Return of the Prodigal Camera Cord: Part I

Herein begins a series of posts I shall call "Return of the Prodigal Camera Cord." It seems I have a genetic predisposition to a disorder that I inherited from my mother. Whereas hers is called I-Put-It-Someplace-"Safe," my strain is known as I-Put-It-"Away." Regardless of the strain, it culminates in something important being put somewhere, with vague memories of doing so, and no idea where that place might be.

And, it happened to my camera cord. It was always wadded up somewhere waiting for me to use it to download pictures and I thought it looked awful. There are so many cords around this house. So, I thought I would tackle the mess one cord at a time and put the camera cord "away." Oops.

It's a month and a half later and I just found it hidden behind the throw pillows on the living room chair in which no one sits. To my credit, that is very near to where I usually download pictures.

Anyway, I've killed the fatted calf and now I've got tons of material for blog posts! And, the people said, "Hallelujah!" (Say it!)

So. Let's get started, shall we?

I remember buying these earrings for Senior Prom in 1992.

I also remember thinking they were some of the most exquisite earrings I had ever seen. So beautiful. So sophisticated. And, they were, by far, the most expensive earrings I had ever owned. I think they cost $50.

And, I thought they went perfectly with my dress, too.

See the earrings? I could be mistaken, but I think I've even turned
my head to make sure they get their proper due in the photograph!

Yep. That's me in the top right. I also believed that dress to be sophisticated and glamorous. Not at all "mermaid," which is the overall impression I get when I look at it now.

And, today? How would one expect such treasured gems to be treated?

I'll tell you how. Like this:

My how the mighty have fallen.

One Other Little Obsession: Where Did I Come From?

Shawn was returning from the "old" hometown one night a couple of weeks ago. I sat down on the couch to watch TV and await his arrival.

(Does that give you images of a captain's wife looking out to sea anxiously awaiting any sight of her beloved's ship? 'Cause that's kinda what it was like. Only a lot less dramatic. And, no anxiety. And, a lot more TV... Anyway, I digress...)

I have no idea why - I've seen a thousand ancestory.com commercials - but, the one that came on that night totally sucked me. I just thought I would log on and see what I could see. Without "joining," of course.

I "joined," of course.

Three days later I emerged, after totally bingeing on census forms and birth records. I didn't know as much about my paternal grandmother as I should have, though. So, I shot my Aunt Pat (my dad's sister) a message - because, come on, we all know dads don't pay attention to stuff like where their moms were born!

Holy-wealth-of-information, Batman! I'm pretty sure this is what they mean when they say you should ask questions of your elders. Aunt Pat knows everything - at least everything I needed to get me off and running up the family tree again!

But, as quickly as I got sucked in, I lost interest. I got back to people being born in the 1700s, but there was no way to know if the information I was gathering was accurate; if the John Bassett born in 1770 was really my grandmother's great-great-grandfather. Especially, since a lot of the information you find is other people's family trees - subject to their own mistakes.

That. And, my paternal grandfather's side quickly jumped across the pond to Sweden. Turns out I can't read Swedish. So, their official documents were a little less than helpful to me.

But, my main conclusions?

• If I have any hope of tracing back to the Mayflower (P.S. I don't.), it would be through my paternal grandmother.
• My paternal grandfather - well, he's Swedish. (But, I did figure out through my own deduction that there must have been a settlement of Swedes in Iowa. Not only was my grandpa's dad born in Sweden, but so was his mom's dad. And, Aunt Pat told me I was right. I'm a total history detective!)
• And, my maternal side? Um. I don't know how to say this, but there's a small chance we're a bunch of hillbillies. As in, the guy who kept marrying twenty-year-olds when his wives died - even when he was 54 (which was, like, as good as dead in 1884). He married three of them. And had 15 kids with them. So. I don't know. Maybe he wasn't a hillbilly. Maybe he was was just a dawg. But, most of these people were born in the hills of Tennessee. Isn't that, by definition, a hillbilly?

So. My heritage. I'm a Swedish Hillbilly.

But, now. I have a confession. I've been clicking back over there as I typed this post. I kinda want to start searching again. They have this little leaf that shakes at you if they have documents that they believe pertain to a person in your family tree - and I have a lot of leaves shaking over there!

Alright, I guess this is goodbye. Between ancestory.com and Spanish, when will I possibly find the time to blog?!

Learning Valuable Life Skills: The Barfing Version

Lulu's sick - throw up sick. Poor girl has skipped dinner the past two nights and she asked to go to bed last night at 5:30.

But, come the mornings, she feels slightly better.

Yesterday, she followed me into my bedroom when I went to get dressed.

"Mama! Since there are no boys around, we can have 'Girl Talk!'"

"Yes. We can! What would you like to talk about?"

"Ummm." And, then she left the room.

About ten minutes later (I have to believe it was just because there wasn't anything good on the television), she came back.

"Mama! You got dressed without me!"

"I'm sorry! Did you want to help me pick out what to wear?"

"Yes." [Evidently "Girl Talk" = "me telling you what to wear."]

"Oh. I'm sorry. But, is this okay, what I chose?"

"No."

Oh.

At least she was willing to compromise from the short-sleeve cotton shirtdress that was her first choice - seeing as how it was 40° yesterday. She really did make me take off the boots, tights and sweater dress that I was already wearing. Although, she did thoughtfully tell me, "You can keep your underwear on."

