my everyday

Me: Adopted and Pro-Life

2012-01-23T14:27:00.000-08:00

I am adopted, so this video simultaneously melts and ennobles my heart. As I am pro-life, it gives strength to my cause.

Lord, may the prayers of those who are begging for an end to abortion save lives on this anniversary of Roe v. Wade.

Some 200,000 people marched in Washington, D.C. today. President Obama also delivered a brief statement supporting the 1973 Supreme Court Decision. You can read about his disturbing affirmation here.

7 Quick Takes Friday

2012-01-20T09:41:00.000-08:00

I think it's brilliant to get the mini-topics out of my brain once a week. So these are my 7 Quick Takes, linked to the wonderfully smart and funny Conversion Diary blog that inspires me regularly.

--- 1 ---

I sat at an intersection this week, checking out the cyclist waiting beside me. He had on the clothes that cyclists wear - the tight, shiny clothes that go along with the leg shaving that I was surprised to discover my brother engaged in when he was at the height of his cycling career. And this guy had sponsors. And the sponsors were: Allegiant and Patron. An airline and a tequila. Novel combination. No longer was I content to sit and wonder; I wanted to ask how he came to have these sponsors. And to ascertain if he has a life of cycling on weekdays, and jet setting on weekends to places where he can relax and indulge in "the #1 ultra-premium tequila in the world." But then the light turned green.

--- 2 ---

"Bad Day" by Daniel Powter and "Beautiful Day" by U2 are one after the other when my playlist is alphabetized. I like it. That's my life, baby.

--- 3 ---

IF you don't have the money for a boob job, or are morally opposed to such a thing, you can do worse for yourself than marching into Nordstrom and having a nice lady set you and your girls up with a professionally fitted bra. Even if you go with an eighty-dollar jobbie, it'll last a couple years and you'd have to buy a whole slew to equal the cost of surgical augmentation and you will have eradicated the pesky risk of booby breakage. Personally, I have been happy with Wacoal brand. Tell 'em I sent ya.

--- 4 ---

I can neither confirm nor deny my ongoing dalliance with coffee. I will admit recent purchases of Coconut creamer and Vanilla Cinnamon. But for all you know, I'm drinking it straight out of the bottle. Which leads me to state that I can neither confirm nor deny my ongoing dalliance with sugar.

--- 5 ---

Later this very day, I will join my good friend Michelle and our children in picking apart owl pellets, which Michelle was able to procure online. I have learned, as you now will, that owls swallow their prey whole. Within an hour or two, they regurgitate the undigestables - like bones and fur - into a handy, online-sellable pellet. We hope to reconstruct an entire rodent, glue it together, and put it out in the yard as a warning to the newly-discovered rats in our neighborhood.

--- 6 ---

The newly-discovered rats in our neighborhood: as this is not the year 1300, and I've never known personally any victims of the Black Plague, I am shocked to learn that our neighborhood has rats. Someone said they rode in on the palm trees with a landscaping company from Arizona - but someone said the same thing about the scorpions and, for all I know, the bunion on my right big toe; the delinquent middle-school boy across the street; my pre-menstrual headaches; the cigarette butts lining the sidewalk; and the pigeons which have taken over our street.

--- 7 ---

I'm doing my own breadmaking. It is in the preliminary stages. If I don't fail miserably, the next step is grinding my own wheat. That will be the final step - I can't plant a wheat field - there is no room in my backyard for a crop of any kind. Just like I can't have chickens in this neighborhood, (which is a crying shame since they eat scorpions), I can not grow wheat. Well, I think technically I can grow the wheat, but bringing in the oxen for the plow every harvest would be sketchy.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Broken Bones and Mafia Undertones

2012-01-15T22:17:00.000-08:00

If I were to tell you a couple stories from my growing-up years, it could be boring. But what if I told you a couple stories from my growing-up years that had serious mafia undertones I'm only just now recognizing? Well, that would be exciting, wouldn't it?

Yesterday I listed some personal life incidents, one of which was: "Broke a bone - toes and leg-- one resulted in a plane ride, one in a '66 Mustang." And I said I needed blog topics, and Katie wanted to hear about this one.

First, let me tell the stories, briefly. Then, in a whisper, I will reveal the mafia undertones.

In my senior year of high school, my boyfriend was a goofball. His best friend was an even bigger goofball. But they were both VERY cute, so my best friend and I put up with them. One wintry December day, we loaded into boyfriend's sexy black Trans Am and drove up to Mt. Charleston for some happy, wholesome sledding. Things turned painful when boyfriend's best friend careened down the hill into my foot. My leg bone did not withstand the impact and I had to be carried back to the Trans Am. Thankfully, the six weeks of a cast and crutches would be over before graduation. Also thankfully, my friend in computer class felt enormously sympathetic toward me so for the entire six weeks of my handicap, she picked me up and drove me to school in her lemon-chiffon convertible Mustang.

Mafia undertone: this friend had an Italian last name. This is nearly all the proof of mob ties you need living in Las Vegas, but as I recalled today, there were also many many conversations in the car on the way to school, with our two other passengers, about how my driver's father always had tons of cash on hand, kept strange and secret work hours, and showered with his gun.

The broken toes are less serious from an orthopedic standpoint, but the implications for my own family are serious and sinister.

One happy, carefree day, my brother and I decided it would be fun to play baseball in the house. In our defense, we had a large, carpeted, non-furnished playroom above the garage. I have no recollection why we didn't take this idea into the backyard, front yard, street, or neighboring school grounds - but let's just chalk it up to a spontaneous burst of sports fun. (Incidentally, spontaneous bursts of sports fun in my house today on the part of my offspring result in swift relocation out of doors - so one could ask, "Where were my parents?" This would be a good question.) Anyhoo, in one action-packed inning, I was sliding into home. That's it. That's what I was doing. But home plate was right up against the wall and when I slid, my toes careened into the wall. (Notice in both of these stories that "careening" precedes breakage of bones. I have since learned to try to avoid careens.)

