Troubling Times and Space-Age Technologies.

I haven't written anything in a while.

I guess I should, before I completely lose the ability to do so, and my brain turns to vanilla pudding.  (I fear that watching Sprout with the baby every day is not going to be good for my cognitive functions. . . but on the plus side, I have learned a LOT about sharing.)

=)

Putting that thought aside for the moment, here are several

THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED IN MY WORLD RECENTLY


Item #1:  I have not worn pants, or makeup, for many days now.

Well. . . I guess that's not ENTIRELY true, as I have gone for morning walks with the baby just about every morning, and I tend to take pants VERY seriously when I am out and about, roaming the neighborhood.  The neighborhood association ---and the neighborhood in general --- frowns on many things, (if their facebook page is any indication at all), and I feel fairly certain that Nude Public Exercise would probably be at the top of the list.

The CHILDREN!!!  Think of the CHILDREN!!!!

------> (And I am completely serious here about our neighborhood frowning on things.  It would appear that we are a neighborhood just chocked FULL of frowners.  The entire neighborhood facebook page is almost nothing but people griping and complaining about one thing or another. Interspersed, of course, with advertisements for yard sales, and announcements of which stay-at-home moms are currently selling which bags, beauty products, and jewelries. . . I should probably feel a surge of pride at our collective entrepreneurialism. . . and yet I do not.)

But anyway, power-walks with the baby aside, I can truthfully say that I have not worn pants in many days now.

Or makeup.

And I feel pretty good about it.  =)

NOT about how I actually LOOK in this sans pants/sans makeup state. . . oh, no.  Because I own a mirror, and it can be trusted to inform me that I do, in fact, look rather wretched. . . 

("You look like crap!" it says, much like some freaky, annoying parrot.  "Have some pride!" it screams at me.  And then I put it back in the drawer, and go about my day.  Problem solved.)

So I am not harboring any delusions that I actually look good like this.

I'm sure my naked face and naked legs are not only wrong, but offensive.  On many levels.  

So VERY just plain wrong.

And yet it feels so right. . .

Sooooo. . .

Paradox.

(I am now officially a deviant.  Living on the fringes of society.

I am more punk-rock than you can stand.

What an exciting development!!!!!!!)



Item #2:  My husband might be losing his mind.


Is it a midlife crisis?  Hard to say.

Early onset dementia?  I'm not a doctor, so I really don't know.

All I know is that the signs are everywhere, and I am growing concerned. . .

It started out innocently enough.

We were sitting down to dinner last week (on the couch, the baby in his high chair, cause that's how we dooz it) and we were looking for something entertaining to watch on tv.

----As a sidenote, I'd just like to bitch about tv for a minute.  The Office is over (RIP), GoT and The Walking Dead are finished until next year, as is Parks and Rec.  . . .THERE IS NOTHING GOOD ON T.V.!!!!  At least, not that I'VE been able to find.  It makes me very mad.

I LOVED YOU, TV!!!  I TRUSTED YOU!!!!  I WAS FAITHFUL!!! 

And you have FAILED ME!!!!

But whatever.----

So anyway, we started browsing OnDemand, and found Pitch Perfect.

Michael rolled his eyes a few times, but ultimately sat through the whole thing, which is really all that I could ask for.

And then the movie got to THIS part:

So. . . really cute, right?  All happee-no-worries.  No big deal, right?

YOU SIMPLY COULD NOT BE MORE WRONG.

To begin with, neither Michael nor I had ever heard this song before we saw the movie.  We do not have a teenage girl currently living in our home, and so we had passed right under the Party In The USA radar.

But you can only elude fate for so long.

The next morning I got up and. . . Michael was looking up the song on youtube.

"Ummmm. . . what are you DOING???"  I asked.

"Veering off down a dark and unhealthy path and attempting to bring shame to our family," he said.**

(**I cannot remember what he ACTUALLY said.  But it might as well have been this.)