Well. Thanks for leaving me that little piece of dignity.

But, I'm am proud to tell you, this girl is a champion barfer. She'll run herself to the bathroom (or grab her bowl), throw up, rinse her mouth and go back to the couch to lie down. The most she'll ask for is someone to "hold [her] hair."

Why do I think this is giving us a terrifying glimpse into her college years? I never really thought that I would be bragging on my daughter's ability to "puke and rally."

Shawn is out of town [I think I'll save him some barf, though, so he can have the full parenting experience]. I had book club last night. Don't worry. There is no part of my maternal instinct that considered missing my night out because I had a sick child. But, I did start to question whether I was a good mother when I left the babysitter with the words, "If she throws up, I promise I'll pay you extra!" But, I felt confident that Lulu was in capable hands when the babysitter responded with, "Don't worry. I'm sure little kid barf is way less gross than drunk college girl barf." And, I told her that, just like a drunk college girl, Lulu would really just need someone to hold her hair.

*clink clink* (That therapy fund is just growing and growing.)

Whatcha been up to? Well, funny you should ask.

It's been busy around here. What's new, right?

Well, for starters, Spencer had a project due the week before Thanksgiving. It was the student's choice for a subject of Thanksgiving, Indians^★, or Pilgrims. But, it had to include a visual project, a written report, a cover page and an oral report. Parental help was encouraged. Because the teachers hate parents.

Also? I'm pretty sure I didn't do a project with so many components until I was in college.

But, we got it done. We're diorama-making fools around this house.

And, although I didn't get a picture of it (because I was exhausted), Spence's cover page was a Comanche Indian with yarn braids down each side of his head, tied with leather straps and a feather. And the part in his hair was even colored with white "clay." Oh, yeah. We brought it.

But, I think Shawn and I were both most proud of how many times our shy boy practiced his oral presentation until a) he knew it by heart; b) he could speak up; and c) he could look up and make eye-contact occasionally while speaking. Quite an improvement for the boy who hid his face two-inches behind his paper for the entire oral report he presented last year in first grade.

I made a Thanksgiving treat for the kids' classmates. I mean. We all knew I would, didn't we?

That's just a mini Reese's peanut butter cup upside down on a
fudge-striped cookie, stuck down and decorated with frosting.

There was Grandparents' Day at the kids' school. My mom and step-dad drove up. And, Shawn's mom had to jump through hoops to get time away from work. But, she did. So, the kids had two of their three sets of grandparents there. They got to show them around the school, and take them to a reception. And, there was a special chapel service. It was all very sweet and special to the kids.

*We found Lulu's lost splint. In the Barbie basket. Duh. Where else would it be? So now we have a spare (that the darling Occupational Therapist made us for no charge)! This is a good thing. The original splint has been lost again on no less than four other occasions for varying amounts of time on each occurrence.

Speaking of that broken finger and splint: we had a check-up last week on that little ol' bone. It's healing well, the doctor said. But, there is still a missing bit in the center of the bone that needs time to knit itself back together. One more week in the splint. She's such a responsible little trooper about it, though. She's the first one to say, "I don't have my splint on!"

There was Thanksgiving. But, in order to keep this post under a thousand words, that post will have to wait until tomorrow.

And, then there was church yesterday.

Here's what's funny. I can drive myself insane worrying about where we should go to church. We've tried going to a mega-church. But, all of our friends that are members there are a part of a "small group/Bible study" that is "closed." So, we never could figure out how to feel "plugged in" - not that the church doesn't try. They really encourage you to come to a once-a-month "Get Plugged In" meet and greet where they'll match you up with like-minded people so you can start your own "small group." Shawn and I just couldn't do it. It felt like a weird speed-dating session to make church friends. And, Lulu straight-up didn't like Sunday School there. I don't think they did anything wrong. I think it was just huge - four classes for Lulu's grade alone. We never knew who her teacher would be or who would be in her class. She would see some friends she knew... but then they would be assigned to a different room. And she told us she didn't know the songs they sang. But, when Little Miss Congeniality with the most confidence in our family is uncomfortable somewhere... it might not be the right fit for our family. Spence liked it. But, Spence liked it because he had a friend from school who was in his Sunday School class - a security blanket.

And, then my great friend Springer sent me a book by Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies. It was interesting. Clearly Springer thinks I'm a whole lot deeper than the usually fluff I read (Note to self: Send Springer a copy of The Hunger Games). But, it was worth the read for even just this one concept I took away from it. I'm sure I will paraphrase this badly, but Lamott said she was told, when praying to God for the answer to a problem, don't look for the big billboard announcing the final answer. Look at the small spotlight He's shining for you to take to the next step. Then, once there, look for the next spotlight. Just keep stepping from spotlight to spotlight until, the next thing you know, you've arrived at the solution.

So. I took a step into the spotlight yesterday.

We have other friends. (I know. Shocker.) They go to the lost-my-child-church (which we didn't know at the time of the "Lost Child" incident). They were talking about their awesome Adult Sunday school (that's open to new-comers)! They helped us figure out where it was, what time it started and were excited that we were there. And, y'all? The Director of Young Adult Ministry that teaches the class? Amazing. A-maz-ing.

