2011-11-02T14:30:00.003-05:00

Well . . . I've got the laundry done and I put the shorts into storage right out of the dryer. In some ways, this was easier than most years. Minnesota has sort of fickle weather in the fall. On the occasional odd year you can trick or treat in shorts. Other years you need snow boots. It can be difficult to know when the moment has arrived that it's time to actually switch to long sleeves and pants.

This year there was no question. I needed to leave our shorts out until our trip. It was time to put them away when we got home. Easy peasy. Wouldn't it be nice if there were more situations like that?

Take little Kim Kardashian, for example. Apparently there was a lot of gray area in deciding to get married 72 days ago. The question, "Shall I marry a man on national television who wants me to give up my semi-celebrity lifestyle and have children and move to Minnesota" was a more complicated decision that it might appear on the surface to me. Now I believe Minnesota to be a more hip happenin' place than the rest of the country might think, and I believe we would have welcomed Mrs. Humphries with open arms. I think first, though, we as Minnesotans would have asked her, "Kim, dear, are you sure? Are you sure you're sure? Are you ready to spend six months of the year covering your . . . um . . . assets? Because that's the bottom line to living here. Also our sense of celebrity is a little skewed. We elected a pro wrestler governor. We open our doors to find Prince doing his Jehovah Witness work and we just politely say no and offer him a decaf pop (soda) before he goes on his way. We honor Sinclair Lewis as a hometown boy even though his writing mocked everything for which we stand. The rest of the world understood that. Us not so much."

No, little Kimberly wouldn't have been able to cut it here. Sometimes we put our shorts away in September and sometimes November. I imagine she doesn't put hers away at all.

Back from the Mysterious Unknown

2011-10-31T13:30:00.001-05:00

We are back from our trip to an undisclosed location in central Florida and may I say we had THE BEST time ever. We have been there (ahem) a few times over recent years and so we were able to relax and just enjoy ourselves without feeling pressure to get it all in before we left.

This was Colin's first air trip in nine years. He has stubbornly refused to get on a plane since he was four years old. I think I wrote to you that we were all feeling a little nervous about it. He did a great job coping. I'm guessing he prefer not to fly, but I think he'd do it again. He even survived well enough to humor his mother with this photo at the undisclosed location.

Now THAT'S a good sport for a junior high boy, and I salute him.

The friendliest people we encountered the entire trip -- and I have never lied to you -- were the TSA crew at the Minneapolis airport. Do you remember how I was trying to get D to practice? Not a problem with these likable folks ready to high five a guy when he walked through on his own. I would not brag about TSA in Orlando, but Minneapolis -- yes! Shout out to them!

So now we're home and we're trying to adjust to having to make our own beds and eat snacks not in the shape of a mouse head.

D would like to know how many days until our next trip. I wish I knew.

Movie Monday

2011-10-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

I thought you would be able to hear the "MOMMY, I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!" in the background towards the end, but you can't . . .

I'm serious

2011-10-21T11:38:00.000-05:00

There are houses where you take your shoes off and houses where you leave your shoes on. I tend to encourage people to leave their shoes on in my home because I steer away from things like mopping and such, but every now and again I am reminded of another reason to encourage my guests to leave their shoes on.

I am married to machinist. Sometimes I find things like this on the floor:

Thankfully, no one has ever found this sort of thing wedged in a toe.

And . . . no.

2011-10-20T08:24:00.000-05:00

Science test yesterday did not go well. Did not go well at all. *heavy sigh* What are you going to do. We pick up the ol' 10 pound science text and start again on the new chapter. Fortunately, his grade is split half homework, half tests so he's balancing out to a very respectable B-.

I am starting to pack for Central Florida. It's been a long time (well, nine years) since I have flown with children. I found myself stocking up on magazines and games and snacks and movies only to realize I was buying supplies for a three day car trip, not a three hour plane ride. I packed most of it away for emergency use over the long, boring winter.

Preschooler D and I have been talking about how to get through security. We watched the videos from the tsa website.* Brent and I set up a mock security station in the kitchen. I had a good time playing obedient passenger walking through security, but D wasn't interested.

Can't you carry me?

No, we have to walk one at a time. That's the rule.

We could walk together.

No, we have to walk one at a time. That's the rule.

What if the bell goes off?

The bell only goes off when there's metal. You won't have any. It won't go off. I give you my word.

What about that? (Pointing to small ring I am wearing.)

I will put that in my backpack until we are done.

HOORAY!!!

Please, oh, please, don't let the alarm sound!!!

HA!

* My favorite line on this page has to do with not leaving your infant in the carrier as it goes through the x-ray machine. Who would think that was a smart idea? Someone would/did and that is why they have to say that.

Helplessly Hoping

2011-10-19T10:30:00.003-05:00

I am running behind today because I woke up at 5 am worrying about a science test Colin has today. As though there were anything I could do about it. I can't.

We spent several hours studying last night, but as we have discussed before, some days it is easier for Colin to retrieve things from his memory. Yesterday was not one of those days.

Testing is never something Colin does very well, and it is just heartbreaking because he puts in the work, but when push comes to shove at test time -- nothing.

I know he's not the only kid who has ever struggled with test paralysis. Kids without autism sometimes have it too. How normal of Colin.