So I tried not to become too concerned.  (With some degree of difficulty, and not much success.)

He made some weak argument about the guitar riff at the beginning of the song being really good.

Pfffttt.  O. . . . .kay.

Then the NEXT day he. . .

HE POSTED THE MILEY CYRUS VIDEO ON FACEBOOK.

("swinging my hips like yeah")

. . .

I was confused.

And frightened.

All my ideas about right and wrong were suddenly crashing down around my feet.

I LOVE THIS MAN.

And I had to get him help.

So I've been watching him closely, searching for signs that the disease is progressing.

It HAS to be a disease. . . right??

A chemical imbalance??

Something we can ADDRESS and then CURE??????

. . . .

And then last night. . .

*deep breath*

. . .last night he started playing Katy Perry songs.

(Something about fireworks, I don't know.)

So obviously he is getting worse.

THIS IS NOT HOW I WANT MY SON TO GROW UP!!!!!!

I love him.

So I will continue to hold on to hope, until science finds a cure. . .

***Personally, I use the phrase "space-age technologies" a LOT.  Mostly to win arguments: 

Michael--"WHY is there a mess on the wall in the pantry??!?  How are we going to get this OFF??"

Me:  "Space-age technologies, Michael.  Don't worry about it."

(I've found it to be VERY useful.)

So I feel very correct in saying: 

SCIENTISTS!!!  I have stated the problem for you.

NOW.  GET.  ON.  IT!!!



Item #3:  Summer reading.


It has been a very good summer for reading so far.

The baby is a little older, a little more self-sufficient, and COMPLETELY IN LOVE with playing outside, so I have been lucky enough to make my way, leisurely, through SEVERAL really good books.

Last week I finished Deeply Odd, the new Dean Koontz book about Odd Thomas.  (GREAT character.  I highly recommend all of them.)  Before that, I was tearing through all the Game of Thrones books I could get my hands on.  (Now I'm just waiting for the next one.)  Then there's the Divergent series, which was really good, and I'm eagerly anticipating the third installment in the trilogy.

And right now I'm reading Inferno, the new Dan Brown.

So all this was in my mind as I was browsing pinterest the other day, and came across THIS:

It's a FREE LIBRARY!!!!

AND I WANT ONE!!!!!

I want one for our neighborhood!

I have all these great books that I've read, that are just SITTING HERE, taking up space, when THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE WHO COULD BE READING THEM!!!!

(And I could be sharing and reading THEIR books, too!!  It's GENIUS!!!!)

However. . . unfortunately, my cabinetry skills are sadly lacking.

I find it shameful to admit this, because I am an intelligent and (mildly) creative woman, but there is simply no way that I could make this.

(I realize, of course, that it IS just a box.  So you can just shut the hell up right about now.)

At least, I couldn't make it without the potential for great harm to myself and possibly others, the destruction of untold amounts of lumber, a trip to the emergency room, and possibly a tetanus shot.

I am not selling myself short. . . I am simply aware of my multitude of limitations.

So . . . if anyone out there would like to construct this for me, and then donate it to our neighborhood (for the greater good, remember), then I would appreciate it very much.

And I would let you have first pick of my used books.

(There are a LOT, so that's kind of a big deal.)

=)


So anyway. . .

I PUT MY HANDS UP, THEY'RE PLAYING MY SONG, THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY. . .


. . .DAMMIT, MICHAEL!!!!!

Just A Few Things

Just a few things that have happened this week.

Diving right in.

Item 1:  We saw some live music this week.

Thursday night, the Mr. and I were fortunate enough to get to go to Sloss Furnaces and see some music.  It was the first time I'd been to the venue, and it was awesome.  I believe the word the guy from Dispatch used to describe it was: "epic."  And it was too true.

If you've never been, here's a pic:

Clearly awesome.

