PC Free. . .Way to be???

So for the last two weeks, our family has been entirely without a home computer.

Our old faithful unit, which had been an integral part of our lives since Michael and I met each other (and which, it bears mentioning, actually performed some critical duties in getting us together in the first place), finally shuddered its last, shaky breath. . . and then was no more.  =(

So we ordered a new family member, took out our smart phones, and began the looooooong wait for it to be delivered.

It took right around two weeks for the process to be completed, and here's what I did in that time/took away from this experience:



I did not write any new blog posts.

In all fairness, I hadn't done that in a while anyway.  But! Even though there were a couple of times when I thought of something REALLY GREAT that I wanted to write about. . . I didn't.  Typing out an entire blog post on my phone sounded like nothing short of torture. 

I refused to even dip my toe into that pool of insanity.

Nope.

I would just have to wait.

(. . . which I DID.  Successfully.  And survived.  . . .however, I now have NO idea what it was that I intended to write about.)



I spent my mornings snuggling on the couch.

We all know how it goes.

You're going about your day, something pops into your head, and you want to look it up.  You sit down at the computer, and the very next thing you know it is 4 hours later, and you have 6 tabs open with everything from cute cat pictures to recipes for chicken teriyaki (which turned out just AWFUL, btw) to awesome quotes from Robert Downey Jr.

It's just a horrible, addictive, time-wasting cycle.  A cycle that is doubly devious, because it makes you FEEL as though you are actually accomplishing something.

But. . . we HAD no computer on which to waste our time.  (I mean, we had our phones. . . but we all know that THAT is a horse of a different color.  Entirely.)

So instead of waking up every morning, getting Took situated on the couch with his strawberry milk and two-tarts, and then retreating into my Interwebz World. . . I had no option.

I HAD to snuggle on the couch with my boy.  =)

(Not sure how he will feel, if and when he reads this one day, to discover that he was my next-best option.  

. . . what can I say?  Mommy never claimed to be perfect.  I'm living and learning, just like everybody else.)

But snuggle on the couch is what we did.

On the plus side?

It was wonderful.  Precious bonding time with my precious boy, snuggled up to his back, sweet-smelling curls in my face, tickling my nose.  We giggled, we snuggled, we laughed.

On the down side?

I grew positively LAZY.

He would wake up around 6:30 or so, I would set up a place for us on the couch, make sure he was comfy, then I'd snuggle up to him and doze for intervals of anywhere from 45 seconds to 4 - 5 minutes, while he slurped his night-night juice and watched Caillou.

And OH MY GOD. . .

We watched a veritable shit-load of Caillou.

Seriously.

The theme song is still playing in my head.

It never stops.

I mean. . . seriously.

IT.  NEVER.  STOPS.

("I'm just a kid who's 4, each day I grow some more. . .")

 . . .Now, I'm not saying that the creators of Caillou were INTENTIONALLY doing the work of the devil when they created this theme song. . .
. . .I'm just saying that I'm not currently in a position to rule anything out.  =(

Moving on.

We made some awesome train tracks.

And this is not just mere boasting.  
I am completely serious when I say that our family (and this includes Took, Mister, AND myself) constructed some SERIOUSLY kick-ass train tracks.
 Took got the train set for Christmas last year, and, if we are being honest. . . I have probably enjoyed it at LEAST as much as he has.  

It's just. . . IT IS JUST COMPLETELY AWESOME.

(I NEVER knew that I had a personal fondness for trains.  Never knew it.  And yet. . . here we are.)

Our MOST impressive track, by far, was certainly the double-decker track that Michael designed and we all created together.   Here is our vision, come to life: 

In all honesty, I don't think Took was even HALFWAY as impressed with this creation as his father and I were.

Shoe boxes for supports. . . books stacked for stability. . . worked like a dream. . .

For the love of God.

Enough about trains.

=)

I did not wake up at 3 a.m. to find my husband's side of the bed empty, and a faint glow coming from the computer desk. This is a personal peeve of mine.
 My husband works a rotating swing shift (I have no idea HOW he does it), and so sometimes, when he is going in to work the next night, he will try to stay up late, so that he can sleep late the next day.

The only fly in this ointment is that we have an almost 3 year-old living in the house with us.  And, though I always try mightily, I am not ALWAYS capable of keeping him "quiet" for several hours after waking, so that his father can get his much-needed rest.

As they say in the military:  Eat when you can, sleep when you can.  You never know when you're gonna get another chance.

It is advice that my husband would do well to heed.

Because we have LOTS of toys. . . that make LOTS of noise. . .

And. . . our son has a current fondness for toy hammers.

We caught up on a lot of quality television programming.

(And no.  I am NOT referring to Caillou.)

Without the computer in the kitchen, eating up our time, and stealing our attentions from each other, we found that we had. . . TONS OF TIME!!!

So we watched a lot of really good shows.

(Primarily during dinner time, because we are not, as some might believe, a family of couch-potatoes.)

Our favorite of these (and by "our", I am referring to the family consensus, because my PERSONAL favorite was clearly Game of Thrones) was easily the on-demand episodes of Cosmos.

I love Cosmos.  =D

I just love it.

And Neil DeGrasse Tyson?  Ahhhhh. . .  =)

I wish he could sit by my bed every night, and just TALK until I fall asleep.

 I mean:  SERIOUSLY.

Has "smart as a whip" and "smooth like silk" EVER been combined in a dreamier way?

I.  Think.  Not.

. . .Mister and I were discussing it last night, while viewing last Sunday's episode of Cosmos, and I decided that this program is essentially like a devotional for the non-religious.

"Church" for atheists.

And Mister agreed.