Still . . . this is one part I hate. The sitting around worrying before and during.

As though worrying would change anything . . .

Two bowls, Two crackers

2011-10-17T15:42:00.001-05:00

A small lesson on cold sores and a good idea from my cute and smart husband . . .

True Confession Friday

2011-10-14T10:48:00.002-05:00

Sometimes when a family member throws a perfectly clean sweater or a pair of jeans only worn for a couple of hours down the laundry chute, I just fold it up and carry it back upstairs in the laundry basket.

Pay What You Owe

2011-10-13T07:00:00.000-05:00

When my dad owned the newspapers, I worked nearly every job there was at the place. My least favorite was bookkeeper. I would send out the bills and then people would send in random amounts of money. Some more, some less -- some none at all. My motto became "Pay what you owe. No more, no less."

I start with this because we are going on vacation. No, wait. It will make sense. We are going to a resort which required payment in full on our package before we arrive. I made the down payment and then assumed that when the rest was due it would be placed on my card automatically.

It wasn't, and I didn't notice until I received a phone call today. I saw by the caller ID it was my resort . . .

Oh, let's quit pretending. We're going to "Central Florida." Why do I even try to fool you?

So I saw on the caller ID that it was Central Florida and I got all excited. Surely it was someone calling to say that they were glad we were coming. Heck, they probably were calling to offer a magnificent free upgrade.

"Hello, Mary?" (Mmmm . . . no one calls me Mary. This wasn't good.) "This is Storm from (Central Florida) Accounting."

Okay, I got stuck for a minute. Really? Her name was Storm? I tuned back in just in time to hear her say, "Are you still planning your trip because you have not paid the balance of (your amount) due on (many, many weeks ago). We will be cancelling your reservation at 5pm tomorrow if not paid in full."

WHAT???? WhatWhatWhatWhat???? NO!! It was automatic! Wasn't it automatic? I thought it was automatic!!! I've got a 13-year-old who is getting on an airplane for the first time in nine years because his father and I have talked fast and encouragingly and gotten him some pills from the doctor which we are swearing up and down will eliminate any fear he has at the airport which is sort of a bold-face lie, but we are running with it anyway!!!! We are working on "make up work" which has to be done in advance as we speak from those text books that weigh 10 pounds each!!!! No! No! No!

sigh.

I hung up with Storm and called the Central Florida and took care of it. All was well. But what a heart attack.

Let's remember to pay what we owe.

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-10-11T13:11:00.001-05:00

This poem is in honor of Colin's pre-algebra textbook which is the same size as my college accounting book.

Arithmetic

Carl Sandburg

Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your
    head.
Arithmetic tell you how many you lose or win if you know how
    many you had before you lost or won.
Arithmetic is seven eleven all good children go to heaven -- or five
    six bundle of sticks.
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand
    to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.
Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and
    you can look out of the window and see the blue sky -- or the
    answer is wrong and you have to start all over and try again
    and see how it comes out this time.
If you take a number and double it and double it again and then
    double it a few more times, the number gets bigger and bigger
    and goes higher and higher and only arithmetic can tell you
    what the number is when you decide to quit doubling.
Arithmetic is where you have to multiply -- and you carry the
    multiplication table in your head and hope you won't lose it.
If you have two animal crackers, one good and one bad, and you
    eat one and a striped zebra with streaks all over him eats the
    other, how many animal crackers will you have if somebody
    offers you five six seven and you say No no no and you say
    Nay nay nay and you say Nix nix nix?
If you ask your mother for one fried egg for breakfast and she
    gives you two fried eggs and you eat both of them, who is
    better in arithmetic, you or your mother?

Pumpkin Day

2011-10-10T14:56:00.000-05:00

It was Pumpkin Patch Day at the preschool. Imagine yourself on a school bus with 60 some preschoolers excited to see tractors, squirrels, emergency exit signs, houses, farms, trees . . . We got off the bus and I turned to mommy-friend Emily and said, "Only 13 more years of field trips to go." She threw her head back and sighed wearily.

They were so stinky cute, though. It was hard to stay jaded about the trip.

It was interesting to see what pumpkin qualities appealed to the kids. Some wanted gigantic pumpkins they could not carry. (I may have sore arms tomorrow.) Some wanted tiny pumpkins and had to be convinced that carving them would be difficult.

D. was attracted to nice medium sized pumpkins, but he wanted a clean one. I think that tells us a something as well . . . but I'm not sure what exactly.

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-10-04T12:24:00.000-05:00

If you're an RSS reader, you may have gotten a test blog entry today. Ignore it. I was checking a different way to produce entries, but in the end I didn't like it.

I'm in a bit of a mood today. I've just heard gossip about myself that I suspect someone is using to his or her advantage . . . as a ploy to mend a broken relationship . . . in church. This, I am telling you, is why Christians have a bad reputation. We talk about each other. (See Friday's entry from hair salon.) I am not claiming that I am always innocent.

While I go pull out my freshly dyed hair, you read a poem about a grizzly bear.

Grizzly Bear
Mary Austin

If you ever, ever, ever meet a grizzly bear,
You must never, never, never ask him where
He is going,
Or what he is doing;
For if you ever, ever dare
To stop a grizzly bear,
You will never meet another grizzly bear.