The opener was Allen Stone.  He was a great musician, and an excellent vocalist.  I found his level of swagger to be a little off-putting, however, and just never really got into it.  But so be it.  We don't all have to like the same things.  =)

Anyway, the headliner was Dispatch, and they were phenomenal.  Really tight, musically, but still seamless when they chose to drift into a jam-band moment.  Energetic performance by the entire band, and really beautiful vocals.  Four thumbs.  Way, way up.  =p

One thing that was strange about the evening is that there were a lot of kids there.  (And by 'kids', I mean people from 17 to 25-ish.)  Michael and I were remarking about how many were there.  And they were really cute to watch, too.  Some of them were acting like it was their first concert experience, and they seemed so excited and happy, and some were acting secretly thrilled (but trying to play it cool) to be there with a girlfriend/boyfriend, and one kid in front of us was even there with his dad.   It was through him that I witnessed more serious air guitar than I have ever seen before. 

It was awkwardly beautiful.

. . .we were not THE oldest people there. . . but we were . . . among them. 

It was a really weird feeling.  I mean, I know it was a Thursday evening and everything, but where were all the people OUR age??  There were only a handful of couples in the whole crowd. 

I was confused.

And we both suddenly felt very old.

Confused and old.

Which was also exactly the way I felt when I realized that:



Item 2:  Mom-jean shorts are making a fashion
comeback.

We saw a LOT of young girls wearing something I honestly just assumed the world had seen the last of:  mom jean shorts.  (My people inform me that they are called "jorts."  . . .That sounds ridiculous, but whatever.)

The fashion itself is ridiculous.  (. . . You're out of order.  . . .No!  YOU'RE out of order!!  This whole court is out of order!!)

And yet they were everywhere!!!!

I lost count of all the cute little girls I saw, waddling around in skintight, waist-high, navel-concealing MOM SHORTS.

The first one I saw wearing them, I just felt sorry for.  She was a cute little thing, and obviously didn't have much money for clothes.  It was clear that she had dug those out of the attic to wear out to the concert tonight.  How sad.  =(

I looked away.

Then I saw a second. . . and then a third. . . and more and more. 

It was mind-blowing. 

After Michael and I had established, between us, that these little monstrosities were actually being SOLD again (in stores!!!), making them the veritable zombies of the fashion world, I turned to Michael and said:

"I just don't care.  They don't look good on ANYbody!!  They may decide to be fashion, but they can't make me wear them.  I won't!!  Never!!!  DEATH FIRST!!!"

. . . and then Michael (like an asshole) pointed out that that would make ME that little old woman, holding on to her fashions of yesterday. . . the hip-hugger jean (my personal favorite) now relegated to being the new "mom jean".  And there I'll sit, looking like an old lady, with my pants below my belly button and bitching about the fickle and nonsensical whims of fashion.

(But seriously, I could be cool with that.  Because there is no way in HELL that I will be wearing a pair of these:)

I mean. . . I seriously cannot even BELIEVE that this is a thing. . .

How disappointing.

Moving on.


Item 3:  My baby is a rat-bastard when he comes home from Granny's.

While Mr. Persnikety and I were seeing musics the other night, my mom was good enough to keep both the boys.  To hear them tell it, they had a great time.  =)  They played Uno, they played in cardboard boxes, and one of them got his feelings hurt by Kitty Witchens. (He is my mom's enormous Maine Coon.  He did not return Took's affections.  I am told that it was a crushing moment.)

But lately, every time Took has gotten home from a night with his Honey, he has been exhibiting. . . we'll call them 'behaviors'.  So I've been developing a theory regarding these behaviors, and it goes something like this:  For the first 24 hours after he gets home from a night at his Granny's, my child is a perfect jackass.

So I let Michael in on my little theory, as I was eager to test it.

And last night, after finally getting both the kids to sleep, he turned to me and said:

"You totally called it."

We spent all night watching the baby run around and find different things to be mad about:  Where his brother was standing, where the cat was sitting, what his brother was playing with, how close his brother was to me or Michael, what we were having for dinner, and on and on and on. . .