We always feel so in awe, so enraptured, so COMFORTED after every episode.  With so MUCH to think about!!!

Okay. . . I'm fan-girling.

I should really save that for Supernatural and Game of Thrones.

 BOOM.

I took a LOT less quizzes, and probably missed a lot of birthdays.

Without the desktop computer, I found that I was far less inclined to discover Which Star Wars Character Are You? (answer:  James T. Kirk, reboot version),  Where Should You Really Live? (answer:  Middle Earth), and Which Game of Thrones Character Are You? (answer: Khaleesi.  SCORE.)

Also, I have no idea how to find out whose birthday is coming up on the facebook app on my phone.

So. . . if I missed your birthday. . . I am sorry.

But I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that I have a really great excuse.

(Which is, essentially, "I forgot, and my phone failed to remind me.")

Sorry.

=(


. . .

So.

Now the computer is back.

Things are back to normal.

And what have I learned?

. . .

Our computer is not inherently evil.

But choosing to waste hours a day on it. . . well. . . I guess that IS.

As always, it is still about choices, and about HOW you choose to fill your days, and spend your time.

Also. . .

The new computer came in a GREAT BIG BOX. . .

Which the Took currently has filled with cars, trucks, orange juice-y, snacks, and, from time to time, himself.

As he watches Caillou.

=)

Presleys, Space-Cats, and Missing Sparks

Elvis.  Tap-dancing.  Presley.

And that's about the best I can muster in the way of creative expletives this morning.

I am doing what I honestly try to almost never do:  I am writing because I am in a bit of a pissy mood, and I need somewhere to put it. 

Seriously, whether it is my blog, or my facebook status, I really do try to live by the "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all" creed.  (I am, after all, a good Southern girl, and this was repeated so often during my childhood that it is permanently inscribed on my brain.  Plus, it's really not bad advice.)

In addition, writing for the sole purpose of bitching or complaining is just. . . too easy.  It's a gimme.  Anybody could do it.  Want to bring people down?  Want to point out faults in a world that is absolutely chocked-freaking-FULL-of-them?  . . . a toddler could do that.  It takes no effort, it takes no thought, it takes no talent.  But. . . inspiration, ah!  If you can write something inspiring, take the everyday or mundane and elevate it to something more, or spark the flame of creativity in those who read it?  THAT.  THAT is talent.  THAT is a gift.  And only THAT is truly worth your time. 

But that is not what I'm striving to do today, unfortunately.

No, today I am just trying to perform a figurative "blood-letting" on my brain. . . to let all the poinsonous, infected blood flow out of me, until I am pale and dizzy with the glory of newfound health.

**(In an interesting sidenote, did you know I was UNABLE TO LOCATE a clip on youtube for the Steve Martin/SNL blood-letting CLASSIC, Oric the Barber of York???  . . . NOTHING.  I find this baffling.  . . . it WAS "Oric", right?)

So, back to my original point:  Elvis-related expletives.  Because SERIOUSLY.  It has been a weird. . .

. . .I was gonna say "week".  But I'm just gonna go on and put "couple of months" in there, because that is the truth.

Examples?  Illustrations?  Certainly.

I was sick through Christmas.  Pneumonia.  Pretty much literally slept right through Christmas.  Missed all of it.  Nightmare fever-dreams, the works.  Really sucked.

Right on the heels of that, our household caught a stomach virus.  Not fun.

Then suddenly I turn around and January is almost over and I have no idea what's going on.

Then it snowed a lot. 

And, surprise surprise, my son is terrified of snow. 

(Seriously.  This was something I honestly could not have predicted.)

Won't play in it, doesn't want to talk about it, and freaks right on OUT if he sees ME anywhere NEAR it.  Right on the heels of that, my snow-fearing offspring caught another stomach bug a few days ago.  Thought he was over it today. . . but I was wrong.

Soooo. . . what this translates to is me feeling like I have been stuck inside this house for roughly 9 years.  My hair is greasy, our house needs to be cleaned, I feel like EVERYTHING smells like vomit (even though Michael assures me that it in fact does NOT), I developed a migraine at midnight last night only to eventually flee into creepy nightmares about evil-minded kitchen utensils and a lecherous Anthony Bourdain, and everything feels foreign and fuzzy and filthy and wrong.
. . . I am reminded of Gollum's line in the Lord of the Rings where he says that he forgot about the taste of bread, and the sound of running water.  Dark days.  =/

In addition to this, I find that I haven't really wanted to write lately. 

Nor have I wanted to paint.

Nor have I . . . really wanted to do anything.

I've just been crawling into books, playing with my offspring, and doggie-paddling through my days, making no real headway in any direction.

I am. . . "off."

(insert joke here.)

So this morning I realized the reason that I haven't written lately:

I have no interest whatsoever in anything I have to say right now.

Aside from helping Took assemble some truly genius and inspired train tracks, I have felt a complete absence  of creative urgings.  No points of view that I desperately needed to express.  Nothing.

. . . it is troubling.

I'm not sure where I went.

??

I mean. . . I'm still HERE, obviously. . . but I think maybe I've just gotten stomped down into the dirt by illnesses and cat litter and life, then perhaps covered over with a fine layer of someone else's vomit.

(This is not a complaint about being a mom.  It is an observation about how dangerous it feels to fear that "Mom" is becoming my only true identity.)

And I AM Mom, now.

But that is far from ALL I am.

I'm the girl that has kept a journal, in one form or another, for roughly 35 years.  I'm the girl that honors humor above almost all other things.  (If you ever have to ask yourself "Is she kidding?", the answer is yes.  I am ALWAYS kidding.)  I am a lover of coffee and costumes, books and creativity, forests and fields.