Weep Not for the Memory

2011-10-03T07:56:00.000-05:00

Next time, ear plugs

2011-09-30T15:30:00.000-05:00

"You cannot disregard the truth," said the man in the chair next to me at the hairdresser today. He was talking about infant baptism and he was loud.

(Now, look, my point here isn't going to be about baptism. I've had both my boys baptized as babies, but on those Sundays there was a full-page disclaimer about infant baptism in the bulletin. It wasn't a big deal to me to have them baptized as infants but it was a big, big, big deal to my in-laws, so why sweat it?)

My chair neighbor got louder. He was part of a new church which had left their old church because they disagreed with a point of doctrine their denomination established recently. Perhaps you know what I am talking about.

I tried very hard to focus on my book. I read the same page over and over.

His hair stylist said, "Well, I never talk about religion or politics. It just upsets people. Say! You know (that big church in town)? Well, they had some big falling out and people got mad and left and their offices are in that building downtown that used to be the library."

Well, first of all, it used to be the post office.

"Hmmmm," said her customer. "All I know is they aren't (MY denomination)"

Friends and loved ones, there was more to this conversation that got my blood a-boiling, but the bottom line is they were talking about my new little church with the name that continues to make me chuckle to myself. Now, lookie here. I can laugh and criticize my new church all I like but how dare, how DARE, HOW DARE they even speak of darling ~~Cataclysm~~ Catalyst without knowing what they are talking about?

Up I sprang from my chair hair dye flying everywhere. "ExCUSE me, but everyone got along at that church perfectly well. It was a large church, and we decided to plant a new one." And I turned on my little heel and marched over to the shampoo bowls where I sat with self-righteous indignation and read that same page over and over and over until it was time for my rinse.

Oh, there were so many things I could have said. I could have quoted scripture. I could have pointed out that they were gossiping. I could have gone the sweeter route and invited them to see what we are doing or to my home for small group. (I don't think they would have been interested.)

I could have just sat there and pretended like I couldn't hear and read my page over and over. How often do I kick myself because there is a time and a place to keep your mouth shut and I don't always know it?

It's too late to go back now, so let's think what we've learned from this: Leave dear ~~CatStevens~~ Catalyst alone and bring head phones to the salon.

Direct from my kitchen! Live!

2011-09-29T14:50:00.001-05:00

I've had my new computer two weeks and just discovered it's got a camera. I don't know if you can see the little video or not. I can see it when I am in edit mode but not after I have published. If you can't that's okay, I should have taken a minute for lip gloss . . .

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-09-27T15:26:00.005-05:00

It's not really a poem today. It's a Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh quote. Ms. Amber, D's preschool teacher, had it on her weekly note home last week, and I thought we could all do to remember this.

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

Too Close to Home

2011-09-26T10:29:00.001-05:00

Sheri is a truly beloved college friend of mine. Here she is back in the day walking to class at good ol' Mankato State. Go Mavs!!

I liked her immediately because Sheri just loved life and rolled with the punches. I ~~was~~ am not as good at that, and I just loved that she could. You could not be with Sheri for long and not hear her singing or see her dancing. That was the way I wanted to live and still do . . .

After college Sheri met and married Shannon. Brent and I drove across South Dakota on a very, very cold November day to Sheri and Shannon's wedding.

I hadn't met Shannon yet, but what a pair! If ever there was a man for Sheri -- here he was. Kind. Loud. Singing away to his own song. They moved to Virginia and had Ashton, who right around his second or third birthday, developed an aggressive form of childhood leukemia. Sheri and Shannon had to make hard choices to save their son and today he is 15 years old. The whole family continued to work very hard to raise money for childhood cancer and last weekend while training for a fundraising bike ride, Shannon collapsed and did not wake up. His funeral was Friday.

I don't get it, and, frankly, this hits a little too close to home. Who becomes a widow at age 42? (My grandmother Gigi, for one.) I don't like it.

Now if you think that as a Christian, I am just sitting here saying things like -- "Well, it must have been his time. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away" -- you're just stinkin' wrong. That's not what I'm doing at all. This is where I hold my little fist up to God and say, "What the heck?! Why would you allow such a thing?! Hasn't this family been through enough?!"

I don't know for sure, but His answer is probably yes and no. We don't get to pick who has been through enough. Life on earth isn't always fair. In fact, it hardly ever is.

But if I still know Sheri a little bit, after she is done shaking her fist at God, she will thank Him for her wonderful husband. She will be grateful that she was married to him for nearly 18 years. She will continue to love her son and parent him the best way she can.

Here's where character counts. Here's where faith begins.

She will continue to sing and dance.

True Confession Friday

2011-09-23T10:32:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I "mop" by wiping a Clorox wipe over an especially sticky part of the floor and call it good.

School Sales

2011-09-21T11:02:00.003-05:00

There was an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune on Sunday about how much people hate schools selling stuff. Me too -- and yet I have put a magazine link here because our little music department needs the money and not every parent has enough to just fork over cash. I prefer that idea. I think that those who can should just write a check and be done with it. Otherwise we are just buying things we don't really need or want. That's not really fair, though, because then those who can't afford to write a check or buy the stuff themselves still have to hit the streets peddling magazines.