So I don't know WHAT she is doing, but my mother is obviously doing something to ruin my perfect child.

=D

I am joking, of course.

We've just about concluded that it is probably a combination of being tired from the excitements of being at his granny's, perhaps not sleeping as well because he was in a different place, and the extreme disappointment he felt over having to be home again.  =)

Whatever it was, he was a complete turd all night.

So he earned himself an early bedtime, which means that Pad got one too, by default.

Me:  "Pad!  Let's start putting up the toys, it's almost bedtime."

Pad:  "But it's not dark outside yet!"

Me:  "Um. . . yeah. . . that's because it's summertime.  Phases of the moon and whatnot.  Very scientific.  You probably shouldn't worry about it."

The one thing that is perfectly clear here is that once he learns how to tell time, we are screwed.


Item 4:  I cannot sit cross-legged any more.


I really do not even think I can fully explain how very distressing this one is. . .

The discovery was made this morning.

Padawan was looking over my shoulder at the computer screen, as I scrolled through my news feed and sipped my coffee.

"That's Tony Stark!" he said, and I scrolled past a picture of Robert Downey Jr.

I clicked on the picture so he could see it better.

(. . .Who am I kidding?  Like I would EVER pass up an opportunity to stare at Robert Downey Jr.  The picture was a gift to both of us.)

So we sat there and stared at this:

Padawan:  ". . .is that real?  Did it really happen?"

Me:  "Yep.  He's really doing that.  It's called yoga.  He's balancing on his fingers.  See, first you have to get like this. . ."

And I sat down on the kitchen floor, ready to pull my legs up into a cross-legged pose.  (Pretty sure that's NOT what it's called.  But, even though you will find SEVERAL yoga dvds in our collection, I can assure you that I know NOTHING about yoga.  I only know that I like the 'idea' of yoga.  I like to flirt with it occasionally.  Nothing more.)

Even so, I have always generally been fairly limber.

So I'm sure you can imagine the surprise (and dismay!!) I experienced when I found that I could NOT pull my legs (fully) into the position.

They just wouldn't go.

. . .

This has never happened before.

It's like I had suddenly forgot how to human. . .

. . .Maybe I'm stiff from all the walking I've done this week??

Yeah.

That's almost certainly it.  I'm just too 'exercised' right now to be able to achieve perfect cross-leggedness.  That has always been a danger. . .


Item 5:  Happy Wedding!!


Our family was supposed to be going to a wedding today, but Michael was on call this weekend and (unfortunately) had to work today.  So we will be missing the wedding. 

But I would just like to say that I wish them the absolute, very best, and that I am so very happy that they have found each other.  =)

**Since I have not gotten their permission to mention their names, and I do not presume to know anyone else's preferences, I have decided to refer to them by the codenames Max Powers and Moxie Crimefighter.**

I have known Max Powers, through Michael, for several years.  I can honestly say that ever since he met Moxie Crimefighter, he has seemed the happiest that I have ever seen him.  It makes my heart feel happy to see them together, and I wish a lifetime of happiness for them.

<3


And finally, wrapping up with


Item 6:  I want a Bert and Ernie portrait.

I was watching Sesame Street yesterday with the baby when I noticed that Bert and Ernie have a portrait of themselves hanging in their living room, like so:

So my first thought, and I really CANNOT stress this enough, was:

I WANT ONE FOR MY HOME.


And so now I will finish this post, because I am going to go paint a portrait of Bert and Ernie.

. . .

This is actually what I am going to do.

True story.

=)

Weekly Wrap-Up

Even though I feel it is more than a little presumptuous to call this a Weekly Wrap-Up (which feels, to me, as if it should certainly contain some hard news, or, at the very least, a few factual and newsworthy items), there are a few random scraps from this week that are buzzing around in my head like flies.  (It is annoying.)  And this is the best way I know to kill those items.  (You know.  In an effort to stop the buzzing.)  I make no pretense that the following bits are of any interest whatsoever.  This is merely a head-clearing exercise.