Much of the rest of that day is muddled in my memory. It might be that the pain clouded my clear thinking. Or it might be that this happened over twenty years ago. But what I do remember is that my brother and I were due to visit my father (my divorced parents lived in different states at that time) and there were timing issues with the visit, especially pertaining to my appointment with a toe doc, so my father picked us up in a private jet at a small-town airport.

Mafia undertone: How long, exactly, did my father think I'd buy the "I'm-an-innocent-plane-mechanic-who-makes-great-friends-with-the-pilots-and-therefore-cavorts-all-over-the-country-in-a-King-Air-with-politicians-and-celebrities-and-casino-owners" story? Well, I don't know how long he thought I'd buy it, but since I broke my toes at age 13 and am now 41, I guess the answer is 28 years! My naivete is no longer! I'm on to you, Dad! You must have been a hit man, because the bosses are usually fatter and smoke a lot. So kudos to you for being able to commit cold-blooded murder and then swoop out of the sky to pick up your pre-teen with her broken toes and get her to the doctor for a clunky shoe.

There you have it. Things are not always as they seem. Sometimes you think you have a simple childhood story, but if you take a closer look, POW!... drama fit for the big screen. Or if not the big screen, at least my blog.

Man, SO tempted to post a photo of me and boyfriend on my dad's sailboat with me in my cast. Or me in my broken-toe shoe posing in front of Dad's sailboat. But now I'm distracted wondering what he REALLY used the sailboat for...

Did It

2012-01-14T20:55:00.000-08:00

I found this 100 Life Experiences on Heather's blog. I will indicate the things I've done in boldface, along with occasional commentary.

Started your own blog
Slept under the stars - my dad had something against tents
Played in a band
Visited Hawaii
Watched a meteor shower
Given more than you can afford to charity
Been to Disneyland (and Disney World)
Climbed a mountain
Held a praying mantis
Sang a solo
Bungee jumped - you betcha! with my daredevil brother
Visited Paris - replica in my hometown of Las Vegas
Watched a lightning storm at sea - on our honeymoon cruise
Taught yourself an art from scratch
Adopted a child
Had food poisoning
Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
Grown your own vegetables
Seen the Mona Lisa in France
Slept on an overnight train - in India - very vivid memories of this
Had a pillow fight
Hitchhiked
Taken a sick day when you’re not ill - many times, which may explain my many firings
Built a snow fort
Held a lamb - no, but watching a baby goat birth oughtta count here
Gone skinny dipping - I got in a lot of trouble for that
Run a marathon
Ridden in a gondola in Venice - replica in my hometown of Las Vegas
Seen a total eclipse
Watched a sunrise or sunset
Hit a home run
Been on a cruise
Seen Niagara Falls in person
Visited the birthplace of your ancestors - as well as their burial places
Seen an Amish community - I have the magnet to prove it!
Taught yourself a new language
Had enough money to be truly satisfied
Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
Gone rock climbing
Seen Michelangelo’s David - replica in my hometown of Las Vegas
Sung karaoke
Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt - on two separate visits
Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
Visited Africa - I don't remember it, because it was in the throes of labor since my daughter insists she was born there
Walked on a beach by moonlight
Been transported in an ambulance
Had your portrait painted
Gone deep sea fishing
Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris - replica in my hometown of Las Vegas
Gone SCUBA diving or snorkeling
Kissed in the rain
Played in the mud
Gone to a drive-in theater
Been in a movie
Visited the Great Wall of China
Started a business
Taken a martial arts class
Visited Russia
Served at a soup kitchen
Sold Girl Scout Cookies - but I have eaten my fair share
Gone whale watching
Got flowers for no reason
Donated blood, platelets or plasma - read all about it here
Gone sky diving
Visited a Nazi concentration camp
Bounced a check
Flown in a helicopter - even helped pilot one
Saved a favorite childhood toy
Visited the Lincoln Memorial
Eaten caviar - my opinion: too salty
Pieced a quilt
Stood in Times Square - replica in my hometown of Las Vegas
Toured the Everglades
Been fired from a job - oh, many, many times
Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
Broken a bone - toes and leg-- one resulted in a plane ride, one in a '66 Mustang
Been on a speeding motorcycle
Seen the Grand Canyon in person - many, many times - and one day, I'll hike it
Published a book
Visited the Vatican
Bought a brand new car
Walked in Jerusalem - there is no replica in my hometown of Las Vegas... wonder why?
Had your picture in the newspaper
Read the entire Bible
Visited the White House
Killed and prepared an animal for eating - a trout, specifically
Had chickenpox
Saved someone’s life
Sat on a jury
Met someone famous
Joined a book club
Lost a loved one
Had a baby - four, in fact
Seen the Alamo in person
Swam in the Great Salt Lake
Been involved in a law suit
Owned a cell phone
Been stung by a bee
Read an entire book in one day

64/100 which is not bad considering I may only be about halfway through life on Earth. Sure helps that I live where I do, or else Venice, Paris, New York, and the statue of David would be out of reach.

I'm running low on blog topics, so if you need some elaboration on any of these, please ask.

I think I could run a marathon in 2012...

2012-01-05T22:02:00.000-08:00

... if I could wear my Smart Wool crew socks and Tempur-Pedic slippers.

In fact, by golly, if I could wear my Smart Wool crew socks and Tempur-Pedic slippers, I think I could do ANYTHING in 2012!

On Reading

2012-01-03T21:57:00.000-08:00

(Title and subject copied from Rob Dixon - hoping some of my blogging friends will now in turn copy me.)
A year ago, I had high aspirations for reading 11 books in 2011. This was my list, removed only earlier today from my sidebar:

Don Quixote - Cervantes
The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Hugo
Something of Aquinas'
Sense and Sensibility - Austen
Confessions - Augustine
Wuthering Heights - Bronte
The Divine Comedy (all 3 books) - Dante
Robinson Crusoe - Defoe
Great Expectations - Dickens
The Iliad and The Odyssey - Homer
Collected Speeches by Martin Luther King, Jr.