We dropped Lulu off at the playroom - where there is an extensive new check-in procedure complete with sticker identification for each child. Holla! (All of our friends really do say to us, though, "Ummm. So. We hear we have you to thank for this." They don't seem so thankful, though... ;) After Sunday School, we went to ask Lulu if she wanted to leave the playroom to come sing songs with us in Big Church. She did not. She wanted to stay and keep working on crafts.

Spencer has one classmate who goes to church there that he knew of before we arrived. He wasn't there yesterday. But, lo and behold, his very best playmates from down the street go to church there! And, they did go to church yesterday, much to Spence's delight. Then, during the Children's Service portion of Big Church, Spence realized that one of his buddies from flag football goes to church there, too.

The church service was just non-liturgical enough to remind Shawn of the Bible Church in which he grew up, but just traditional enough to feel "like church" to him, too. Shawn does not like "rock bands" in church. I don't mind them. This church has a guitarist with singers. Shawn is okay with that. We both agree that the service really is a perfect mix for us.

As we drove home yesterday, Spence said, "I want this to be our church."

You know what, son? I think I do, too.

^★It seems that we can say Indian again instead of Native American. Who knew?

We let Spence Trick or Treat, too.

Since my last post was about Lulu's costume party, I believe I left some of you with the impression that Spencer was locked in his room for Halloween.

Fear not! I present to you, Officer Johnson.

 Shawn even got into the spirit at his office.

This is Shawn's half of our costume from the Halloween Party we attended.
I promise I'll show you those pictures as soon as I see them myself!

It seems the only lame one on Halloween was me! Shawn took the kids Trick or Treating around the neighborhood and I stayed home to hand out candy. But, we live on a cul-de-sac and none of the other houses in the "sac" had on their porch lights. And, in order to see our porch light, you have to be committed to coming down into the cul-de-sac. The dark houses didn't invite anyone in; therefore, no one saw our light; therefore, I gave away about ten pieces of the 300 pieces of candy that I bought. 

Sad candy that never got to fulfill its destiny.

Now the candy bucket and I are having a battle of wills every time I walk past it. I've come really close to saying, "I will not eat you!" out loud. Just one step closer to being the crazy lady who wears my underwear on the outside of my clothes.

I Don't Strike You as a Survivalist, Do I?

It's because I'm not.

But, I felt like one as I checked out at Wal-Mart with sleeping bags, lanterns, whistles, dust masks, a wrench... You might wonder why I felt like a "survivalist" instead of say... oh... a camper. It's because survivalist made me laugh. And, made me think of "going off the grid." And, having meetings in cabins. Where everyone brings a shotgun... or a rifle (personal choice).

Where in the world was I going with this?

Oh, yeah. Survivalist. I'm not. But, back in March when the 8.9 magnitude earthquake hit Japan, I read that so many more Japanese had survived because they were prepared. Then I saw a Emergency Supply Kit list from ready.gov and, well, that was all the shove I needed to think that my family was doomed if I didn't assemble supplies. Immediately.

But, I did take heed from one suggestion I saw that it is expensive to assemble all of these supplies. So, I made a list. And, I bought one or two things every time I went to the store. Unless I had forgotten to buy some things in a while - and then I bought ten or twelve things at once... What's that saying about paving the road to hell with good intentions?

This was all going fairly well. Until I got bored. And, Japan wasn't in the headlines every day. And, it was summer. And, most of the times I was at the store, I had kids in tow, so disaster supply gathering was really the least of my concerns. Getting out of the store as quickly as possible seemed much more necessary for my family's survival.

Then a little broad came along named Irene. And, we have some friends who live in her path. And, again, I got certain that the fate of my family lay in our disaster readiness kit.

So. I finished it. And, I felt like a survivalist as I checked out.

But, here it is:

Pretty, ain't it.

And, now? I don't want to discuss the fact that the most likely natural disaster we will see in our neck of the woods is a tornado.

I can't tell you how annoyed I'm going to be if my disaster supplies get picked up in a tornado and deposited in somebody else's yard...

Random Thoughts: the Byproduct of a Long Summer

As I told a friend when I forgot to respond to his text for a week... and then forgot to send the text telling him I forgot to respond to his text for another week, I haven't had a single, complete, coherent thought in weeks. Being a mom 24/7 is an ass-kicking job^★. And, this summer, save Spence's week-long stint at camp, was Me and The Kids day in and day out for three months. (Yeah. I just made that into the title of a movie. Most boring movie. ever. But, very loud. With occasional cameo appearances by Shawn Johnson.) No. Seriously. They are getting old enough that we were (mostly) happy. And our road trips and vacations were fun. But, enough was enough.

Thank God for school and teachers. Spence started 2nd grade and Lulu Pre-K. They're both loving it. And my thoughts are slowly starting to form completely again (and the laundry is starting to get done again... and dinner cooked... and I'm bathing more regularly...)

So, as we wait for full-capacity thoughts that might equal one whole blog post, here's what's been rattling around in my brain in the meantime:

• I did indeed make the candy pencil back-to-school treats for Lulu's class. I told you Mommy Guilt would make me do it.
• I took a hot yoga class* and left it smelling like... an airline passenger plane. This is disturbing to me on so very many levels.
• *I stopped going to the Class of Torture because I was starting to get thighs like those of a 14-year-old Olympic gymnast. FYI, this is only a good look on a 14-year-old Olympic gymnast - and, even then, it's questionable.
• Sometimes I look at my flat iron when it's on and think, "Did I already turn that on?"^✰
• Can you put plates in the oven? 'Cause I do. And, I think I'm pretty darn brilliant for thinking of it.
• Evidently my family doesn't eat bananas fast enough. I always have to figure out what to do with overripe bananas. Well, AllRecipes.com has done it again. With a five-star rating after 6,413 reviews, this Banana Crumb Muffin recipe was bound to be good GREAT. And, it was^♥.
• And, finally. It has been said that Princess Eugenie bares a striking resemblance to her great-great-great-great grandmother Queen Victoria. Yeah. If Queen Victoria smeared a lot of $#!t around her eyes and wore bizarre crap on her head.