Of all the sales we've had to do for school, magazines are the least painful. You just collect and that's the end of it. The magazines get sent directly to the buyer's home. I understand there's a Papa Murphy's pizza sale for the preschool later in the year. I love Papa Murphy's pizza as much as the next gal, but those pizzas are fresh and have to be picked up and delivered in a timely manner. There's no keeping them in the trunk until you run into the person you sold them to.

I used to buy a Christmas wreath from a highly organized Boy Scout. The year he grew up and moved away, I put a plea on Facebook for a scout seller and got a phone call from a scout father who seemed angry I wanted to buy one. He practically threw it on my doorstep. I think it had been in his trunk for several days because it was near death when I got it. The next year I bought one at a store. Didn't feel nearly as good, but I didn't have to deal with a parent who felt like he was doing me a favor.

Another sale I don't enjoy is wrapping paper. I'm sure you have a room devoted to the creative wrapping of gifts, but I don't. I usually buy a gift bag at the same time I buy the gift, or I go to the basement and find one of the many hundreds of gift bags I got when Colin was born. True they are mostly blue and have a baby or Noah's ark on them, but if you put a lot of colorful tissue paper in it sort of masks the bag and the recipient gets all excited to dig in and see what the gift is.

Beware, though, this year your gift might be a fresh pizza.

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-09-20T14:10:00.004-05:00

I don't think this poem needs much of an introduction . . .

End-Of-Summer Poem
Rowena Bastin Bennett

The little songs of summer are all gone today.
The little insect instruments are all packed away:
The bumblebee's snare drum, the grasshopper's guitar,
The katydid's castanets -- I wonder where they are.
The bullfrog's banjo, the cricket's violin,
The dragonfly's cello have ceased their merry din.
Oh, where is the orchestra? From harpist down to drummer
They've all disappeared with the passing of summer.

Too Quiet

2011-09-19T12:15:00.000-05:00

I am having trouble adjusting to the quiet on preschool days. It doesn't make me sad. It's just different. I could turn on the TV or the radio, but I kind of like it. I don't know exactly what to do with it though. Is that confusing? It's just so doggone different.

I thought I would be getting ahead on blog posts or cleaning the oven or giving myself spectacular manicures . . . but I find myself just sitting quietly in the quiet.

I don't think it will last. Do you? I think in another week or two, I am going to be a whirling dervish of activity -- radio blaring, daytime TV droning.

D loves, loves, loves preschool by the way. He is excited to go every day. I am very glad about this because when Colin was a preschooler, he went one week and then decided he'd "climbed that hill" and didn't need to go again. Been there. Done that.

He still feels that way.

7th Grade

2011-09-15T12:38:00.000-05:00

At some point this week, I realized I would be experiencing seventh grade science and social studies again through Colin. I also realized how little I recall from seventh grade science and social studies. Up until now when Colin looked to me for homework assistance, I would nod sagely and point him in the right direction. Homework last week and this week has gone more like this --

Colin: Do you think this is right?

Me: I have no idea. Can you look it up?

Now I know that this is the way a parent should help her child with homework. She should be encouraging him to figure out the answer on his own, and I think I've done a pretty good job with that. Now, though, it's because I don't know the answer either, and I am finding that way more humbling.

Colin's social studies class, World Geography, is going to be especially challenging because when I took world geography in sixth grade, it was a whole different ballgame. A large part of Europe/Asia was taken up with the USSR. Now it's all those little countries that end in "thia" or "stan." Are you like me? Do you listen to the news sometimes and hear one of those little countries -- like Tajikistan -- and say, "That's not really a country! Is that really a country?!"

So this is good. In future I will watch the news and say, "Kyrgyzstan! Of course!"

A Poem for Tuesday on Wednesday

2011-09-14T11:07:00.002-05:00

Here's a poem for my little niece who turns one today and is not named Pippa although perhaps she should have been.

Pippa's Song
Robert Browning

The year's at the spring,
And the day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His Heaven --
All's right with the world!

Preschooler D Goes to Preschool

2011-09-12T14:19:00.001-05:00

We knew this day would come. I did not have to take to my bed. It was very, very, very quiet here this morning, though.

All went well. He was happy to be dropped off and happy to be picked up. Fellow Preschooler Mommy Emily said of her twins, "They didn't cry. Why should I?" Very good advice indeed.

But we can be a little melancholy, can't we? Just today?

Crayons at Last

2011-09-09T06:41:00.000-05:00

Remember how I was wondering why D didn't need crayons for preschool? Well, he and I went to preschool open house yesterday and discovered we had been given the wrong supply list. Argh. The first five things on the preschool open house scavenger hunt had to do with putting away items we didn't have. So after getting our flu shots at the local clinic (argh again), we got back in the car to head to our local Target.

I don't know if you've noticed, but the school supplies are GONE. No, not gone if you need to buy a plastic ruler or some double sided sticky tape or a folder in a basic color or a small Spanish dictionary, but if you want a pencil box or a fun wide lined notebook . . . GONE.

Also crayons are back to their normal price. You know how at the height of school supply time they are 59 cents or something? Not any more. And here's another thing. Our list said 12 crayons. Crayons don't come in 12, do they? They come in multiples of 8. I bought the 24 pack because it's a multiple of 12. It seemed logical at the time.

Do you think I got frustrated because I am a little nervous about sending my little buddy off into the big, bad preschool world?