So here goes.

Item 1:  Your sprinkles.  They SHALL be mine.

So summer is here.  (Or perhaps I will take to calling it 'simmer'.  That would be far more fitting.  And, months from now, when I hear some twenty-something on some show on the CW ---but NOT 'Supernatural.'  THAT show is awesome.--- referring to it as 'simmer', I'll sit back and smile, and think:  I did that.  That was ME.  =)

Anyway, it's hot.

And with the heat comes the desire to cool off.  (Perhaps in a pool.  . . .or might I interest you in an ocean?)  And fresh on the heels of THAT little desire, is the knowledge that in order to cool off in a body of water of my choosing. . . I am going to have to don a bathing suit.

So.

I'm not going to sit here and bash my body.  (Though it would be easy to do.  But it is self-defeating behavior and, more than that, it sets a bad example for my children.  It is one behavior of many that I am attempting to curb.)  The simple fact is, I don't think I have EVER met a woman that was 100%, completely happy with her physical form, with nothing that she wanted to change.  And another simple fact is that I am now 36 years old.  And I am a mother.  I do not look as I did when I was 21, and I am okay with that.  I can no more rid myself of the C-section scar in my middle than I can change the patterns of moles and freckles that dot me from head to foot.  (I am really just one big connect-the-dots puzzle.  There's an octopus in a top hat on my left forearm, but you have to get creative to find it.)  Nor would I.  I waited too many years for that child.  It is a scar that I will wear proudly until my dying day.  But that does not mean that I wish to spend the entire summer feeling completely and horribly self-conscious, and trying to hide under yards and yards of (stifling) fabric.

Which means that I have had to start getting some exercise.

And, if you know me at all, you will know that I have done this, at best?  Begrudgingly.  At worst?  Kicking and screaming. 

I have never cared for exercise, and it is not something I have kept secret.  But I have found that I can stomach walking the baby around the neighborhood in his stroller once a day, usually for a time of anywhere from 45 minutes to one hour.  Which, I know, is not a lot. . .  But once you factor in the heat, the fact that I am generally pouring sweat within the first 4 blocks, and the fact that my route takes me up and down and up (fairly large) hills continuously. . . I figure that it's enough.

So I've walked every day this week.  (Except for today.  On the seventh day. . . I rested. =)  Sometimes I have had to employ trickery to get myself out the door. . .  I would wake up saying:  "Oh, it's okay.  You walked yesterday.  You can take today off.  No shame in that."

And, just because I told myself that I WOULDN'T. . . that was enough to get me going.  (I am a defiance even unto myself.)

Sometimes I have had to employ a reward system:  Just do this, just 45 minutes, and then you can go home and take a nap.

And sometimes I have just had to be a hard-ass:  DO IT.  Get your ass out there, breathe some fresh air, and break a sweat.

But. . . I don't want to. . .

DO IT ANYWAY.

And so I have. 

And it is. . . HOT.

But the silver lining in these little excursions. . . is that the people in our neighborhood like to keep their yards looking healthy.  Which means that at least a few of them now have their sprinklers going in the mornings. . . and, since the front yards around this place are small, and can't contain the full arc of the sprinklers. . . there is inevitable sidewalk overflow.  Extra sprinklage, if you will.

And so we have altered our morning walking route, so that we might hit several of the Mist Houses more than once.

Walking along, drenched in sweat, jamming to my tunes---
(see below)

---and then we reach a Mist House, and run, full-tilt and with complete abandon, through our neighbors' sprinklers.

I giggle.  The baby giggles.  It is easily the highlight of our walk.

And so, just to show good form, I posted a Thank You on facebook to the owners of our Mist Houses.

And it has subsequently resulted in a new nickname for me:  Sprinkles.
(I have to admit --- I am not displeased with it.)