I finished Great Expectations in March. I still had great expectations for my reading at that point, and dove into Robinson Crusoe. It didn't go well. And it didn't help that I was reading it on my iPhone. That is sure to bring on some vision issues lickety-split.

Never started any of the other books on the list. I kept reading, yes, but not the books I'd intended. One of my favorites was: Divine Mercy in My Soul - Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska. I would even call it life-changing. St. Fautina's example of suffering and sacrifice, coupled with her love for Jesus made a difference in how I've lived my life since reading the diary during Lent.

My father gave me Stephen Ambrose's To America - Personal Reflections of an Historian and I savored it. You may know Ambrose but don't know you know him - because he wrote books that provided the historical backbone for movies like "Saving Private Ryan." He has written more than 25 works of history, but this book is almost as much about writing as it is about history. I loved hearing about the adventures he had in researching. And he piqued my interest in World War II, and his work on documenting D-Day so now I really REALLY want to visit the National D-Day Museum in New Orleans. Since my dad gave me the book, maybe he should organize that trip.

I perused my bookshelves to pull out other titles I finished this year, but suddenly the past couple years blended together and I can't remember which books were 2011 and which were 2010. No matter, I also came across some I've purchased and haven't picked up yet. As soon as I finish Catching Fire and Mockingjay, next up is Heart of the Trail - The Stories of Eight Wagon Train Women. Here we go 2012!

Life is Hard for Everyone

2012-01-02T10:31:00.000-08:00

"Life is hard for everyone." This is one of the revelations I've had only since becoming a grown-up. It is on a list along with, "Mushrooms are delicious," and "Skinny people don't eat brownie sundaes several times a day."

I remember the time that last one sunk in. I was a big fan of the TV show "Friends." But one of my issues is a penchant for comparing myself to slim Hollywood stars and coming up short. Not until I disciplined myself a few years back and lost 25 pounds did it occur to me that Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox-Arquette, and Lisa Kudrow also had to WORK at being thin. They didn't get to eat anything they wanted anytime they wanted and miraculously remain slim and toned. Granted, they probably have a paid staff and hordes of time to help them focus on the size of their thighs, but still... they had/have to actually put forth an effort of some sort.

My career goal in college was to be a reporter and eventually work my way to anchorwoman. Naturally, I admired the talents and positions of women like Diane Sawyer, Connie Chung, Jane Pauley, Barbara Walters, and Paula Zahn (NOT Katie Couric, mind you). One day I heard an interview with one of them and she was asked about the crazy hours she was required to keep. Remarking on her 3:30 a.m. wake-up, she admitted that every single day when the alarm clock would sound, her mind would immediately start devising excuses for not getting out of bed. I was shocked! I suppose I assumed that with her high-power career, enormous success, and good looks, life was just easy for her. It matured me to realize that successful people become successful not because everything comes easy to them, but because they are willing to work. Even if they're given a break to attain that success, they have to work to keep it.

I follow a group of "mother runners" on facebook and I know from reading hundreds of posts that even though a woman might love to run, she usually doesn't love to wake up to run. This is oddly comforting. It's not like it's only hard for me. My inner whiner who says, "This is sooooo unfair! I wanna stay in bed! Everyone else has it so easy - they wake up to brilliant moods and good breath and matched running socks. But not me! It's HORRIBLE for me. I feel horrible, I look horrible, and it's too cold outside," has to be ignored. Perhaps she even has to be smothered with my pillow. I wonder if that's what Diane Sawyer did with her inner whiner.

Christmas break is coming to a close. Tomorrow I have to rise early once again and shower and dress and start a load of laundry and count my Weight Watchers points and assemble my children in their homeschool classroom, and, oh... get back to running. It ain't gonna be easy. But at least I'm not alone.

My Very Own Commune

2012-01-01T20:54:00.000-08:00

In my ideal world, we all could hang out and talk and eat and go for hikes and raise our children together and celebrate every major holiday. I recognize this is the gist of a commune. In fact, I've researched a couple communes - one based on shared birthing philosophies (which would deteriorate after menopause, presumably); one based on religion. If they weren't located in awkward states like Florida and Indiana, I believe I would have already joined.

My husband has a paying job in Las Vegas, Nevada, so here we are. I am unaware of any registered communes in Las Vegas, but what we have in our neighborhood is sort of a "junior" commune. Eight families who know each other well, moved here on purpose, help each other out with the kids and occasionally gather for dinner. In order to become a "full-fledged" commune, I think all we need are more guitars, longer hair on the men, and a couple of Volkswagen buses. In the commune of my imagining, someone else cooks and I do the dishes. I never have to cook. Occasionally, I'll bake, but it's never my turn to make dinner. Oh, and we all have lots of time to spend time together because, presumably, someone is independently wealthy and has financed our endless free time to play guitar, grow hair, and insure the Volkswagens.

In real life, we have to pay the bills, maintain the houses, and go to soccer games. There are events to attend, errands to do, TV shows to watch, classes at the gym. And while I have no problem with any of these things on their own, once you pile them all together, you have exactly NO time to commune! Now I'm using commune as a verb instead of a noun. If you prefer, use the term "hang out" or, as I once heard in a book called Reclaiming Friendship, by Ajith Fernando, "linger." Mr. Fernando said we don't know how to linger, and I agree with him. We can't stick around to just "be" with each other when the to-do list calls.

I don't know how to remedy this. Even if I resolve to linger more at friends' houses, I'm not sure how they'll take it. What's the balance between lingering for the sake of deepening our friendships and wearing out our welcome? Lately I am very drawn to the friendships that are "easy." We get along, our kids get along, there is no shortage of conversation topics, and I can even wear my slippers or pajama pants around them and it's okay. One of my new year's resolutions is, in essence, to "visit" people more. A great visit happened today when some friends of ours came over after church and stayed through lunch (which they brought) and dinner (which we provided). We sat and talked and ate a couple times and even prayed together. There was a lot of laughing and the kids kept busy and happy as well. I think even without the guitars, long hair, and Volkswagens, we're on to something. Lord, help me cultivate this in 2012.