I'm the introvert that always feels out of place, and makes and paints clay flower faeries when she's in a good mood.  I am a juggler of potatoes, a writer of bad poetry, a believer in moon-magic, and a former river-rat masquerading as a "normal" suburban housewife.

I am a baker of pies and a lover of cats and a wiggler to musics.

And so, what I'm telling myself this morning is simply this:

You'll get it back.

It's not gone forever, your creative spark.

Life is about cycles.  It ebbs and flows, and I'll be a wiser and better person if I can learn to ride the waves instead of fighting the tide.
. . . . . .


Also:  My spouse and I will be going on a Weezer cruise soon.  (Excitement levels are VERY, very high.)  There will be several "dress-up" nights during the cruise, and on the LAST night--- you get to dress up like a super hero.  =D

So I decided to go as my OWN super hero, Danger Kitten.

Aside from a couple tweaks here and there, and some shoulder and elbow pads, here is my costume:

You can't really tell from the photo, but my tights have pictures of space cats on them.

=D

Stellar.

 

The Zen of the Grilled Cheese

Sometimes I fear that perhaps I live a very small little life.

As fears go, I suppose it is not a completely irrational one for a stay-at-home mom to have.

No matter how much you love the way you spend your days (and I do, very much, love it), I believe that whenever there arises such a steady repetition of certain activities, it is only natural to find yourself wondering if perhaps you are missing out on something else.

This is my way of saying that I love being a mom, but when you spend all day, every day, in mainly just the company of a toddler, you really do begin to wonder what the rest of the world does all day, and pine for actual, stimulating, adult conversation.   You begin to wonder:  . . . Do people still talk?  Do they still talk to one another and share ideas?  Because it seems like I used to remember talking to people, but lately all the conversation I've been a part of has consisted of talk of cars, and snacks, and whether or not someone has gone poo-poo recently.
. . . I have to admit, I feel like I'm walking a very careful line when I even present the possibility that staying home all day with my child sometimes makes me feel like the active part of my brain may be stagnating.  (I mean, Doc McStuffins teaches some GREAT lessons, and the purple hippo sidekick nurse is just charmingly sassy, but one can only hear the theme song so many times before it begins to feel as if the cerebral cortex is starting to liquify.)

So I'll just go on and say it, and we can get it out of the way right now:  my child is my world.

No matter what happens to him in life, no matter where he decides to go, or what he experiences, he is going to do so from the solid, and I hope, secure-feeling, standpoint of knowing that his parents cherish him, respect him, and always have time for him.  I'm not saying that I ever have been, or ever will be, the perfect parent.  What I'm saying is that I feel very fortunate, and count myself blessed that I have had the opportunity to take the days slowly with my boy for these first, formative years. . .  I haven't had to wake him up at the crack of dawn every morning, and shuffle him off to somewhere.  I will forever be grateful that we've been able to spend our days with each other, taking our time, setting a leisurely schedule, and genuinely getting to enjoy each other.  It has been a gift that means what I have REALLY been doing is discovering, and uncovering a little more each day, who my son is.  And it is turning out to be the most fascinating adventure I could ever imagine. 

I've been able to hold him in my lap in the mornings as he sips his strawberry quik'd milk and munches on pop-tarts, and we giggle over pictures of cats on the internet.  I've been there to cuddle for every naptime, and for the happy ritual of crackers and juice that preceded each one.  And I've been there for every bath time, complete with toys and bubbles, and I'm already dreading the day that will inevitably come when bathing becomes a solitary activity once again, and there is never any need to argue over "sides" and jockey for space in the tub.

For that will be a sad day indeed.  =(

 

But with this gift of happily unwinding time, fed out over the course of gummy-filled days, comes a hard question:

Do I feel fulfilled? 

Am I missing something? ?

Have I been so concerned with slipping on a Hot Wheels, or locating loose Lego's in the rug that life is passing me by??

It's an easy thing to fear.

I know that people are doing things.  All I have to do is look on facebook, and I see it all. . .  Wild adventures, exotic locales, travel and adventure and interesting photos of food. 

I know that things are happening.  I know that art is happening, and history, and music, and sometimes I think to myself:  Are you experiencing enough?  Are you getting out there and MAKING LIFE HAPPEN?  ARE YOU SAVORING THIS SHIT???!??!!
. . . so I've contemplated these questions for a while now.

And the short answer is:  Yes.

=)

I am savoring the crap out of it.

Actually, when I first began asking myself these questions, the first thing I thought of were:  monks.

As in, monks that live in a monastery.

(I was thinking of Tibetan monks, because I have always been fascinated by them.  But I guess you could think of whatever kind of monk you wanted.  "To each his own flavor of monk.")

 

 

 

 

. . . But seriously. . . who am I kidding?  Clearly, the very BEST type of monks are Tiger-Monks.

 

 

 

I think we can all agree that you don't get much more badass than a Tiger-Monk.  . . .And so that resolves the issue of Who's the Best At Monking.

But back to my original point:  I thought of monks.

They just live in a monastery all day.

They do menial tasks: cleaning, cooking, working with their hands.  And they do it in such a way that it becomes a meditation unto itself.  None of it is meaningless, nothing is unimportant.

(. . . I also think that they probably do bake sales and bachelor auctions, and other sorts of community-oriented projects that help out the locals in their areas.  I can only assume that this one is true, because I've never actually read an informative article regarding Monk Bake Sales, but they seem like such a friendly and helpful bunch that I'm forced to conclude that these are activities they would greatly enjoy.)