I am open to that idea.

The Day After the First Day of School

2011-09-07T10:44:00.002-05:00

He came in yesterday with a heavy sigh.

*sigh* "That was the longest day ever."

And so began Colin's seventh grade year.

"How many days left?" he asked on his way out the door today.

His encouraging father who seems to have forgotten Colossians 3:21 answered, "Thousands."

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-09-06T12:03:00.000-05:00

Here's a nice number by good ol' Emily D in honor of the Great State of Minnesota taking our children back today.

Autumn
Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a grayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

School Eve

2011-09-05T08:17:00.000-05:00

Last week was spent filling out school forms and double checking the supply list. My sister, Cyberspace Sarah, had "48 sharpened pencils" on one of her lists. Really? That's 5.3 sharpened pencils a month for third grade. We didn't have anything that exciting on either one of our lists. Colin must be going to a loose leaf system. His list didn't come out until last week. I'd already bought a pile of wide lined notebooks and then panicked because I thought he'd need college rule. I bought another pile. He doesn't need any of them. He needed loose leaf. I used to prefer loose leaf myself, but now I have a huge pile of notebooks. We'll need them eventually.

Preschooler D (who is going to become an actual preschooler next week!) needed two jumbo glue sticks and a bottle of glue. Apparently there is a lot of gluing in preschool . . . but no coloring. He didn't need crayons. Go figure.

Brent has just been giving a pep talk to Colin. "Seventh grade is going to be great! You're going to be doing all kinds of new things!"

"Like what?" asked Colin.

"Well . . . ah . . . um. All kinds of new things!!"

No, Colin. We fear that seventh grade is just going to be sixth grade with harder books, shorter recess and no study hall. Of course, that's no way to send your child into a new school year. "Whoo-hoo!! Who's ready for seventh grade?!"

These conversations are just hard. The other night Brent asked D what he was most looking forward to at school. His answer was, "Learning math."

Oh, son. There's no math at preschool. Just gluing.

For a little perspective on first day trauma, head over here to Rachel's blog on buying school supplies. Rachel has lived in Africa many years. This is the first year her kids will be going to American school. She also has a great entry yesterday about going to open house.

The Flaming Grocery Bag

2011-08-29T14:52:00.000-05:00

I think at this point we have established that ofttimes I find myself in situations other people just don't encounter . . . and so it was Saturday.

I found myself alone at the grocery store. I have sort of mixed feelings about this. When we go as a family it takes a long time. If I go alone, I risk hearing, "What did you get that is good?" Well, this Saturday I was enjoying my time in the grocery store. I was texting friends and studying olives. It was quiet and lovely.

I got home and set my reuseable shopping bag on top of my flat top stove. Do we see where this is going? I went back to my texting conversation until I smelled something hot. I looked up and saw that my groceries were on fire because someone had knocked the burner on.

Now . . . instead of calmly grabbing the fire extinguisher, I grabbed the hot bag intending to throw it in the sink. Alas, the bottom had burned through the bag sending melted groceries and bits of flaming hot bag to the floor. I ran to open the doors and windows and when I came back into the kitchen I stepped on a piece of melting reusable shopping bag.

Now. . . instead of calmly calling my husband and explaining how my foot was on fire, I did this, "BRENT! BRENT! BRENT! BRENT!" And I sort of held up my foot.

Now . . . my husband is a thinker. It's one of the many things I love about him. He doesn't leap into things which provides the stability our relationship needs when I want to jump in head first. Alas, it took him a moment to assess the situation and analyze the options. I felt it took too long. I want him to grab my foot and stick it under the kitchen tap . . . but . . . well . . . that was the eventual choice he made.

This all took seconds, mind you.

At any rate, all turned out all right. Everything cleaned up just fine. I have a blister shaped like Delaware on the bottom of my foot and I fear by the time it heals flip flop season will be over BUT -- really -- this all could have been so much worse. I (or the house) could have gotten really burned AND Chuck Taylors go with everything. Who needs flip flops?

Into Every Trip, a Little Rain

2011-08-26T05:00:00.000-05:00

Now normally, where ever we go, that's where the party is, but on the third day of our four day weekend, we had a bad day. I don't mean "oops" they were out of cinnamon rolls at the continental breakfast, I mean nothing went right for any of us from the moment we got up.

The first thing I did was spill orange juice down the front of myself and had to change completely. Not Preschooler D -- me. Then we hit the road for Deadwood. Now besides being a summer retreat for Kevin Costner, Deadwood is home to site of the shooting of Wild Bill Hickok. I remember visiting there as a child and oohing and ahhing the story of Wild Bill buying the farm while he played cards. The boys were going to love this, thought I.

Wrong. Couldn't have been wronger. They didn't even want to get out of the car much less trudge straight uphill to visit a grave in a cemetery. They were promised lunch and away we went whining all the way.

After paying our respects we set off to find lunch.

Deadwood, as you may or may not know, has legalized gambling. A lovely thing, perhaps, if you and your spouse are driving through Deadwood in your convertible on a summer retirement tour of the Western states. It is a miserable thing if you are trying to feed a teenager and a preschooler because Deadwood is full of gambling, bars, shooting reenactments and Kevin Costner movie memorabilia, but not much else. After wandering around for a while we finally found a place to sit outdoors and eat a hamburger.