Rosary Resolution

2011-12-31T23:40:00.000-08:00

As goodbyes go, I think the one I had tonight with 2011 was sweet. I was outside at dusk and the sunset was astoundingly pretty. Streaks of pink all across the sky in all directions. I worshiped God right there on the sidewalk. I thanked him for His beauty and I told Him I love Him. And that quiet moment was like a reminder of His love for me, too. I tried to say something about the new year, a sort of an acknowledgment of my screw-ups this year while at the same time an expression of thankfulness for the hope that He gives. And then I kept walking. I'm going to keep walking figuratively, too, because I don't need to stand around and watch the sky go dark.

There are people who think New Year's Day is just another day. And New Year's Eve is just another eve. I'm not one of those people. I LOVE new beginnings. Start-overs, clean slates, change and adventure - the whole bit. So I like to "do it up" when it comes to resolutions. But this year I'm lacking ideas, so I sought help from my husband and from facebook. Kevin's not a resolution kind of a guy, so that was a bit of a dead end. Facebook, though, turned up some good suggestions. There were running-related suggestions, travel ideas, reading and writing and learn-a-new-thing suggestions. All good. But nothing really stuck in my head until tonight.

Tonight when our early party wound down and the kids were in bed, Kevin and I prayed the rosary together. I thought of it as the perfect way to finish the old year and begin the new. And we prayed for our children in particular. So all that is nice and good, but surprisingly to me, I found my resolutions in today's joyful mysteries. These resolutions are short and sweet and yes, a little contrived. But they were pretty loud and clear while I prayed so I'm not discounting them.

The first joyful mystery: The Annunciation of Gabriel to Mary from Luke 1:26-38
My resolution: to listen to the Lord. I want to trust that when He has something important to say, He will get His message across (or He already has!) - and I can read about it in scripture, experience it in the Eucharist at Mass, or hear it through another person. Or, heck, an angel. If God wants to go that route with me, I'll take it.

The second joyful mystery: The Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth from Luke 1:39-56
My resolution: to cling to my friendships as gifts from God. I said on facebook, in my "resolutions" post, (when a friend suggested I give it up for New Years) that "I would die without facebook." This is a slight exaggeration, as I am prone to slight exaggeration nearly every minute of every day - but it isn't completely untrue. That being said, I think I could move away from my dependence on the connection I enjoy through facebook if I instead went "visiting" in person more often. Those of you who live close to me - please be nice when I show up on your porch.

The third joyful mystery: The Birth of our Lord from Luke 2:1-21
My resolution: to celebrate His birth and life every day. We are in the midst of the Christmas season and the celebration of the crazy story of the birth of our Lord. I resolve to enjoy His life every day through more disciplined prayer. I've been a little lazy lately and I've paid for it with an uncomfortable distance from Jesus.

The fourth joyful mystery: The Presentation of our Lord in the Temple from Luke 2:22-38
Don't laugh at my simplicity here, but I took this as: keep goin' to Church. Perhaps my resolution lies in a renewed desire to see our Mass attendance as a solemn responsibility and joyful privilege (simultaneously) rather than a hardship preceded by lots of whining from young children.

The fifth joyful mystery: The Finding of our Lord in the Temple from Luke 2:41-52
Hm. As we headed into praying this decade, I tried so hard to meditate on the familiar passage. All I got was the image of Mary and Joseph's misunderstanding. So I suppose my resolution is to keep seeking wisdom, in scripture, prayer, and spiritual reading so that I am not perplexed by Jesus' actions, in scripture and in my life and the world I'm living in. I might sum up this resolution in one word: trust.

Just a note: I do plan to run a lot this year. And read. And write. And learn some new things. But it's kinda handy that my real resolutions came out of the rosary and are centered on Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for this sinner. Nothing more I can ask for in the new year.

Post-Race Reflecting

2011-12-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

My brand new half-marathon medal, emblazoned with its sparkling Vegas skyline is hanging from a shelf near my bed. If you look closely at the ribbon, there is some discoloration. That is because I barfed all over myself about an hour after the race. But doesn't that paint the perfect picture of athletic endeavor?-- The pride and the pain are part of the same package.

Walking to the start line for Sunday evening's Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon was pleasant enough. We walked with lots of people, plenty dressed as Elvis, numerous women and men in tutus. How tutus became the "in thing" for runners I may never know, but they were all over the place.

With music in the background, and announcements over the loudspeaker when the full marathon started, we dove into the crowd and tried to check our "gear" and nibble on snacks and stand in line for the porta-potties. Still an hour before our start time, and with all the pre-race energy and optimism, I was mainly concerned about staying warm. Not until we tried to make our way to our starting corral did the weight of the enormous crowd become a burden.

I don't want to go on and on about the overcrowding. If you're interested, you should read Review Journal articles about the masses of people: there were 44,000 runners, plus all the spectators. Better yet, "like" Rock 'n' Roll Las Vegas Marathon & 1/2 Marathon on facebook and read their apology for the "inconveniences" of the race. The hundreds of comments following that post are revealing. They capture both sides of the issue: 1) This is a for-profit race organizer with an iconic race location. No matter what the complainers say, there will be thousands more racers next year. They're predicting 60,000-100,000 according to some accounts; 2) Someone should pay for the extreme lack of organization and resulting fire code violations. I see both sides. I lived both sides.

Once we jogged over the start line, I felt thrilled to run past so many towering Las Vegas landmarks and through the intersection of Las Vegas Boulevard and Flamingo with no cars, only runners. It was magnificent. But I couldn't gaze up for long because I had to dodge people. There were walkers who had evidently skipped their designated corrals and became obstacles right away. When I could squeeze between people, I'd speed up. Then slow again. Then speed up again. I kept overhearing people say, "It will thin out quickly," but it didn't. It didn't really thin out comfortably until about mile six or seven.