Bake sales and bachelor auctions aside, I've been led to believe that monks lead very full lives.  (Books have led me to believe this.  I read a lot of books.)  They go about their monk-tasks, and they practice the art of mindfulness.  Which really just means being fully present and aware.  To devote all of your attention to a task, to fully experience the task, and to seek to perform it in a perfect manner, are the elements that transform mopping the floor into a fulfilling meditation.

And I've come to notice and appreciate the parallels between my own measured, enjoyable existence, and that of Extreme Monking.

(Again, I am forced to assume that this is actually a thing.  I would surmise that only the most hardcore, the most FEARFULLY ENLIGHTENED, would participate in the daredevil arts of Extreme Monking.  THIS IS NOT YOUR GRANDMA's MONKING, PEOPLE!!!)

And so it has become my goal to emulate all the extreme monks out there, and, by practicing mindfulness and having a positive outlook, thus elevate my daily tasks into exercises of gratitude and joy.  I have decided to strive to do the best at even the most inconsequential-seeming duties, and to do so while making "joy" an active and living practice.  And I think that this weekend has been a decent example of this.

Even for me (and trust me: I keep it REALLY real with the shorties), this has been a very kid-centric weekend.

The spouse has been working days, and so it has been just me and Took and Pad.  And we have had a GREAT time.  =)

We start off with breakfast in the den, consisting of mini-muffins or cinnamon rolls (gentleman's choice), and big mugs of strawberry milk, eaten on the couch.  There have been heated discussions about which "side" of the couch belongs to which boy.   Took is of the opinion that the entire couch is "his side", while Pad forcefully disagrees.  The issue was close to coming to blows when The Mama was forced to make a ruling:  One boy gets to pick which side he wants, and the other boy gets first choice of blankets, which leaves us at Even Stevens.  (I am near-religious about the keeping of soft afghans on-hand in our den.  I believe you should constantly have one nearby in a living room, in the event of a Snuggle Emergency.  I am vigilant, and always prepared.)

 

After breakfast I pull out a special surprise for the boys: the play-doh gifts that Took got for Christmas.  He has tons of brand new tubs of play-doh, and lots of new play-doh molds and cutters and shapers.  We clean off the kitchen table, to give them the most space, and they happily spend the next hour making play-doh foods and cars and Hero Pigs (see below).

 

 

 

Shortly after the play-doh party, it is bathtime.

. . . before I had children, I never really recognized bathtime for the extremely excitable, boisterous event that it is.  And it was made even MORESO on this particular day, as this was the day we got out Took's new Hot Wheels ramp for the tub.

Yes, you read that correctly.  =)  For Christmas, Took was lucky enough to receive this awesome little ramp that pops right onto the wall of the bath.  It has a bucket of water at the top, and when you press the button your car comes down in a wash of water, and flies right off the end of the ramp, through the plastic ring of fire, and into the tub.

 

. . . I don't think I even need to express what an ENORMOUS hit this was.  They probably stayed in the tub for the better part of an hour.

Next up is lunch, and Pad is nothing if not predictable when it comes to the question of:  What would you like for lunch?

Grilled cheese and green (sour cream and onion) chips.

. . . For some reason, there is something very comforting to me about the act of making a grilled cheese.  Perhaps it's the fact that it is probably THE comfort food of comfort foods.  Or maybe it's the personal history of eating grilled cheeses as a kid, and all the happy memories said activity evokes.  My mama would always whip up a mind-bogglingly PERFECT grilled cheese: the crust crispy and just the right shade of golden, with the cheese just melty enough but not too hot.  When my Granny made them for us, she did it just a little bit differently by using not sliced cheese, but big chunks of sharp cheddar arranged side by side on the bread.  She would cook it to the perfect shade of melted, and the cheddar made for a stronger, more cheesy taste.

In my memory, both types of grilled cheeses were best served on a rainy day and, when paired with chips and a dill pickle spear, were nothing short of comforting, culinary perfection.

So when I set about making my own boys grilled cheeses (even though I know the little one won't eat it, he still gets half a sandwich because he's GOT to try it SOME day, right?), it is by no means a slapdash effort. 

 

I focus completely on my task; my mind is not distracted by other thoughts or concerns. 

I am making a grilled cheese.  I am doing nothing else.

And I am doing so with JOY.

I take great pride in performing this task, and it is merely icing on the cake when I give the sandwich a final flip and find that it is, indeed, perfect.  (I got no complaints from the young gentlemen.)

 

 

 

After lunch, and after naps (where I am the "big" spoon to the sweetest, most curly-headed "little" spoon ever), we divide our time between lively games of Hungry Hungry Hippo and taking turns riding around the driveway in the new truck.  (Took is THRILLED with the Hippo game, as it has finally afforded him the opportunity to be the BEST at a game in our home.  Seriously.  He rocks the hippo world.)

Later in the day, we greet Dada at the door as if he has been gone for months instead of just hours, with much excitement and giggles, and sometimes it's all so very Norman Rockwell that I have a hard time believing it is actually MY life.

 

. . . There was a time in my life when I felt compelled to do something grand.  I felt certain that THE WAY to make my mark on this world was by accomplishing some harrowing feat, beating some record, or just generally doing something so grand and so fine that it simply demanded accolades and showers of rose petals.

And now. . . now I am really learning how to live.
And I am learning that it is not WHAT you do, so much as HOW you do it.

I don't just take care of the children:  I devote my life to it.  To their games, and their care, and their instruction, and their thoughts and opinions.

I'm not perfect, nor am I perfectly patient.  I have moments where I want to scream, and even more moments when I want to scream:  "Just leave me alone for five minutes so that I might enjoy an uninterrupted thought in my head!!!"