^★And, yeah, yeah, yeah. Working moms. I know the grass isn't greener. I'm just saying sometimes you get to turn on your "grown-up brain" and have coherent thoughts sometimes. (And, I'm not even going to correct the fact that I used "sometimes" twice in that sentence. I think it proves my point quite nicely.)

^✰It's not a flat iron. It's a cookie. And, I don't think "turn that on;" I think "eat that."

^♥The Pre-K teachers at Elizabeth's school do "Home Visits" the week before school. (oh. the horror.) I whipped these up because a) I'm an unbearable suck-up and b) I was trying to distract the teacher from the fact that our daughter doesn't know her own name and c) who calls Children's Protective Services on someone who makes muffins?

When I Grow Up, I'm Going to be Responsible. I Wonder When That Will Be?

Today it was like I woke up and decided I should go ahead and continue with undertakings that I have completely and utterly pushed aside during our lazy summer.

First, I went back to workout at the Class of Torture I started attending back in May. It's no mystery why this has been getting neglected. It turns out it's fairly impossible to do squats while on crutches. But, after six weeks in the heinous Aircast from hell, I got the all-clear to exercise as long as I wear an only-slightly-less-heinous, lace-up brace for six more weeks.

I decided to amp it up a notch and attend class at 5:30 in the a.m., too. Because 9:00 a.m. is just too reasonable. That. And, I hate taking my kids to the childcare at the gym - they always look at me like they're living through their own personal Sophie's Choice... and I haven't chosen either of them.

So. Now I'm tired. And, my stomach muscles hurt so badly I think I might cry if I have to cough later.

But, waking up at the crack of dawn and pushing my body to its physical limits wasn't enough for me. Oh no. I decided to crack back open the Rosetta Stone. I quit doing this because... it's hard... and I'm a baby. I didn't want to do my Spanish lessons! (Imagine me stomping my feet for emphasis when you read that.)

But, I RE.FUSE. to admit defeat. So, I sat down with my laptop and headsets, opened up Rosetta Stone, and I'm pretty sure it said to me, "Where the hell have you been?!" But, it said it in Spanish, so I can't be sure.

I yelled, "Algún día trabajarán en un restaurante," and "Sí, tengo un pregunta," a couple of times... and, then I started writing this blog post... and reading other blogs... and commenting on other blogs... and adding some stuff to pinterest... and I did start some laundry...

Yep. Responsible. That's what I am.

Lose My Kid and I Just Might Join Your Church

Holy cow! Has it been a week since I've posted? How can that be? Surely I must have been really busy organizing the house. No, not that. Umm. Catching up on that "to do" list? Nope. Watching countless hours of TV and lying around eating bon bons? Not even that! How about posting those vacation pics. Well, now you're just being silly.

I guess we've been doing a lot of "Summer Time-ing" around here. Soccer camp-ing, swimming pool-ing, eating out-ing, sleeping late-ing. It's been great. We've been worthless and it's been wonderful. It's getting a little boring, though...

So, anyway. Here's something exciting for your reading pleasure:

We've been way laid back in almost every "commitment" there is to be made since moving to the New City. In the past, Shawn and I have had a bit of a tendency to "leap before we look" when it comes to major decisions - cars, homes, churches, furniture... We see something bright and shiny and we enable each other to BUY IT! Sometimes it's worked out. Sometimes it hasn't.

But, we're older and wiser now (stop laughing). And, we know it's a lot easier to enter a commitment than to get out of one. That's why we're in a year-long lease while we figure out which neighborhood we want to choose "for keeps." That's why I'm driving a car with a glovebox that won't close (Ok. That one's all me. Shawn hates my car.) And, that's why we haven't chosen a church yet.

And, this summer we have been out of town every. single. Sunday except for two when I was laid up with my bum wheel. But, this Sunday we were here and we decided to go back and try a church we had visited and really liked back in the Spring.

The service was great. I got stopped by some friends of some friends while Shawn and Spence (who had no interest in joining the other kids during "Children's Church" and had stayed with us in "Big Church") went to get Elizabeth. Shawn and Spence returned. We all finished visiting and I said, "Where's Lulu?"

Shawn said, "We didn't know where you had dropped her off." (I had walked her out with the other kids during the portion of the service where the kids leave for Children's Church.)

Oh. Okay. Let's go get her.

We neared the Children's Area check-in desk and Shawn said, "This is where I came. They said they don't have her."

Indeed. I asked the women at the counter and they said they didn't have an Elizabeth. "She must be with the big kids upstairs."

Upstairs we went. Crickets. The lights were even turned off.

Back to the check-in desk. "She must be upstairs with the big kids." Willing myself not to flip out on these kind people who I knew had not sold my child into human trafficking, Shawn and I explained that we had gone up there, and maybe we just didn't know where to look...