Brent's had mushrooms.

Now normally, this wouldn't be a problem but somewhere along the four hour drive in the middle of nowhere to our next stop those mushrooms turned on my poor husband. Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. It was probably the longest 30 minutes of my life as I tried to decide if I should pull over and let the ambulance find us or keep driving until I reached the hospital.

Fortunately I didn't have to do either one. He recovered admirably and was even able to come along to our last stop of the trip, the Medora Musical. I like the Medora Musical. It's fun. There's singing. There's dancing. There's steak on a pitchfork. It's good, clean fun. It's outside. You park on a grassy hill. A grassy hill where they have used sharp, pointy rocks to outline the parking area. And you back in. Back in to the sharp, pointy rocks. With your BRAND NEW AUTOMOBILE.

I was so mad, I could not speak. Poor Brent, still recovering from his mushrooms, dragged me and the boys down to the amphitheatre while he whispered encouraging things about insurance. I could not speak. I could not cry. I just marched along.

Then my husband of 17+ years, my husband who knows me so well, spotted a pink cowboy hat for sale with a shiny crown attached. He knew, no matter how long that day had been, I could not resist a shiny pink cowboy hat.

And, indeed, I could not. Sitting there for the second half of the musical, hat on my head, boys at my side I thought, "How lucky can a girl get?"

An Old Tortoise and Dead Presidents

2011-08-24T05:00:00.001-05:00

Well, now I can tell you, we went to see these guys.

Now, you just go ahead and be as cynical and jaded as you like, but some guy took the time to figure out how to carve the likeness of presidents into the side of the mountain. Here D and I are getting a closer look.

They're just big. Some guys hung themselves from the side of this cliff and carved out the presidents.

Another highlight of the trip for me was visiting the tortoises at Reptile Gardens. When I was D's age, you could ride them. They don't allow that today. Why must the fun be stripped out of every animal event? (See our trip to the circus.)

You know I'm kidding, right? Although, D immediately saw how a guy could ride it if he wanted. He was getting ready to saddle up when Brent and I peeled him off before the tortoise guard noticed.

I think the tortoise remembered me.

A Poem for Tuesday on Wednesday

2011-08-24T05:00:00.000-05:00

Here's a quick poem on butterflies many of whom met an untimely end on the front of my car last weekend. Aw!

An Explanation
Arthur Wallace Peach

I often think a butterfly
With golden, shining wings
Most beautiful of all the earth's
Wee flying things.

Sometimes I fancy that he is
A sunbeam sailing round
Flitting here and there so still
He makes no sound.

And once I guess how he is made:
Upon his wings I saw
A diagram in black such as
Someone might draw.

It looked as if whoever drew
The lines had been in doubt,
And then was pleased, and so forgot
To run them out!

Summer's Slipping Away!

2011-08-16T16:16:00.001-05:00

Hey gang -- for safety's sake, of course, I cannot tell you that I am packing up the boys for a last minute trip to see snakes and an old tortoise friend of mine. Just remember, the only thing worth stealing is my car -- which I will be driving -- so it's not worth it.

See you next week, my friend!

True Confession Friday

2011-08-12T10:05:00.001-05:00

I tried listening to country music this week.

It's not that bad.

Circus

2011-08-11T10:40:00.002-05:00

The first thing we saw at the circus was a pony ride.

"Would you like to ride on the ponies?" I asked Preschooler D.

"No," said D sadly. "They will go too fast."

"No, they won't. Just watch," I said, and the ponies started walking in their little circle. D jumped about two feet straight in the air.

"They are going SLOW!!" he cried out.

"Do you want to ride a pony?"

"YES!!"

This isn't the best picture I took of a boy and his pony, but it's the one that best captures how that kid beamed. He thought he invented pony riding. It was the look of a kid who thought he couldn't do something because he would be too afraid and then he discovered he could.

When he got done we headed through the tent doors and D said, "This. Circus. Is. AWESOME!"

And I'd have to say we certainly got our $12/per worth. We saw:

Jugglers

Acrobats

Tight rope walkers

Trained dogs

Trained ponies

Trained llamas

A bicycle act

A loud obnoxious ring master

A contortionist

Clowns

Trapeze artists

A double ring walker act that made my jaded teenager say "Wow!" softly under his breath so no one would hear and think he was having a good time. (Kudos to him for coming along with me and D and GrandMary in the first place.)

And, of course, the elephants. One of the websites I regretted looking at yesterday said, "Go if you must . . ." but be sure and study the scarring on the elephants legs from their daily abuse. I looked and all I saw were elephant legs. Here they are giving a family a ride. You can look for yourself:

Now, I will grant you that the keeper-guy looks like he could beat an elephant if it looked at him crossly, but I did not observe any such thing. He's got that stick thing, but it's not like you're going to put an elephant on a leash. I'm just going to assume this circus learned its lesson about being nice to elephants. We can discuss later if it's appropriate for elephants to be in the circus at all.

I would have liked a ride on an elephant, but Teenager looked at me as though he would sink through the earth if I did. Here they are in the tent:

Mother said she saw a tear rolling down the cheek of one as it wrote "Help me" in the hay in its pen. I didn't see that, and she tends to exaggerate.