So, in conclusion:  YOUR SPRINKLEZ!!!!!  I STEALZ THEM!!!

(And I am unrepentant.)


Item 2:  Suddenly Chipmunks.

We might have chipmunks in our back yard.

Not in a "We might have chipmunks over for lunch, grill out and make a day of it."  Not in that way.  Not at ALL.

We have a little flower bed situated by the door to our garage, and a little while back Michael discovered a hole in it.

My first thought was:  Snake hole!!!  KILL IT!!!  KILL IT WITH FIRE!!!!  . . . But Michael (pretending to be the voice of reason) told me it was probably chipmunks, moles, or gophers.  (He did spot a chipmunk in the yard just a few days ago, and has concluded that we have a chipmunk problem.  To which *I* replied that "Chipmunks are only a problem if they don't SING."  Clearly, snakes are the real danger here.)  But regardless of the species, for some reason he remained hesitant about pouring lighter fluid into a hole in the ground beside our garage, no matter what convincing arguments I presented.  (He has hang-ups.)  So he just covered the hole with several large rocks, and waited for the snake-munks to make the next move.

Which they did.  By making another hole, quite similar to the first (but my eye is untrained in the area of snake-munk holes. . . I'm sure the snake-munks probably think all of our homes look the same, too.  Racists.), and about 8 inches away.

So Michael responded to this hole much as he had the first, and placed several large rocks over the opening.

. . .Which I am SURE caused quite a bit of confusion in the snake-munk community.  I can just picture the snake-munks, coming home from a party: 

"Dude.  . . .Did we leave a huge rock over our front door when we left?"

"What?  AW, MAN!!!  Not again!!"

"Soooo. . . you didn't do this?"

"Of COURSE I didn't do this, Harold!!  Why would I block the entrance to our OWN HOME??  . . .HOW IN THE HELL DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING??!?"

And. . .scene.

Anyway, yesterday I found yet ANOTHER hole, which the industrious little snake-munks are determined to make into a home.

So. . . if you know my husband, you probably know that he is tenacious, dedicated, and can be much like Hank Hill when it comes to his lawn.
(see below)

Which means that, essentially, he considers this third snake-munk hole an act of war.

And I am completely serious when I say that I am afraid. 

Is it the fear that I will one day look out my kitchen window and see dozens of little snake-munks, marching around in a circle with protest signs, chanting things like "HELL NO, WE WON'T GO!"?

No.  It is the fear that my husband is about to find his newest obesession, and that I am going to wake up one day to find myself married to Carl Spackler from Caddyshack.
(see below)

Moving on to. . .

Item 3:  My baby has been stricken with "the bossies"

In all fairness, this is only right, and is completely in keeping with family tradition---
(see below)

---as I was, myself, an unbelievably bossy child.  ('Leadership skills', my mother has decided to call it.  This is gracious, on her part.)

Growing up, I was the oldest of my grandmother's seven grandchildren.  Which meant that, to my way of thinking, I had gotten there first, and was thus the one in charge.  (It was nothing personal. . . I just had seniority, is all.)

So whenever all the grandchildren got together to play, I dictated what we played and how we played it.  ***I was not trying to be bossy.  I simply knew in my heart that I had the best ideas.  And, since the others went along with these ideas, I became convinced that my cause was not only just, but correct.  Playtime warfare, essentially, and I had named myself as the Commander.***  I would listen patiently to what my cousins wanted to do, and would then proceed (just as patiently) to lay out my plan for the day, and then tell everyone where they needed to be.

(It was shameful, I know, but flawless in its elegance.)

And it is a trait that my offspring appears to have inherited.

He wants things HIS way, and he wants them five minutes ago.

He screams in the face of any dissent.  He flails wildly when the slightest thing is amiss.

And I have been. . .unsure as to how, exactly, to address this issue.