A kind woman, who I believe is the Children's Director, greeted us and said she'd take us. Even she was surprised to see the upstairs was a ghost town. Back downstairs we headed, as she repeated, "We'll find them. They're here somewhere."

She asked someone where the big kids were. In the library. The library! We went to the library. We found the "big kid" teachers! And, they had. no. kids. with. them.

Y'all? By this time the building was empty. All of the parishioners had gone by now. The only people left were staff. And the security guard. And he was summoned. And no one had my child.

I started to cry. I couldn't help it. I couldn't start running the halls screaming her name because I didn't know where the halls were. 

We all started heading back to the Children's Area check-in desk and one of the workers was walking toward us. With Elizabeth. Saying, "We thought her name was Avery!" Now people? My child has a lot of nicknames. "Avery" is not one of them. I couldn't tell if maybe the workers even thought she was another little girl actually named Avery. Regardless, when we asked them to bring us Elizabeth, they weren't going to bring us Avery. That would be dumb!

Shawn grabbed Lulu. I tried really hard to get it together; tell everyone it was alright as they profusely apologized. And we left.

And today? I got the nicest email from one of the Pastors at the church. And, I cannot imagine the investigating he had to do to figure out that Shawn's and my name and email on the Sign-in Page from the church service were the hysterical parents of Elizabeth/Avery. But, kudos to him for it. Because his final words of "Again my deepest apologies for the fear and understandable concern you all experienced at a place that should be a very safe and building place," make me think that this just might be a church I would like to visit again (along with his assurances that he has never seen anything like that happen in his 21 years at this church).

So, the moral? Lose my kid and I just might join your church.

It's so complicated in my head.

Camp Packing FAIL

Spencer went to sleep-away camp for the first time!

We dropped him off on Sunday and we pick him up on Friday. He's there with some of his buddies from school. His counselor was a very sweet, soccer-playing college kid from England. (How cool is that?) I really was quite at ease as we drove away. I sent a care-package; we've written letters and emails. All's well... until...

Tonight.

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Here's the packing list the camp provided that we used to pack Spence:

• Camper :)
• Sleeping bag and/or sheets/blanket 
• Pillows and Case
• Towels
• Wash cloth
• Laundry bag
• Swimsuit
• Shorts
• One pair of clothes for getting muddy
• Jeans
• Light jacket
• Tops or T-shirts
• Hat/ball cap
• Socks
• Underwear
• Boots
• Shoes
• Sunscreen
• Insect repellant
• Stationary, stamps, pen
• Toiletry items:shampoo, conditioner, soap etc.
• Flashlight
• Shower Shoes
• Disposable Camera

What's missing? Do you see it? If you don't, you're a bad mom... like me...

PAJAMAS!

My boy is at sleep-away camp WITH NO PAJAMAS. Camp is only 45 minutes away. Guess where I'm going to be first thing tomorrow?

And, now. I'm going to try to go to bed and convince myself that he's learning valuable lessons about going with the flow... rolling with the punches... taking things in stride... and all the other cliches I can think of to make myself feel better.

*insert maternal angst here*

I've Seen Who I REALLY Am. And, It's Not Pretty.

Just a little tip: If you don't want to be stalked by every bedridden invalid on Facebook, you should set your privacy settings very high! Be warned.

And, if you have the misfortune of actually being one of my friends on Facebook? The chances are very good that I have stalked you. And, if I haven't, I will soon.

So. To be clear. This is what I do with my confinement:

• I learn Spanish.
• I look through your pictures on Facebook.

Now you know.

My conscience is clear. Confession is good for the soul.

Now. I have to go. Tengo que hacer acosando.

My Daughter Keeps Getting Her Clock Cleaned

The Pre-K had a program Wednesday. They sang songs on which they had been working for months and months. Really quite darling (as long as one of the performers was your kid)…

Unfortunately for Lulu, though, the event took a turn for the traumatic when she got hit by the little boy next to her. (Why did that just make me think of Urban Cowboy? Bud: What happened to your face? Sissy: Got hit. There’s something wrong in my head.)

I have reviewed the video footage (believe me, have I reviewed the footage!) and have come to the conclusion that no malice was intended. Elizabeth got a little, shall we say, effusive with her hand motions and whacked the boy next to her. And, his expression is… joy. Or at least excitement. Like, “Game on! She hit me, now I hit her.” And, that’s what he did. And she started to sob. And then wail. And the whole while she stood completely rooted to her spot – even though I kept giving her the third-base-coach-motion-to-bring-it-on-home while mouthing, “It’s okay. Come here!”

Now I’m not sure if The Bear Went Over The Mountain ends with the brownie-eating bear being sent to his room – but, it did on Wednesday. The teacher/director saw her crying and called her over. Lulu regaled her, loudly, with a recap of the drama. The most offensive thing to Elizabeth was that she had “said I was sorry! But, he hit me.”

And, then she sat with me for the rest of the program.

She rejoined her class for the group picture at the end and walked back down to her classroom with them - none the worse for wear.

As, I walked down to the classroom to say goodbye, I passed the boy and his father. His dad told me that he had already made his son apologize. Everything is fine. Everyone is friends.

And, then… Thursday. I picked her up from school and there was an “Accident Report” in her box. Uh Oh.