At the 5K mark, we were at 36 minutes, and whatever positive outlook I had maintained past the billions of walkers was dashed. The second 5K was a similar pace, and shortly before the 10-mile mark I felt like crap and wanted to collapse on the median. Taking stock, I didn't have any pain, but I also didn't have any energy. That was a strange sensation. My only mental boost at this point was the presence of so many people around me, and plenty more behind. I kept an eye on my GPS and knew that if I could at least maintain a jog, I should be able to accomplish my goal of beating my first half-marathon time of 2:43. Soon after the 10-mile mark, when I kept sputtering and stopping to walk "just to the next stoplight," I realized that unless I could really pick up the pace (like, to a 9-minute mile) this marathon was going to be slower than my first. No way I could do nine minutes at this point. But I managed to jog the last mile without stopping even though it wasn't pretty and I stopped seeing and hearing the cheering crowd at that point. I just wanted to be done.

According to the "Rock 'n' Roll Marathon Series Medical and Fluid Replacement Information" pamphlet that was in my race packet, blood is directed away from your internal organs to your legs during a race. It reads, "YOU MUST CONTINUE TO WALK AFTER FINISHING YOUR RACE. MOVE FOR AT LEAST 20 MINUTES!" I walked for about 15 seconds after finishing, and then was herded into a slow-moving mass past medal pick-up, past Mylars, past water and green bananas, and into the reunion area and gear pick-up. I was too grouchy and nauseous then to pay attention to the time, but later estimated I stood in a slow-moving horde of people for 15 minutes immediately following the race. Another 15 minutes was spent waiting to pick up my dry sweatshirt. While waiting in that line, I had to sit twice for fear of fainting, and felt sick. All around us, in the Shark Reef lobby, there were people sitting or lying on the ground, next to medical team members. It looked much more like a Red Cross tent after a natural disaster than a post-race scene.

My friend and ride home was waiting in front of a restaurant, which under normal circumstances would be a 3-minute walk from the Shark Reef area. It took us 90 minutes. We were in a throng of wall-to-wall bodies, most of them sweaty, and moving only a few inches a minute. There was no way out. It was one way with no side exits and it was horrid. I can honestly say that it was one of the worst experiences of my life. After a very miserable hour, just as the crowd began to move at a slow walk, I started vomiting. I should have employed this strategy sooner, because a 3-foot space miraculously opened all around me right when the retching started. I heard comments and murmurings from several men behind me. Oddly, I detected a hint of "this is to be expected" intermingled with the repulsed horror. Moments later, there was a place to pause and try to clean myself up. I stood near an area full of gurneys and EMTs and runners worse-off than me, but wondered if an ambulance ride might get me home quicker. Thankfully, I felt better after my "episode" and survived the remaining walk and monorail ride. Bodies were so close on that monorail that my friend's husband said we all needed to go to Confession afterward.

Today is Tuesday. What little hip flexor pain I had yesterday is now completely gone. I have no limp, no soreness. I suppose this is because I didn't run that hard, physically. Mentally, I am still in recovery mode. Given another couple days, I expect to label this run in my memory as the amazing experience it was: the third largest race of its kind after NYC and Boston; nighttime; on the Las Vegas strip. But for now, I need to get over missing my goal.

On Running Shoes and Knitting Needles

2011-11-21T23:46:00.000-08:00

I started running in 1992 because my brother ran and I wanted to have something in common with him other than, you know, our family tree.

I raced and finished my first 5K in Las Vegas in 1997. Cindy Crawford ran one around the same time and it was heartening that my pace was comparable to hers.

While I concerned myself with marrying and beginning to produce offspring, I only ran intermittently. But in recent years I've picked it up again. I love it because it calms my Irish temper, keeps my heart healthy, and people clap for me when I race.

I started knitting two weeks ago, because I am intrigued with the idea of turning string (well, yarn) into clothing and useful household items, and because I want to challenge myself to persist with things even when they're difficult and even when I can't accomplish them perfectly. For you normal people out there, this is no biggie, but for me, it is a giant undertaking. As my friend, knitting instructor, and fellow recovering perfectionist has challenged me: "Dare to be average!"

In recent days, I find myself comparing these two "hobbies" of mine. Here are the findings of my analysis:

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN RUNNING AND KNITTING

Yarn is cheaper than Asics.
Running carries the higher risk of being hit by a truck.
Knitting doesn't require a special bra.
Strangers hand you Gatorade when you run.
I have never once seen my shadow while knitting and thought my butt looked fat.
It is easier to screw up knitting than running.
Someone is teaching me to knit. Running came way more natural.
Knitting can be done in a recliner.

SIMILARITIES BETWEEN RUNNING AND KNITTING

Both make me sweat. One from physical exertion, one from mental and motor skill.
Both distract me from eating large quantities of unnecessary food.
Both indirectly benefit others: knitting produces things like scarves that can be given as gifts; running increases my overall sanity, which helps my children live another day.
I prefer to knit, and to run, in the company of others. But both are also totally acceptable solo activities.
I hope to pass both on to my grandchildren.

Where Is My Gum Specialist's Restroom?

2011-11-17T21:38:00.000-08:00

It's quite alarming, really - people turn forty and immediately complain about how their bodies suddenly fall to pieces. I would wholeheartedly object, but out of nowhere my gums are receding!

I can tell by his name that my gum specialist is Korean. And though I have just days before read about the War with Korea - I determine that this might not be the best conversation topic at my gum consult. I vow to keep the dialogue mainly centered on what is to be done about my rapidly elongating teeth.

I've recently taken up coffee drinking, and gum-consult day was particularly stressful, so I downed three cups of coconut coffee right before driving a LONG way across town to meet my new specialist. This means I had to pee like crazy even before I got lost three times, within a block of my destination.