 

But I am active, and I am actively participating in this life that I've fashioned.  I am actively trying to make each task, each day, an exercise in gratitude.

I am here.  I am present.  And most importantly, I am joyful.

And what exactly do I hope to accomplish with my work?

 

I hope to raise children that are secure, and confident, and kind, who know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they come first with me and with their dad, and who know that they can come to us with anything.

And that is the beginning and end of it.  Simply put, I have escaped my earlier need for accolades.  I have slid out from under the mantle of the need to do something "grand."

 

========

 

From time to time, in moments when I look at what's in front of me and think about how it is so much more than I deserve, I turn to my husband and tell him that I am content.  And he gives me this look that says:  "Oh, great.  Contentment.  Just what I was shooting for.  Thanks."

But I don't equate contentment with complacency, or with a sense of having settled for less than the best.

What I mean is simply this:  When I look at my life, I see worthwhile and important days spent with my family.  I see times in the backyard with food on the grill and kids on the hammock, and a delicious kind of chaos mixed in with Star Wars conversations and water balloon fights and chasing the cats with Nerf guns.  And I could spend a million days just like this, trying to perfect the art of living and attempting to craft a flawless grilled cheese, and learning how to do a spot-on gangnam-style dance with Pad.

 

It was Socrates that said:  "The unexamined life is not worth living."  And I agree with the sentiment fully.  But what I am learning, and what is coming as a bit of a surprise, is that you can live a fully examined life in the comfort of your own back yard.

All my life I have searched, and it has brought me here.  To this point.

This.  This is the point where I searched for the definition of "fulfilled", and found that I AM.  This is the point where I found that the word "content" is perfectly descriptive and perfectly apt, and really just means: 

 

I want nothing more than what I have right in front of me.



 

 

 

 

 



Fading Coupes and Future Tooks

Today I was reading in the back yard while Took parked and re-parked his 4 wheeler and his tricycle and his Cozy Coupe, taking time to get each one just so.  He is careful, and attentive. 

He seems to take joy in his work.

=)

And I find myself noticing that the once-bright, primary red on his Coupe has started to fade.  It has spent so much time out in the sun that it is getting bleached, and the primary red plastic is already turning a more relaxed, muted pink.

I look at each of the other wheeled vehicles in turn (his beloved "tars," his precious), and can't help but notice that each one is showing signs of wear. . . 

The green 4 wheeler, which had originally belonged to The Tiny Terrorist, is scuffed all over, and the black seat and green body are fading.  The tricycle seems the most resistant, but is showing the first signs of age.

I sit there and look at them. 

He has had SO MUCH FUN with these things!!  In this back yard, has had many, MANY adventures already.  He tells me about them all the time.  I can usually make out as many as 10 to 12 words per conversation. 

It is enlightening.  =)

As I sit there and watch him play, I briefly consider instituting a new "We Must Put Our Outside Toys In The Garage Every Night" policy.

. . . but then I think that maybe I won't do that at all.


Maybe the toys should stay out.

Putting them away is really only delaying the inevitable. 

Toys fade.

And the toys that fade fastest are the ones that are well-used, and worn from play. 

Took is only going to be able to play with most of these tars for the next couple of years or so, TOPS.

So why put them away every night?

They are waiting for him there every morning, as soon as he comes outside.  . . .Which is usually a demand made QUITE early every morning.  Strangely enough, he seems to EXPECT that we are to go outside every morning, directly after breakfast.  And when horrible things happen like "it's raining", or "Mama said no", it is clear that I am simply choosing to be difficult.  Or, as I like to call it, The Path of Most Vocal, Fit-Pitching Resistance.

So unless it is raining, we've decided to keep the toys out, for now.

The back yard is a very important part of Took's life.

I've witnessed many fantastic things happen there. . . and I know that toys sometimes help those fantastic things happen.

So they stay. 

=)

They will fade, and they will get scuffed, and stickers will eventually peel off. . . and by then it will probably be time for bigger and newer bikes anyway.  So let them be enjoyed.  As much as possible.

. . .because when the day comes that it is time for "bigger and newer bikes". . . it is going to be a dark, DARK DAY for yours truly.  Physical evidence.  Staring me in the face.  Evidence of the passage of time in Took's childhood. 

Bloody hell.  I'll probably still be trying to shove Took into the Cozy Coupe when he's 12 years old. . .

 

"Get in!!  I know you can do it!!  Just bend your legs more!!  . . . . MAMA NEEDS HER BABY BACK!!!!!"

 

 

 

(Artist rendering:  Future Took) 

 

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


Also. . . . it is Halloween. 

Our neighborhood is CRAYZEEE at Halloween.  And it is supposed to rain/possibly storm.  Who knows?  Also, I have no idea if I will be able to successfully wrangle a willfull toddler into facepaint and a raccoon hoodie. 

 

This is going to be an interesting night.

We are one of the handful of houses in our neighborhood that has NOTHING in their front yard.  No decorations, no lights, no spiderwebs, no PUMPKIN.  And our neighborhood goes ALL OUT!!!  It is a fantastical spectacle to be seen!!  But a wee bit exhausting.  We shall see.

So all that needs to be done is:

*  Go through the halloween candy bowl, saving a few of the best pieces for home use.

*  Wait for Took to get home, then start applying our facepaint.
(We want him to see the process.  Don't want to freak him out.)

*  TRICK OR TREAT!!!!

*  HOOOOOORAY!!!!

 

Favorite Things This Week. Important. (Srsly.)

So I was just sitting here, thinking about Oprah Winfrey.

. . . .


(As, I am sure, we are all wont to do at one time or another.)