It read,

“Explanation: Lizzie [Ed note: How much do I love it that Lulu has somehow convinced her Religion Teacher that she goes by “Lizzie”? I asked her about it and she said, “Yeah. I told her that. I like her to call me Lizzie.” Do you want us all to call you Lizzie? "No." Okay then.] was standing behind two classmates who were fighting over carrying the class cross. During their tug-of-war, before either of us could get to them, one let go and the cross flew backwards, hitting Lizzie on the nose.

Treatment: Lizzie was immediately taken to the office for ice, hugs, and tissues. She went back to class.

Child’s Reaction: Lizzie was very upset, especially when her nose bled briefly, but she soon recovered and went happily back to class.”

So, to be clear, she was hit in the face with a cross? I think I’ve heard of some fundamentalist churches like this! Damn! And, I should say she was "very upset" when her nose bled - I found blood splatter on her shoe this morning.

But, you know? Show me a room full of four- and five-year-olds that aren’t occasionally going to hurt each other accidentally and I’ll show you a room where sedatives are being used. Anyway, the accident report is much less shocking than the words with which Elizabeth greeted me at pick-up: “The boys hit me in the face with a stick and my nose bled.” I’m sorry. Come again?

And, finally, who could possibly argue with the treatment she was given? Ice, HUGS, and tissues. What wouldn’t that fix?!

I Just Say What Everyone Else Is Thinking

My friend told me to come to the "Hard Core" class with her at the new gym I joined. Hard Core is an hour of 30 second, 1 minute and 2 minute intervals of exercises that, as far as I could tell, are designed to make you cry. Or puke. Or both.

We were doing Scissor Legs (while holding a dumbbell in the air - because regular scissor legs are for quitters) and the girl next to me called the instructor over. She told him, "My lower back hurts when I do these."

Now, my friend Springer would have warned this man to approach the area near me with extreme caution, kinda like a new dog - you should let it sniff your hand first. Unfortunately for this unsuspecting instructor, Springer wasn't anywhere to be found. He walked in blind. And he answered her with:

"It's because right now your hips are too tight. And what we're working on is opening them up."

I stopped scissor-kicking and said, "Why do you sound so much like my husband right now?"

This poor, poor, unwitting straight-man and his 2% body fat stopped talking while his mouth fell open and all the women within earshot started laughing. He blushed. And he walked away.

Poor guy never saw me coming.

To his credit, he regained his composure (after he tattled on me to the other instructor) and said, "So, is that how it's gonna be, Ali?"

I responded with, "Yes. It's nice to meet you."

Español es Dificil

... and I only wrote that title because I don't know how to say, "Learning Spanish is freakin' hard" in Spanish.

First off, I was wrong. There are five CDs for the Rosetta Stone Spanish course. There are four units in the first CD, so I'm assuming there are four units in each CD. That's twenty units (if only I were as good at Spanish as I am at multiplication...). I'm in the fourth unit. Ouch. I walk away from my lessons looking at Shawn like I suffer from PTSD and murmuring, "What have I done?!"

And, I still can't speak it. Except to my kids... who don't know anything more than remedial Spanish. So, I tell them I'm right, and they answer, "uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco, seis!"

I also walk around my everyday life thinking things like, "Desayuno! That's 'breakfast'! Is that 'breakfast'? I don't know. I think that's 'breakfast.'"

I looked enviously at Elizabeth's Pre-K worksheet the other day. It said "Circle the things that are above..." and "Circle the things that are below..." I thought, "I could totally do a Spanish Pre-K worksheet." Unfortunately, I don't think anyone is going to handle me like a four-year-old when I try to converse with them in Spanish. So unfair. Those four-year-old Spanish kids don't know how good they've got it.

I'm not giving up on you, Rosetta Stone. I still believe your claims that you can teach me Spanish by the end of the twentieth unit. But, at the moment, you could call me skeptical.  Pretty much, if I went to a Spanish-speaking country right now, I would be committed to an insane asylum because I would just walk around yelling words like "breakfast!" and "bicycle!" and "sixty!"

Random Thoughts (because they rattle around in my brain so you have to listen to them, too)

ON PUBLIC APPEARANCES:
This girl was wearing this at the zoo when we went there last week.

This girl should not have been wearing this at the zoo.
(Also? I was pretending to take a picture of the lion when I took this picture. As soon as I snapped the picture, Shawn said, "I know exactly what you just did.")

ON CLEANING:

I just cleaned the kids' bathroom. Wouldn't you think I would have been aware, before this moment, that I sprung forth livestock from my loins?

I bet I've sucked enough Legos to build a city into the vacuum cleaner over the course of my motherhood.

My grandma used to drink a six-pack of beer while she cleaned the house. My grandma loved to clean house.

ON PARENTHOOD:

You know what people never tell you about before you have a baby? What it will do to your body. I never dreamed there would come a day when I would have to choose between coughing and peeing.

My child told me this: "Mama. I need to go potty, but I don't want to get up." Um. Seriously? I was baffled into silence. I had no idea what was being asked of me.

It's a little disconcerting to be driving in the car while your four-year-old plays on her iPod and hear Lady Gaga start to play. What happened to The Wiggles?

A conversation between Shawn and me about children's gifts:

Me: "Do you want to go to Target? We could get some Bakugans and Zoobles while we're at it."

Him: "I don't know what any of that means. But, we can go to Target."