Evidently, disorders of the gums are rampant, because this office is NICE. I only had a moment to take in the opulent surroundings before asking for the potty.

There is no need for me to draw out what happened in the restroom. Let's just say that I was going about my business like normal when the room went pitch dark. Where once there was light and the hum of a fan --- nothing. Perhaps it was instinct that caused me to immediately flail my arms and wave my torso. Whatever, it worked. The light came back on and the annoyance that began with the receding of my gums and grew with the distance of the specialist and getting lost on the way was now enormous.

I finished, situated myself and what's left of my gums on the plush sofa in the lobby, and began the tedium of doctor's office paperwork. Part way through, a man in a tie approached me with a clipboard. He told me that as soon as my chart was complete, he would commence our tour of the office.

What reaction am I to have upon hearing I'm to be given a tour of my gum specialist's office? What purpose does it serve to know the layout and workings of such a place? In my life, I have been to pediatricians, general practitioners, gynecologists, obstetricians, dermatologists, dentists, orthodontists, radiologists, neurologists, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, chiropractors, massage therapists, hair stylists, midwives, ear nose and throat specialists, orthopedists, optometrists, and ophthalmologists, and never once before have I been offered a tour of their office! All I can assume is that this is some sort of customer service gimmick and that they think if I've been shown around the digs, I will feel loyal to this specialist forever.

Included in the tour: the restroom (I'd already discovered it, thank you), the coffee maker (as if), the orthodontic room, several staff members in scrubs, and two cutting-edge-technology machines which were explained to me as if I cared one whit (or even understood). My one question: if you pride yourselves on this amazing new technology, could you please do something about the motion-sensor light in the bathroom that leaves your patients in pitch-black mid-pee?

Around three thousand dollars from now, I will have a small piece of tissue grafted from the roof of my mouth and relocated to cover my three nearly-naked teeth. I will drink only milkshakes for a week, and the stitches will dissolve on their own. This was all explained to me very kindly, with the aid of state-of-the-art video. On the way out, I stopped in the restroom to pee again before my trek back across town to home. And yes, the light went out and I sat in blackness. Just forty feet or so from the eight million dollar imaging whatsit machine that my tour guide was so proud of.

I remember the days...

2011-11-06T13:09:00.000-08:00

... of college summer Saturday nights in Ridgecrest. I'd arrive at the house of a friend where a bunch of us would gather to hang out and eat and usually watch Saturday Night Live.

It is a vivid sad memory that "Deep Thoughts with Jack Handey" would come on and I would be laughing so hard I'd be doubled over on the carpet. Everyone else (like, nine people) would be silent and stoic and not getting it.

Is it the same thing now with "Catalog Living?" Well, not exactly, because I'm reading it on my computer, usually by myself (some glorious days Kevin reads over my shoulder and laughs, and this is a big part of the reason I married him and not any of those guys from Ridgecrest - even though one of them had the last name McCrary. And Teri McCrary is an epic name.) So typically there is no one around NOT to laugh. But it is all I can do not to post it every single day here or on facebook. It is my fear of the silent and stoic reaction that keeps me from doing so. Go read it! Only tell me if it cracks you up.

Scene at a Suburban Park

2011-10-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

I always try to avoid fights. In fact, I have always succeeded. I have never once been in a fist fight. Or even a slap fight. I have been known to raise my voice a time or two, but only rarely at strangers, and the time I hung up the phone on a guy at my library job, I got fired for it. Everyone thinks I'm quite demure, so when I flare for a moment, the troops dive for the bunkers, so to speak.

Recently, I've taken up a friendship with a person who shall remain nameless, who used to "organize" a "fight club" at his/her place of work after hours in a big city. Frankly, all the talk of this makes my heart palpitate and I wonder when his/her old "associates" will "catch up" with him or her and I will have to witness a "payback."

Truth be told, I'm not even entirely sure what a "fight club" is, but the notion is rather gripping, isn't it? And herein lies the problem. I like gripping. Not much in my life is gripping. Never has been. This may be why I once wanted to be a reporter. Reporters crave gripping, and they go after it, and then they write about it. I'm a housewife. But I still crave gripping, and I go after it, and afterward I write about it.

Why, just today I loaded my four offspring into our automatic-door minivan and drove up past the nine-million-gallons-per-minute fake fountain into the country club neighborhood of Anthem. Ah, Anthem. Not really a gripping place. But I parked my minivan and stepped out and smelled trouble in the air.

Dozens of middle-school-aged youth were swarming on the playground equipment. "Don't they have anything better to do?" I complained to my friends who had accompanied me to the park. We should have been an intimidating sight to those middle-schoolers. Three housewives, one of us nine months pregnant, walking in slo-mo toward the playground with eight children between us. But these are middle-school-aged youth, as I've mentioned, so they didn't disperse as I hoped they would. Instead, they turned up the volume on the swear words, blocked my daughter from climbing on the play equipment, and one of them, inexplicably, pulled his pants down. I didn't personally witness the pants incident, but my housewife associate did and I'm just lucky it didn't bowl her over, because she is the nine-months-pregnant one and I would have had to help her up in the midst of all the gripping turmoil.

Add to all this craziness the fact that I had recently ingested two cups of coffee, and am still new to caffeine. The psychological drama, paired with the coffee gave me the shakes. Or maybe I was just scared of a brawl. I don't care how brawny I am... no one, NO ONE can take on several dozen junior high misfits at a park. Well, maybe my fight club friend could, but he/she wasn't there. So I did what any self-respecting middle-aged suburban housewife in her right mind and with a penchant for "gripping" would do: I called the cops. I didn't mean for it to turn into fodder for my facebook page, but I can't help it - it just was.

After Little Miss Non-Emergency Dispatcher in her safe-haven control center got through asking me questions like, "Are there drugs?" (No.) and "Are there weapons?" (Well, no... but they're cussing, Little Miss Non-Emergency Dispatcher! Cussing! And I don't get out much!) --- she agreed to send an officer on the double! (She didn't actually say "on the double!" - but I wanted to somehow work that in to my story. You understand.)