On the one hand, he is essentially growing up as an only child (though he has two brothers), and I do NOT want to allow him to grow up to be that kid.

On the other hand. . . he comes by it honestly.  =)

Yes, I WAS bossy.  . . .but he ALSO has his father's blood in him, and it was only a few months into my relationship with his father when I bestowed upon him the nickname of:  Mister Persnikety.

(Also, his dad is a little OCD, and I believe the Took might have just a touch of that, as well.)
(as seen below, organizing the bath toys)

So. . . what to do?  After all, I DON'T want to let my little one grow up to be Took the Tantrum Thrower, Scourge of the Jungle Gym, Great Turd of the Playground. . .

So I feel that the only option available to me is to nip these little habits in the bud---
(see below)

---before they have a chance to take root.

Even as I type this, he is sitting on the ground at my feet, playing with assorted toys as he wails miserably and pats the kitchen floor with his hand.

(He has taken to doing this lately.  He pats the area where he wants you to sit.  It was only a few days ago that we had a Great and Woeful Meltdown because he kept patting the seat in his Cozy Coupe, commanding me to sit there.  Said Woe occurred when it became clear to him that I would NOT sit in the Cozy Coupe.  . . .never mind that the reason I didn't sit was due to the fact that my ass will not fit through the door to the Coupe.  It was clearly just disobedience on my part, and he wasn't having it.)

So he pats the floor beside him, looks at me, and wails.

I try to appease him.

"Here, buddy. . . do you want your car?  The one that plays 'Funky Town?'"

(wailing)

"Sweetheart, mommy is trying to do something right now.  Let me finish this, and we'll play.  Let me just. . ."

(pats the ground insistently)

"Took!  You need to calm down, darlin.  What is WRONG?"

(pats and pats and pats, then wails some more.)

I am getting aggravated.  I am trying to type, I am trying to keep a thought in my head before it wings away, I am trying to GET SOMETHING DONE, and WHAT is this baby doing???

He is driving me crazy!!!  He is wailing and flailing, pouting and crying.  He is slapping the ground, he is about to wake up his Daddy, he is irritating the crap out of me, he is . . .

He is trying to spend time with me.

He is being bossy, yes.  But he is wailing and crying and ---do I see a real tear?--- patting the floor next to him.

Because he wants ME to sit there.

He wants me to sit there next to him, and play with his cars with him.

Soooo. . . I'm terribly sorry, but this post is over.

I've got shit to do.

And it's important.

=)

Sundays, Soccer Games, and Mindfulness

In recent months I have found myself thinking more and more about the concept of mindfulness.  It seems to just creep up on me all the time, usually brought on by deep contemplation about my husband and family, and the knowledge of how lucky I am to have them.  They make my life.  They totally make my life.

So I guess it began with feelings of overwhelming gratitude.  I would watch the kids play, or talk with Mr. while he grilled dinner in the back yard, and suddenly I would think:  This is perfect.  I need to remember this.  In every detail.  I need to be aware of it, and appreciate this moment while it's here, and while I'm in it.  I need to be here for it.  Fully.

And I feel like I'm getting better at it.

I make it a point to spend at least a part of every day just sitting in the back yard, being.  Sometimes I will watch the baby run around and play.  Sometimes I will watch the rain drip off the tin roof of the porch.  And sometimes I will watch Michael walk around and pull weeds and talk about what needs to be done with the lawn, and where he wants to plant this or that.

It is at least one part of my day, every day, that I can hold in my hand and feel like I truly experienced.

And I think it's important.

. . .

This morning, as we are waiting to hear whether or not Padawan's final soccer game is going to get rained out, I decide to take a book  and go out onto the porch for a bit.

. . . and I find myself completely out of book.

(It is not a place that I ever like to be.)

"I am out of book!!!!!", I shout, to no one in particular.

(It was just that alarming.)