ON CANTALOUPES:

Are cantaloupes related to pumpkins? Seriously. They have to be. They're both orange. They both have seeds you have to scoop out... Actually, that's all the similarities I can think of. But, I still think they're related.

Living a Little More Erma Bombeck

Alright. Some of the comments to yesterday's post made me think of "The Rest of the Story." Here are the annotations.

Yes. As Amy noticed, I served Sloppy Joes to the guests in my house. But, you know what? I was having an Erma-Bombeck-don't-wait-for-the-carpets-to-be-clean moment. I was making Joes. We had plenty. We called up the folks. And, I gotta say, people probably enjoyed it a lot more than if I was running around like a maniac, stressing over whether the coq au vin* was just perfect.

Also, as Danny wondered (and for those of you who know me or have been reading this blog very long), you might be surprised to know that I did not flip my OCD, who-left-the-dinosaur-at-the-table lid when this occurred either.

Shut up. Get off the floor. Close your mouth before you swallow a fly. May I proceed?

As a matter of fact, I was so zen about the whole situation that I got up off my a$$, set down the (unspilled!) fruit bowl, marveled that the Sloppy Joe bowl (half-way across the room!) hadn't broken, surveyed the mess and said, "That'll keep. Let's have dessert." Then we all ate cake.

As I said, I like to believe in moments like this that I'm living "Erma Bombeck-esque." So, here. For a reminder to us all:

If I Had My Life to Live Over

by Erma Bombeck

If I had my life to live over, I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's"... More "I'm sorrys"...

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it... live it... and never give it back.

Here's to having a lot more of these moments (less the Sloppy Joe).

*I don't even know what coq au vin is. But, it sounds fancy. Doesn't it?

I think I'm probably on a "Watch List"

So. My maiden name. It's Selim. We pronounce it Salem. We got it from my Swedish great-grandfather. But, that name doesn't scream Scandinavian ancestry.

Couple it with my first name, Ali (really just the first part of Alison) and... well... growing up, people did not expect to see me walk through the door.

It really did take me two weeks longer than Shawn to get my passport approved. I'm just saying. My maiden name is misleading.

Well, last night I realized that this post ("I'd Like a Side of Cardboard with that, Please") is listed over there ---> as one of my most popular ones. ?! That doesn't make any sense. I mean it's clever (duh!), but it's nothing special. Then I realized it had the word "anthrax" in it.

Then, today they arrested a suspected terrorist in the town from which I just moved. The article even quotes the Assistant Attorney General stressing the "importance of vigilance."

Uh oh. I'm so on a "watch list." But, let's be clear. Unlike this suspect, I have never:

• researched online how to construct an IED using several chemicals as ingredients;
• acquired or taken a substantial step toward acquiring most of the ingredients and equipment necessary to construct an IED;
• conducted online research of several potential U.S. targets;
• or described my desire for violent jihad and martyrdom in blog postings and a personal journal.

Nope. Nope, Homeland Security. Just a simple ol' housewife here talking about my bizarro sunroom, roach encounters and how much I love my son and daughter; and, maybe, just maybe, every now and then I get hit on, just to keep it exciting.

So, perhaps I'm good. *fingers crossed*



P.S. Before I posted this I asked Shawn, "Will you come read this blog post and make sure I can publish it without getting arrested as a terrorist?" He answered, "I'm going to say, 'No. You can't.' just for the fact you think you have to ask."

Oh yeah. I signed up with bloglovin. Hopefully, I can be a better follower of all my favorite blogs this way. You can follow my blog with bloglovin by clicking here.

She's Just a Small Town Girl, Living in a Lonely World

{I don't know if I'll even post this, or if I'm just doing some therapeutic writing.}

I noticed last night that I only posted nine times in the entire month of January. NINE. That's terrible. I think my creative juices are blocked because of what I'm trying not to say.

I hate to get too "heavy" on this here little, ol' blog. Life is "heavy" enough without dwelling on it. I prefer to find the things to laugh about. I survive finding the things to laugh about.

But, we're officially moved in. Life is in a routine. I clean. I run errands. I cook dinner. Shawn goes to work. The kids go to school. The four of us have never gotten along so well together or had so much fun with each other.

And, I'm lonely.

Now, here's the primary reason I will hesitate to publish this post: I don't want all of my friends from the old hometown calling everyone they know up here, putting out a APB on the lonely girl. I don't want to be set up on a million blind dates.

I also don't want to be pitied. I will be fine. I will make friends. I'm not at all worried about that. I just want all of that to have happened yesterday. We've discussed my complete lack of patience before, haven't we?

I just want time to move faster. I want to go to those events; help out at that school function; go to dinner with Shawn's associates; and, get to know people. And, I want it to happen now. I want to have my place in this space.

That all takes time.

{I just re-read this. "I want. I want. I want." I can almost hear God saying, "Yeah, Al. But, that's not what you need. I got this. Relax." (But, I don't literally hear Him. I promise. I don't hear voices. Yet.) Have you ever heard that saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." I like that. I am that.}

Ok. I just needed to say it type it out loud. I feel better. The first one of you to pity me or call "because you're worried about me," is going to get kicked in the crotch.

Let the sarcasm resume.