And I was thinking about how she does her 'favorite things' shows, and she lists all of her favorite things for the week, or the month, or until the wind changes, or whatever.

. . . or I am thinking about Martha Stewart? . . .

AM I THINKING ABOUT MARTHA STEWART??!!
 

 

AM I????

Well.  ONE of them. . .

(I could easily google the answer to this perplexing little riddle. . . but I choose not to.  Because I believe that some things should remain mysterious.  It's fun.)

Anyway.  Long story short:  a list of favorite things.  That's a great idea, and doesn't involve a great deal of effort.  So here are some of my favorite things this week:

SOME OF MY FAVORITE THINGS THIS WEEK!!!!


1.)  Lizards that sneak inside via houseplants.
 

 

It got pretty cold one night last week, so we grabbed the portable plants from the back yard and brought them inside for the night  (Sleepover, Houseplant Edition).  And this little guy had a hell of a day.  Probably woke up in the plant, completely amazed to find himself indoors.  Made an heroic break for freedom. . . which turned out to be foolhardy, as he was directly in front of a kitty cat and a toddler at the time.  He (or she. . . IF she, then: 'Esmerelda') was eventually apprehended and released to the safety of the Mexican Heather.  . . . the locals still talk about it in hushed voices.

2.)  When Took asks me to fix his hair.

 

He has gotten just old enough to want to do everything (and I mean everything) that we do.  This includes everything from carrying around a "phone" and a set of keys to lock (and unlock. . . repeatedly) the house and car, to mowing the lawn, to bossing the kitty cats (I was amazed to find that we apparently do a lot of that), to fixing our hair.  

. . . it is probably a sign that I am severely broken and evil that I find this so funny. . . but to that I say: 

"Pssssh!  Whatever." 
He looks like a little Who from Whoville, and I am unapologetic.

 

 

3.)  Suprise!  New book!

 



 

We were in Target the other day and I was thrilled to find this book!!  It is the third in the Divergent trilogy, which I have greatly enjoyed.  I thought it wasn't coming out until Christmas. . . so I am very, VERY happy.  =D 

 

 

 

 4.)  Plastic Halloween Pumpkins for a Dollar



Candy goes HERE.

LET.  IT.  BEGINNNN!!!

 

 

 

5.)  This artwork of Devin's.



Found this on Devin's notepad when I went to clean his room.  =)

Scientists have been studying the markings all week.  Best guesses indicate that it is meant to represent some sort of sports game.  We are hesitant to call it "soccer", as it appears that it is being played with a bowling ball.

We are always happy when we are able to introduce a bit more culture into our lives.

Fascinating work.


6.)  The Thanksgiving issue of Southern Living that is waiting for me in the den.

 

 

 

Maybe this year is the year that I learn how to cook each and every dish that is a vital component in a traditional Thanksgiving meal.

. . . or maybe I just look at the pretty pictures.

 

And show up at Thanksgiving with what is becoming my official offering to the feast:  seven layer salad and mashed potatoes.  (You do not need an abundance of skill to render either one delicious, and who doesn't like mashed potatoes?  WHO?  . . . point them out to me, and I will END THEM.)

 

 

 

7.)  Surprise crackers. 

 

 

 

It would appear that my son has the soul of a depression-era hoarder.  He is continuously squirreling away crackers and snacks in random areas of the house.  I can only assume that he is shoring up snack provisions in anticipation of "leaner times."

I appreciate this habit of his ("Waste not, want not!" and all), but it makes the house perpetually tricky.  I do a minimum of 5 full-house sweeps every day.  This is when I gather the majority of my information regarding his activites. 

 

You can learn a lot by watching a kid.

You can learn even more by paying attention to what they hide away from everyone.  So far, Took's secret treasure troves mostly just contain saltines, goldfish crackers, his Captain Hook compass, and the occasional jelly bean.

 

 

 

 

 

8.)  These lavendar-scented air wicks.

 

 

 

We've jammed these babies in just about every room in our house.

The result?  Two words:

 

FRAGRANT.

 

MEADOW.

 

 

 



 9.)  $1 Halloween socks.

 

 

Seriously. 

 

We're smack in the middle of my favorite time of year:  The time when you can get adorable little bat socks, and ghost socks, and skull socks for about a dollar.  Dollar Tree, Target, Wal-Mart. . . they're everywhere, and I love it.

Also, you can usually find great deals on plastic cups with bats and ghosts and skulls.

So STOCK.  UP.

 

 

10.)  Took's cotton candy, left over from his second trip to the Pumpkin Patch.

 

 

. . . I might be a horrible mother. . .   ='(

 

Also:  I turned 37 this week.  My back is killing me, but spirits have been pretty high. 

I have spent this week shuffling around in an afghan, wearing snuggy cookie monster pants.

 

And . . . I ate a dozen petit fors.

 

No punchline.  No lie.

I ate a dozen petit fors.

And I regret nothing.

NOTHING!!!!!



 

 

 

 



 





 

 

 

 





ACA Editorial -- U Mad Bro??

I do not want to talk about the government shutdown.

I just don't.

The fact is that, aside from weekly viewings of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, I try to stay as far away from the realm of politics as I possibly can. 

It is unpleasant.

 

It is polarizing.

It is REALLY difficult to discuss, and adamantly disagree with someone about, while keeping a relationship with that person intact.

So I have a personal policy of just keeping my nose out of it.

. . .

Unfortunately. . . there are times when that becomes impossible.  Throughout history, I'm sure there have been people who just wanted to stay out of it.  People who felt that they didn't have a dog in the fight.  But there comes a point where silence becomes equal to cowardice.  There comes a point when silence does damage.

I don't know if we're there yet, but I'm not willing to risk it.