Circus Preview

2011-08-10T12:12:00.000-05:00

We walked over to the fairgrounds to watch the traveling circus put up the tent. I had a vision of a happy band of traveling gypsies* coaching a large elephant to heave the heavy tent pole.

Um, no. It was a bunch of guys in hard hats with walkie talkies. Disillusioning for me, but probably better for the elephant. And here's where I made mistake number two today, I Googled my local traveling circus. If you're planning on going to your local circus, don't do that. Just don't. You don't want to know. It's not very often that I advertise ignorance as bliss. I am usually all about honesty and truth and being set free and all that, but . . .

But it's summer and I have a four-year-old and there's a circus -- literally -- in my backyard. I do not need to know what kind of horrid thing a sicko trainer did to an elephant 10+ years ago. I just need to go to the circus.

I know. I know, but we have to pick our battles. Our world is full of bad, nasty people doing bad, nasty things. But there are also good people just trying to make their living by swinging on the trapeze. And there are four-year-old who need to have a wide variety of experiences.

I love elephants, and you know I am a friend to animals. Why think of my devotion to our beloved dog Fritz T. (Now, hush, faithful readers! The new people can hear you laughing.) I will keep my eyes open and give you an honest report of how it went.

* I mean no insult to the Romani. I use this word to mean "people who travel."

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-08-09T07:21:00.001-05:00

I need to weed my front flower bed. There are several trees growing in there. Wish I'd thought of this.

Grandpa's Garden
Sarah Grames Clark

My grandpa has a garden
That never wilts of fades,
Although he never plows it up
Or waters it, or spades.

He never worries if it storms,
Or fears the hottest sun;
And yet his garden's filled with plants,
And he loves each one!

He'll say to me, "Come take a look,
Now aren't these pansies sweet!
Oh, see this lovely hyacinth --
And here's a marguerite!"

My grandpa's very feeble,
For he's past eighty-nine
And yet his lovely garden
Is always in its prime.

Yes, Grandpa has a garden
Without scarecrow, fence or dog;
And, all in lovely colors,
Keeps it in his catalog!

Long Awaited Toe

2011-08-05T13:40:00.001-05:00

It looks creepy in extreme close up like this. It was very cute. I hope you're viewing because you are interested in festival pedicures, not because you're interested in . . . well . . . toes.

Water Clean Up

2011-08-03T12:19:00.001-05:00

Yesterday we were really excited to see the city crews coming down the block. They took the tree off Neighbor Dale's car and hauled it away.

Neighbor Dale is still shaking his head that the tree hit his new car and not his old pickup parked right behind it. He's also not sure how the back window didn't break. (I guess it's a really safe car.) He did say, though, that he's very grateful he wasn't sitting in it at the time.

This is just one load from this block. There were several from Dale's tree mess. It was a big, old ash tree.

The guys on the crew said if we shoved our debris out into the street, they would pick it up. It was a rush of neighbors helping each other rake stuff into the street. By the time I got over to photograph it, they were done.

I've said if before and I'll say it again. Our city crew has the nicest, hardest-working guys (because they are all guys) around. Gigi, my grandmother, does the gardens in one of the parks and they rig up a system so she can water. They make the town look clean and nice before our big festival, and the next day they are on the move to get things cleaned up. They flood a skating rink in the winter. Often in the winter we wake up at 5 am or earlier to the sound of the snowplows going past. They probably do hundreds of things we never notice because they do it so well. Picking up our debris yesterday saved us and the neighbors many hours of work. It's one of many reasons why I am so fond of my little community.

Water, Water Everywhere II

2011-08-02T07:32:00.001-05:00

Hey, everyone! I know you are anxious for my polish update. We'll look at it tomorrow. Yesterday just as we were waking up the tornado sirens went off. The storm sounded pretty serious, and so we got up and went right away. The power went out almost as soon as we got there. We sat in the messy and slightly damp basement on the stairs in the dark. We heard lots of booming and crashing. There wasn't a tornado in town, but there were very powerful winds. When we came out of the basement, this was what the swing set looked like:

Not good. Not good for the swing set. Not good for the pear tree, but over the course of the day we discovered that we were very fortunate. Here's my next door neighbor's brand new car:

Do you see how the tree came out by the roots? The ground is so saturated with water that the trees are just falling over during these big storms. There are -- I'm not exaggerating -- hundreds (some are saying a thousand) of trees down in West Lake Woebegone. Here my cousin Jenny and I are doing a Lewis and Clark photo shoot by the park. (Because we are silly that way.) You can see another example of how these big, healthy trees just crashed over:

I didn't take any more photos because it seemed sort of morbid to me. I'll leave that to my dad, the journalist. People were driving by all day to take pictures of Neighbor Dale's car. I wish I'd put a donation bucket out for him.

Water, Water Everywhere

2011-07-29T14:11:00.001-05:00

It's town water festival time. West Lake Woebegone has been preparing all week. The street sweepers were out. The porta-potties are here. The route detour signs have been dug out for parade day. Our little town will balloon from 3,000 to 20,000 over the weekend.

Now, it's true that 20,000 people isn't that many in the big picture of the world's population, but it's a lot for us. There's only one stoplight in the county, and it's at the center of our downtown. My dad was saying at dinner last night that he had to wait two cycles before he could drive through. Believe me, friends and loved ones, that only happens once a year. Well . . . maybe on fishing opener weekend.