{What do you know? I decided to post it...}

The Kids and Moving

[Ed. note: I really tried to trim back this wordy, wordy post and I couldn't do it. I guess my kids just make me loquacious. (Yeah. Go look up that word. Impressed, aren't you?) Anyway, sorry to be so verbose. (I know! It's like I'm a freakin' thesaurus!)]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kids are amazingly resilient, aren't they? And, I guess ours aren't that different. They've taken our new adventure (mostly) in stride.

SCHOOL
We had parent/teacher conferences yesterday. (Note to self: When attending your first parent/teacher conference as "the new parent," jokes about hitting your child don't fly so well. Noted.) Their inappropriate mother notwithstanding, both kids are doing amazingly well in school.

Spencer:
At the meeting with Spencer's teacher, I had to force myself not to cry when I thanked her for helping him adjust so well (Lulu, we never worried about - as Shawn says, "She's bullet-proof." Cautious, careful Spencer had us holding our breath).

Elizabeth:
We made a big decision at Lulu's conference. Ever since she was born on a bright, sunny day in June, I've been worried about whether she should be the oldest or youngest in her class (Yes. I worried about this the. day. she. was. born). She's always been so bright, though, I didn't want to offend her by making her repeat a grade. Our old school had a Pre-1st in between Kindergarten and 1st grade, so we were going to be able to wait a few years to make the big decision.

Not so at this school. Preschool is really the do or die time for this choice, otherwise they're just repeating a grade - when they're old enough to "get it." Lots of the kids at this school are the oldest in their grades if their birthdays are May through August. And, we can "spin" it for Lulu that we're just letting her get a "full" year of Pre-K since she only got here in the middle of the year.

So, it was a no-brainer today once we raised the subject with her teacher. And, I am so relieved and confident with this course of action (someone remind me I said that when she's 18 and I get to "keep her" one more year)! My biggest concern is that all the things that are challenging to her now are going to become a breeze next year and she'll get a superiority complex - this girl is already the most confident one in the family! 

Anyway, that's the awesome news about school.

HOME
Don't worry. I'm never one to sugar-coat things. There have been some hiccups along the way.

Spencer:

Spence can. not. turn his mind off at night. Like I said, he's our structure and routine child. (Hmmm. Wonder where he gets that from?! Stop looking at me!) We knew settling into a new house, new school and new routine would be hardest on him. God bless his teachers that school hasn't been a problem. Then again, this school is the definition of structure and routine. But, at night... oh, at night. He comes up with 32,000 things he must discuss with us. He gets out of his bed - repeatedly - until 10:00 at night sometimes! But, it's hard to get mad at the kid when you know his whole world has been given a good shake. Unfortunately, I think he smells the blood in the water with our parental guilt and has been using it to his fullest advantage. However, we've had great nights the past few nights, so maybe, just maybe, like all things parenting, this too shall pass... 

Elizabeth:
As for the indomitable Lulu (her teacher said, "You would think she's been with us since the beginning of the year!" and "She raised her hand to tell me she loved me!"), even she has had her heartbreaking moments. Unfortunately, (for me!) hers come right out of the blue.

Like saying, "I bet Miss Zouzalik (her Pre-K teacher at the old school) misses me."

"I bet she does, too, Lulu."

"When are we going back?"

And, "When are we moving back to Lubbock?"

"We don't have any plans to move back to Lubbock, sweetie. What do you miss about Lubbock?"

"Our old house."

"What do you miss about our old house?"

"It had Scooby Doo on the TV for our Family Date Nights."

You can bet your sweet life that we will be featuring Scooby Doo on this television for our next Family Date Night.

AND, THE HEAVENLY...
My in-laws called out of the blue and asked if the kids could come spend the night with them tonight, then stay and hang out for a little while on Saturday. I'm sorry? Did I move to Heaven?! I feel like I should have dressed better.

Great, Exhausted and No

Everyone keeps asking how we're doing and if we've made any new friends.

Short answers: great, but exhausted; and no.

At the kids' last school, drop-off and pick-up was a very social occasion. You couldn't help but see, visit and get to know other parents. At our new school, drop-off and pick-up is a very exact science. You drive up, you drop off/pick up, you move on. Don't get me wrong. I love the regimen, but it's not conducive to getting to know people.

Oddly enough, this has been... wonderful. It's been so nice to catch our breath; to just focus on each other and just have fun with each other - our kids are really funny people. Couple that with the fact that I'm an introvert at heart (shut up, I am - Introvert (n.): a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people*), it's been a really nice break since we've moved.

I've also gotten to obsessively work on getting the house in order. But, I can see the light at the end of the moving-in-tunnel and it's starting to occur to me just how "worn smooth out" I am. Couple that with cleaning the house, cooking dinner and generally maintaining a family and... well... I think I need a Diet Coke.

So, I've been blissfully trudging along, thinking, "It's nice to not have any social schedule; to be able to get things done. I don't need to hurry and find people just to 'hang out' with."

Then I went to the mall yesterday.

I'm so not a chit-chatter. (See: Introvert.) I went up to the Kiehl's counter... and I became best friends with the man working there. He knows we just moved here, where we're from, where we grew up, where we went to school. I know his daughter's name is Ali! We both agree that you just can't beat Kiehl's moisturizer, especially in this cold, dry climate...

Ya'll? I think I need to find some friends.

It's alright, though. I've been invited to a Book Club. And, I have some old college friends I can call for lunch. I might not have to become a Mall Worker groupie just yet...

* See?! I really like being around people; it just wears me out. You people wear me out. ;)