So with that thought in mind. . . I have a couple things to say about:

The government shutdown/Obamacare.

First off, I'm just going to admit that I find this all very baffling.  I don't know a great deal about politics, and (like many people) I haven't read every scrap of information about Obamacare.

But that does not seem to hold true for everyone I know.  Everyone has an opinion about it, and that's fine.  That's how the world is supposed to work.

But there are just a couple of things that I don't understand. . . and unfortunately, they mostly have to do with religion, and partisan politics.

Our country has drawn a line in the sand straight down party lines, and nobody is happy.  Lots of people are terrified.  Lots of people are mad.  And, as I have mentioned, I do not know all the ins and outs of the ACA, I'm no political analyst, and I don't spend my days debating politics online (I'm looking at you, Michael).


What I DO know is that there are people in our country without health care.  We can all agree on THAT, right?

There are people that work hard, are law-abiding citizens and have families that they are trying to support, and they CANNOT AFFORD HEALTH CARE.

I have been there, and I know what it feels like, so I'll tell you firsthand:  It feels really shitty.
It feels terrifying.  (And this was before I had a child.  I'm sure that ups the ante quite a bit.)

Constantly being aware that you are one car accident, or one illness, away from being financially ruined. . . FOREVER . . . it's a lot of pressure, and it's terrifying.We are the United States of America.

We are a major world power.  We are proud, we are strong, we are capable, and we are pretty proud about referring to ourselves as a "Christian" nation.  AND THE FACT THAT ANY OF OUR CITIZENS ARE GOING WITHOUT HEALTH CARE IS SHAMEFUL. 

IT IS DISGUSTING.
It is a CRIME.

THESE ARE OUR PEOPLE, AND THEY ARE GOING WITHOUT, AND IF YOU ARE NOT PISSED OFF AND UPSET ABOUT IT THEN SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOU.
I'm not saying that the ACA is perfect.  As a matter of fact, I'm QUITE sure that it's not. 

BUT WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING.

I DON'T GIVE A RAT'S ASS WHERE YOU STAND POLITICALLY.  I just don't.

I DON'T GIVE A RAT'S ASS WHAT YOUR RELIGIOUS BELIEFS ARE, EITHER.  Because as far as I can tell, they aren't helping any body right now. 

The other day as I was looking for a Halloween costume, I actually HEARD SOMEONE SAY something to the affect of "People should just get a better job and they'd GET health care.  I don't care where they find it, but I'M NOT PAYING FOR IT."
I've seen the same sorts of comments online, and I'm just stating facts when I say that they are mostly from people that I would call "very religious."

So I starting really looking at people on social media sites, and I became more confused.  Felt more baffled.

Because everywhere I looked, it seemed to be the conservative Christians making the biggest stink about this.  They seemed to be the group that appeared to be the MOST upset.

. . .WHY IS THAT?

 

 

(Seriously.  Someone needs to explain this to me.  Because I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.)

. . . Are you afraid that you're going to have to pay too much?  I guess that would be a reasonable fear.  Are you afraid that your family is going to suffer as a result?  (Because being afraid of THAT, maybe, I could understand.) 

Have you forgotten that you've been COMMANDED to care for the poor and the needy? 

IT WOULD APPEAR TO BE NON-NEGOTIABLE.
Oh, do you work hard for you family?  You think everyone else should, too?

So do I.
But some folks can't.  Some folks are too old, some are too young, and some are too sick. 

THOSE ARE THE FOLKS THAT WE TAKE CARE OF.  BECAUSE THEY ARE OUR PEOPLE, AND BECAUSE THEY DESERVE IT, AND BECAUSE WE ARE GOOD PEOPLE, AND THAT'S WHAT GOOD PEOPLE DO.
We have needed health care reform in this country for a LONG time.

Don't like the system that's being put in place?  Fine. 

Change it.  Amend it.  FIX IT.BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T JUST SIT THERE AND TAKE THIS ATTITUDE OF "I'M NOT PAYING FOR IT/ I DIDN'T VOTE FOR IT."

You want to take a side on this issue?  Then how about we forget what the red folks are saying, and forget what the blue folks are saying, and just REFUSE TO LET ANYONE SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF US TO THE POINT THAT WE LOSE OUR CAPACITY FOR REASON, AND MAYBE TAKE THE SIDE OF THE PEOPLE WHO ARE SICK AND NEED SOME FREAKING HELP.
So I've probably lost some friends with these opinions. . . and I don't even care.  I'm not calling anyone stupid, and I'm not berating anyone for what they think. 

But there seems to be a disconnect regarding this issue, and my attitude is this: 

I'm ashamed.

People find out that they are sick, and instead of their first thought being "Am I going to survive this?  Am I going to see my child grow up?", their first thought is "How am I going to pay for this?"
I'm disgusted.

We're acting like we're on teams, and if "our" team lost then we're pissed off and pitching a fit.

GROW THE EFF UP. 

If this helps ONE FAMILY keep a loved one, or eases the burden on someone in times of life and death, if it offers care for someone who would not have had it. . . honestly, I fail to see what the problem is.

So let's iron out the details.  I'm all for it.

In the meantime, there are people that are sick and dying.

. . . if we're not here to HELP those people, the people that NEED IT. . . then exactly WHAT THE HELL ARE WE HERE FOR??



 

Milkmaids, Epiphanies, and Spock

The news in my world this morning is brief: 

"TOOTHACHE!!!!!"

(That is both the headline, and the story.)

So, as this post is mainly just an exercise in distracting myself from the ache in my jaw, you can expect it to be disjointed, incomprehensible, and only mildly entertaining. 

Go on.

Expect it.