I am hoping tonight that I will run into my friend Betsy tonight. Betsy keeps stuff in her purse so that she can paint anchors on your toenails for the occasion. I've painted them blue and slapped some rhinestones on just in case. Here they are in red from two years ago:

No, it's true it doesn't take much to amuse me, but think of how easy it must be to get along with me.

All is Not Lost

2011-07-28T09:38:00.001-05:00

Just waiting for my coffee this morning when I discovered this. I hope you can get it to work. It takes a literal eternity to load. If you can't, try going to allisnotlo.st to make your own message.

Setbacks

2011-07-27T17:04:00.001-05:00

Potty training has taken a setback.

We had several weeks accident free. I stopped buying Preschooler D underwear every time I went to Target -- because you know and I know, some accidents are not worth the clean up. The past couple of days, though . . . I don't know. It feels like we're sort of back at the beginning.

"Do you need to go potty?"
"Do you need to go potty?"
"I think you should try and go potty."
"I'll wait for you."
"Why don't you just try."
"Let's try." (As though we are going to do it together.)
"Just try."
"Just try for me."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't you want to check?"
"Just check."
"Just try and check."

It's exhausting. About two seconds after I give up, he grabs the nether regions and screams in a high squeaky voice, "Potty! Potty! Potty!"

"YES! GO! GO! GO!"

This is my brilliant son. This is my child who, at four and a half, can read anything he looks at. This is my future rocket scientist. (Is this still the highest degree of smart? Rocket Scientist?) And yet, complete mastery of the bathroom eludes him.

What would Mother Einstein have done?

A Poem for Tuesday

2011-07-26T16:33:00.004-05:00

In case you are new to A Poem for Tuesday, we are currently reading poems from Poems Children Enjoy, © 1953, F.A. Owen Publishing Company. These are all in salute to my grandmother who was a rural school teacher.

Today's poem is for Colin who loves to swing. He's nearly as tall as I am, and when he swings the whole thing bounces and squeaks. I am afraid it is only a matter of time until the thing breaks. I need to add "reinforce swing set" to Brent's to-do list. I am sure he'll be thrilled.

Sharing the Swing
Alice Cromwell Hoffman

When I keep the swing all to myself
I can go as high as our pantry shelf.
When I share my swing with friend or brother,
And we take turns pushing each other,
I go like the wind, away up high,
Till it seems as if I could touch the sky.

Surprise!

2011-07-25T09:25:00.000-05:00

Friends and loved ones, this summer has made me tired. You probably guessed this by last week's entries of one photo and two poems. There have been just a lot of changes, a lot of places to go, a lot of things to do.

But Friday, I had the best job of the entire summer. One that lifted my spirits and cheered my soul. I went to the airport to pick up . . .

ARIZONA AUDREY!!!

I mean, how fun was that?! (And she does not take a bad photo if she tries, may I add.) Now, Audrey is really a dear friend of Molly. You know, Molly who is a figment of my imagination in the winter and a real person in the summer. Molly is having a ~~significant~~ fabulous birthday, and Audrey flew up to surprise her. I had never actually met Audrey, but she has been an Internet friend and beloved friend of this blog for several years. It was a tremendous joy to get to meet her and drive her up to West Lake Woebegone. We were most chatty all the way. I am sure we are twins separated at birth.

Why I got the unfortunate Minnesota winter end of the deal, I don't know.

Audrey had never been to Minnesota and it was so fun to see what she noticed -- how green it is, for example. We looked at all the significant things to see between the airport and West Lake Woebegone. "There's the Mall of America! Here's where the Vikings practice! Look quick you can see downtown Minneapolis! Here's where Kim Kardashian ate a french fry last weekend!" It occurred to me that I forgot to point out that we passed through Sinclair Lewis' hometown on the way, which was probably the one significant landmark we passed, but there you go.

Anyway, I believe she's back on her way to Arizona today -- a little bit wiser, able to identify a "hot dish" and such.

A Tuesday Poem on Wednesday

2011-07-20T11:11:00.002-05:00

We're having two poems this week because it is too hot to think. Please remind me I felt this way come January.

It's a camping poem which is sort of silly because:
1. It's too hot to go camping.

2. The state parks are shut down, so we'd have to go camping in the backyard. And why would we do that when we can be inside in the air conditioning? I think we have fully established now that I am a very poor outdoors person.

And that makes me laugh and dedicate today's poem to my cousin JP again. Shortly after Brent and I were married we stopped at his house on our way to camping in Yellowstone National Park. JP had apparently missed what we were doing because he said to his mother, "Lisa?!?! Camping?!?!" Let me make this clear -- too many camping trips on the frozen mountainside with my parents scarred me for life. I can camp; I just prefer the steady temperature and reliably horizontal surface of a hotel bed.

Camping
Winifred C. Marshall

Summertime has come again
And camping days are here,
With fishing, swimming, boating, too --
The best time of the year.

We climb the trees and go on hikes,
And all grow strong and brown.
Our friends will hardly know us
When we get back to town.

We do not miss the telephone,
The movies, or the cars,
When we can fish and hike all day,
And sleep beneath the stars.