This situation is due to the fact that I recently finished the fourth book in the Game of Thrones series, and am now anxiously awaiting the time when I can get to the bookstore to purchase the thrilling conclusion.  (Can't find it in the stores around here.)  I also just finished the second book in the Divergent trilogy by Veronica Roth.  It is technically in the Young Adult category, and for a second I felt a little guilty about enjoying a kids book. . . but then I remember that Harry Potter and The Hobbit are considered kids books, too.  (This made me feel a great deal better.)  So now all I have to do is wait until October 22nd, which is the day that the third book comes out. 

The next Odd Thomas book doesn't come out until next year.

. . .I am going to be doing a LOT of waiting on books.

. . .And if I should end up dying before all of these books come out, and thus NEVER get to find out how the stories end. . . I am just going to be SO mad.  (Probably how all angry spirits start out.)

As a matter of fact, this is probably how I will one day know when I am ready for death:  Absolutely no involvement with a literary series whatsoever.  All existing story lines resolved.

. . . So where was I??

Yes.  I was out of book.

But I am not the kind of person that just walks out onto a back porch on a rainy Sunday WITHOUT a book.  (Please do not EVER mistake me for THAT person.)  So I rummaged around in one of our (overflowing) magazine racks, and came away with Zen Keys by Thich Nhat Hanh.  It is a book that I purchased at 2nd and Charles a while back, and haven't really gotten too deeply into yet.

*****Sidenote:  THIS IS WHY WE PURCHASE BOOKS LIKE THIS, MICHAEL.  For this EXACT situation.  THIS is the reason that we should ALWAYS have unread volumes on our bookcases, and why we should ALWAYS purchase books when they are reasonably priced.  It is a rainy Sunday INVESTMENT.*****

Many years ago I read a different book by Thich Nhat Hanh called Peace Is Every Step, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.  In a nutshell, it talks about how peace is not something we wish for, it is something we do.  It talks about different ways to walk around your life, being peace.  . . .it might sound a little flaky.  But I found it to be well-written and enlightening.  It's a slim book, and a quick read, so if you're looking for something in this genre. . . I recommend it.

 



 So I took the still-fairly-new book outside, opened to a page at random, and began to read.

(I don't normally do this, but it is integral to the story line, and so I am going to share a couple of passages here.)

"We see into our own nature by bringing light to each act of our existence, living in a way that mindfulness is present all the time.  When walking past the cypress tree in the courtyard, we really see it.  If we do not see the cypress in our own garden, how can we expect to see into our own true nature?

When we believe something to be the absolute truth and cling to it, we cannot be open to new ideas.  Even if truth itself is knocking at our door, we will not let it in.  The student must strive to be free of attachments to knowledge and be open so that truth may enter.  The teacher once said:  "If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha."  For the one who has only devotion, this declaration is terribly confusing.  But its effect depends on the mentality and capacity of the one who hears.  If the student is strong, she will have the capacity to liberate herself from all authority and realize ultimate reality in herself.  Truth is not a concept.  If we cling to our concepts, we lose reality.  This is why it is necessary to "kill" our concepts so that reality can reveal itself.  To kill the Buddha is the only way to see the Buddha.  Any concept we have of the Buddha can impede us from seeing the Buddha in person."

So.

As you can see, I'm clearly trying to convert everyone that is reading this to Buddhism.

=)

But I thought it was an interesting passage.

I will be thinking on it today.

I will walk around being peace, and reminding myself to see the cypress in my own back yard.

(***This is a lie.  We do not have a cypress.  We have a blossoming pear.  We have heard that they have invasive roots, and can really wreck a yard.  We are hoping that this proves to be untrue.  It is causing Michael a mild amount of stress.)

And so continues the tight-rope walk that is my life:

Making a point to see the blossoming pear outside our kitchen window.

And making a point to ignore all the toys, cars, and assorted nerf weapons that litter our kitchen floor.

I'm grateful for every giggle, even if it means that every once in a while, someone might pee on my leg in the process.  (see below)