. . .

Good.

(Now anything better than that will just be a pleasant surprise.)

=)

As for the toothache. . . it hurts.  Woke me up at 2 a.m., kept me tossing and turning.  As a matter of fact, the only thing I can imagine that would be WORSE than this tooth pain would be actually going to the dentist to have it seen to.

I am not even a little bit ashamed to say that I am TERRIFIED of dentists.

I break out in a cold sweat if I even start thinking about them.

Aaaaand. . . yep.  There it is.  Feeling clammy.

Ew.

. . . At this point, I would like to state for the record that I am NOT quite such an enormous whiny baby about everything in my life.

I have broken many bones in my life. 

Did not whine.

I broke my wrist a few years ago and had to have it "set". 

Did not whine.

A couple of years back, I even tried for several hours to push a baby out of a certain extremity (to no avail), and eventually had to have said baby forcibly removed.  Did not whine.  (Nurses even commented on it.  I felt proud of how much of a baby I wasn't.  Then I cried because my midsection had never looked quite so lumpily-hideous before.)

What I'm saying here is that I would much rather make an appointment to have a broken bone set, get stitches, or have pins surgically inserted in my wrist than have to go see a dentist.

I am aware that, if you do NOT have a dentist phobia, this probably sounds RATHER foolish.

But you do not HAVE a dentist phobia, and so I imagine that life is pretty easy for you up there in your ivory tower where the sky is blue, life is sweet, and your jaw doesn't ache.

. . . This conversation is over.

. . . . . . . .

Anyway. . . I was taking my mind off of my troubles. . .

Oh yeah.

We went to see some music on Monday night.

=D

But first, we went (as we often do) to eat Indian food.

Our favorite place, Silver Coin, was closed that day.  So we went to . . . ANOTHER establishment.  (Our experience was not ideal.  So I have decided not to name names.  They know who they are.)

We sat down at our table at 6:07.

At 6:50, Michael looked at his watch AGAIN, and we both kind of griped to each other about how long it was taking our food to get there. . .

And that's about the time Michael realized that he had left the tickets to the concert in the truck.  At home.

=(

Also. . . I do NOT think what they gave me was Chicken Tikka.

It came on a fajita pan, and there was no sauce.

And when we ASKED about it, our waitress assured us that it WAS Chicken Tikka.

. . . but I have decided that she made a mistake, and then lied about it because maybe she could tell that I am not Indian, and assumed that I would not know the difference.

Well, joke's on HER.

Because I am ALMOST SURE that that was NOT Chicken Tikka, and I will probably never say anything else about it, but I was VERY DISSATISFIED.

=(

And then we drove home for the tickets.

(Also, I grabbed a few Rolos.  Indian food is awesome, but it plays havoc with your breath.)

Then we drove back to Iron City to see Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.

It was a good show.

=D

Very energetic, nice lights, nice stage.  Also very nice was the fact that Michael had just informed me a few hours earlier that their keyboard player is actually the girl who played Dwight's milk maid girlfriend in the last season of The Office.

I couldn't stop staring.

It was TOTALLY HER.

. . . she's just so LOVELY!!

 

 

 Anyway.

 

We had a great time, and even got to hang out with some friends that we hadn't seen in far too long.  Nice.  =)

 

The only thing I really noticed after that was that OH MY GOD I'VE BEEN STANDING AND DANCE-WIGGLING ON A CONCRETE FLOOR FOR THREE HOURS STRAIGHT AND SWEET DEITIES I MUST BE OLD BECAUSE EVERYTHING HURTS ALL THESE KIDS LOOK SO FREAKING YOUNG ARE THEY EVEN ALLOWED TO BE OUT THIS LATE GOOD LORD WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BACK AND WHY IS EVERYTHING SUDDENLY HURTING I HAD NO IDEA CONCRETE FLOORING WOULD POSE SUCH AN ISSUE!!

 

(More or less.)

 

Then I decided to squat down and try to stretch/pop my back. . . and ended up stretch/popping the strap to my dress.

 

So.

 

Even though it doesn't SOUND like it. . . it was actually a really good night.  =)

 

And then I had my epiphany:  OOH!!  Maybe. . . maybe old people don't stop going out and having fun because they're FUDDY DUDDIES. . . MAYBE FUN JUST HURTS TOO MUCH.

 

Thank God the evening was over before I could have any more disturbing revelations. . .

 

I can only take so much at a time.

 

 

By virtue of my mom keeping my boy, we were able to sleep late the next day.  It was nice.  =)

 

Then we hung around in our underwear, just me and the Mister, and ate summer sausage (NOT a metaphor) and cheese and wheat crackers, and finally got to watch Star Trek:  Into Darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 It was good times.

 

Even the non-scifi loving portion of my relationship (aka "Michael") seemed to enjoy it.  (As I had assured him he would.)

 

One portion of the film in particular struck a chord with me.

 

There's a scene where Spock and Uhura are arguing.  (I couldn't find it on youtube, but feel free to look.)  Uhura thinks that because Spock "chooses not to feel" things, it means that he doesn't care about her.  Then he explains to her that when his planet was destroyed, he felt EVERYTHING.  And it was too much.  And his choice not to feel is not because he cares too little. . . but because he CARES TOO MUCH.

 

Wow,

 

Just wow.

 

. . . of all the people in history, real and fictional, I'm just a little amazed that it is SPOCK that perfectly understands why I cannot (will not) watch Bambi, Dumbo, touching videos about mommies and daddies coming back from war, and that damned Sarah McLaughlin commercial about the hungry/sad doggies and kitties that have boogers in their eyes and no one to love them.

 

SPOCK 4EVER.