Mr. Officer was so nice! But don't confuse "nice" for "not intimidating." As soon as those kids (read: hoodlums) saw him coming, they picked up their backpacks (maybe chock full of knives and nunchucks) and skedaddled. Mr. Officer followed on foot and issued a "stern warning" to some of their remnant to "keep their pants on" and "find another place to play." Then he came back to chat with me and assure me of my safety in this mean suburban jungle. During this chat, some other friends of mine arrived on the scene and were intrigued to see me talking to a law enforcement officer, since the last time I invited them to this park, there was a bus load of convicts cleaning up trash on the grounds. I know what you're thinking - action follows me. Come with me to the park sometime!

Flying Kids

2011-10-20T08:17:00.000-07:00

I grew up flying over town in my dad's single-engine airplanes and playing in grease in hangars during Summer while other kids played in swimming pools. My dad is an A&P mechanic and a workaholic, so I learned the NATO alphabet at the same time I learned the regular one. Therefore it makes perfect sense that I try to introduce aviation to my kids.

Until recently, my efforts included meals at the municipal airport cafe around the corner; watching jets land in the designated observation lot near the runway at McCarran; and trips to see Grandpa at the hangar where he's working now - even at the age of 74.

But earlier this month, we took advantage of a very cool program which is part of the Experimental Aircraft Association - the Young Eagles. You can read all about it by following the link to their website, but for the purposes of my blog, you only need to know that Joseph got to fly for free over our beautiful Nevadan desert for about half an hour in a homebuilt airplane. I have included a photo of the plane, just before landing safely, in case that word "homebuilt" makes you nervous. Preceding the flight, he was given a basic explanation of the parts of the plane, how it flies, and a logbook of his very own. Any child between the ages of eight and eighteen is eligible for this and you can find a chapter in your area on the website.

The experience impressed my often-stoic ten year-old. And I was proud to have done my part to promote an ongoing affection for aviation in our family. Plus, four more children have been taught to "walk wide around the propeller." Heard that a time or two growing up.

Cayna declined a flight, but liked the right seat.

Bethie wanted to fly, but has to wait a couple years.

Coming in for a landing!

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

2011-08-25T23:57:00.000-07:00

I find myself, at age 41, and with a husband and four children, frequently clueless but concerned about what our family life should look like. I've had enough therapy to know that this is largely due to my parents' divorce. To compensate, I look to other people's families for a model, or resort to my own sky-high ideal based loosely on movies and television. This actually works out okay some of the time. (It helps that I know Jesus, have a phenomenal husband, and am intelligent enough to spare myself too many mishaps.)

Sometimes, however, I am in really unfamiliar territory. Summer vacation for instance. My own childhood summer vacation memories consist mainly of spending weeks with extended family without my parents; going to camp (again, without my parents); or taking long trips with my dad and my brother and sleeping in hotel parking lots in my dad's conversion van. You can see how I might not know what I'm doing, or how this is supposed to go.

Summer, 2011 began and I knew it would be fun and healthy to get out of my house and out of Las Vegas for more than a long weekend. But the idea of making that happen paralyzed me. Facebook gave me some ideas of what people do: The beach. The lake. Washington state. And I talked to people: One friend was packing up her pregnant self and her two small children to fly to New York for two weeks to visit both sets of grandparents. Our teacher friends, with the summer off, spent four weeks on the East coast and included a Bermuda cruise. Our neighbors took three weeks to go to the Virgin Islands. My brother and sister-in-law planned a cross-country camping and sight-seeing trip in their Honda Odyssey.

By late July, the most we had done was pick a week with no major obligations and in early August, Kevin requested the time off work from the 19th through the 26th. Our only semblance of a destination was Carson City, to visit our state capitol since Joe studied it this year - and maybe Lake Tahoe, owing to its proximity to Carson City. My friend Michelle, planner extraordinaire, sent me an inboxful of links to help plan this trip that stubbornly refused to plan itself.

Unexpectedly, on August 12, our friend Rachel Hamilton passed away. She had battled an evil stomach cancer for four months. Her funeral was planned for August 20th in Denver. It was a heckuvan event to plan a vacation around, but it rapidly came together.

One night shortly before the trip, I sent out a deluge of texts and facebook messages to anyone and everyone who might help me with any aspect of this trip. One particularly helpful response came from the Dixons, a family we know with family in Denver. Not only are they in the habit of pulling off this crazy one-day, Vegas-to-Denver road trip, but they do it with four kids! I was incredibly pleased with the detailed itinerary that Rob Dixon sent to me. So much so that I gushed about it to other friends and to my husband. Looking back on all I learned over the past week, I think that it not only fed the scheduled, planned, controlled part of my personality (a sizable chunk) - it also relieved some of my extreme anxiety over what a family vacation looks like. I had it right there spelled out for me on my iPhone in the form of a facebook message! Now if only I could have hit up other friends for plans for the other six days of the vacation... I might have been much more relaxed to start with.

We rolled out of our driveway last Friday the 19th right on schedule at 5:30 a.m. And we were able to stay on schedule until maybe a couple hours out of Denver when we hit a LOT of rain and some unavoidable bathroom stops in unfamiliar towns. Overall, I think we all did remarkably well for having spent roughly 15 hours in a minivan.

The funeral was both sickeningly sad and wonderfully warm and inspirational. It was healing to see our friend, Jeff, (Rachel's husband), and their two daughters Jane (4) and Cate (2). We spent hours afterwards in their backyard while our kids played and watched a movie and we talked and told stories and visited with a bunch of friends.

From there, our vacation week was mostly marvelous, the stuff of postcards. Mass at the Denver Cathedral with the sunshine streaming through the stained glass. A drive to Glenwood Springs, 160 miles west of Denver. Setting up camp by the Colorado River. Swimming in the Hot Springs, tubing on the waterslides. Touring a cave. Racing down a mountain on an alpine coaster. Dining high above the canyon, with breathtaking views from the restaurant and from the tram that delivered us. Playing miniature golf. Getting ice cream downtown. Riding a zipline across the Colorado River. And back. Watching the kayaks and rafts go by, and keeping John from throwing rocks at them.

When I list all those things, doesn't it sound delightful? It really was, in part. But there were also numerous instances when Kevin and I bickered. Or the kids bickered. Or the restaurant sucked. Or we took a wrong turn AGAIN. Or I wanted a shower. And I didn't handle it well. When my ideals aren't met, sometimes I spiral downward into a pit of despair and am absolutely convinced that we are ruining our children and our marriage is done for and the six of us will one day make a cautionary tale told by psychiatrists across the nation.

All I can do during those times is pray. I might initially be miffed at my husband, but the hope and forgiveness that is part of leaning on Jesus gradually takes over. Then I'm able to recall the countless stories I've heard from other families, older than mine, that tell how family vacations are often quite challenging - but years later, either the bad stuff is forgotten or it becomes a really good story.

On the way home today, on the curvy roads of the Colorado highway we were on, Cayna finally succumbed to the motion sickness that seemed to be manifesting itself the entire trip. She barfed all over herself and the back seat. Alarmed by the spewing, Bethanie screamed as if she had witnessed a murder, which scared John, who burst into tears. We pulled over, put on the hazards, and furiously dug through our forty-two bags to find our towels. I soaked up the barf and Kevin stuffed the towels into a trash bag to be dealt with at home. And Cayna got a lesson in motion sickness from her father who suffers as well. And Bethanie quieted down, as did John. And we eased back onto the highway. Crisis managed. And not once did we bicker. (Well, there was one tiny dispute over whether to use paper towels or real ones for the clean-up.) It is a joy and a relief to realize we handled the barf incident way better than some of the issues that came up only days earlier. We're learning. It's funny that it took an unplanned, unprecedented, and unpleasant event to prove that we are making progress in figuring out this family thing. I didn't need facebook help or a text to get through it, and I'm proud that we worked together, cared for Cayna, and then got back on the road.

Underwater Birthday Moments

2011-07-13T23:19:00.000-07:00

I think at the moment I officially turned 41, I was reclining on the couch watching my son's home video of my daughter being loony in the car. Then I went to the grocery store.

My official position is that no birthday girl or guy should have to grocery shop. But I have other official positions that supersede that one, such as: no family should be without food. But thankfully, Kevin took off work early so at least I got to grocery shop alone. And also thankfully, the grocery store wasn't the main feature of my day.

Main features of my day:
1) Snuggling with kids in bed since it was a lazy Summer morn. I will spare you the full truth about how this ended in strife when Bethanie and Joe decided to start slapping each other.

2) Going to McDonald's for Egg McMuffins. Because we had no food in the house.

3) A morning swim. With the Egg McMuffins still digesting, we plunged into our backyard swimming hole. It was marvelous. I hope to always remember how the water sparkled in the July morning sunlight. And how my children are trouble-free when we are in the pool.

I am a swimmer. I even lettered in swimming in high school. And MANY of my childhood memories are in my grandma's pool. But even with efficiency in all the main strokes, I still love swimming underwater best. It is so quiet and peaceful and otherworldly beneath the surface. I have never SCUBA dived, but I am convinced I would like it if I could get over my fears of the bends and terribly poisonous fish. In the pool this morning, I purposely kept swimming the length of the pool underwater. And noting how quiet it was. And how blue and shining. And how risky considering any one of my children could cannonball right into my spine without warning. But no one did. And I reveled in the experience.

4) Purple Penguin with Pinneys. (Can't resist alliteration from time to time.) My good friend Michelle and I took all the kids to the snowcone shack and ordered up some flavored ice. It was tempting to order "Birthday Cake" flavor, but I went with my usual, Pina Colada. Memorize this bit of trivia as it may appear on a pop quiz at my 50th birthday party.

5) Dinner with Dad and Vivver. BBQ flavored grilled chicken. Foil pack buttered asparagus, and roasted red potatoes and olive oil. It is a RARE thing that I cook my own birthday dinner, but it just sounded good to me, and no particular restaurant did.

6) Driveway dessert with 21 of our neighbors, plus my parents. It was scrumptious. And sitting out on a night as splendid as this one, with a faint breeze, but mostly just the coolness of the shade - I had to concede that maybe it's not the most insane thing in the world to give birth to a baby in July in Las Vegas, Nevada.

7) A homemade necklace from Cayna. I will treasure it, and this day.

On the Eve of My Forty-First Birthday

2011-07-12T23:05:00.000-07:00

I'm hopeful. Isn't that the best way to be?
Kevin and I had our first counseling session together in a long time. I want to work on anger issues and how they affect my parenting, and he wants to support me, and we BOTH have tremendous loads of crap from our childhoods to deal with - and the good news is: it's possible! It's possible to deal with it. And to heal. And to improve. That news is the highlight of my year.

I'm loving my children. On the eve of turning 41, they are ages 10, 8, 6, and 3. They are funny, sweet, smart, loving reflections of the joy of the Lord. I can't wait to hug and kiss them on my birthday tomorrow.

I'm able to run. For yet another birthday. And I have a neighbor nice enough to run with me each time we are both willing to put down the snack foods and put on the running shoes. I still love running more than I hate running, and that keeps me getting out there.

I'm excited about the cake and ice cream. From age one aaaaaaaaaaalllll the way until tonight, I have loved cake and ice cream. And it's even sweeter when it's in honor of a birthday celebration.

I have purpose. I seek to grow in my love for God every day. I want to be a better wife, and have fun with my husband and our kids. I homeschool with conviction (and am ELATED when next year's pieces of curriculum arrive in my mailbox one by one). I maintain and improve our home. I buy portions of grass-fed beef; strive to improve at sewing; read good books; want to grow closer to my friends; try to do Weight Watchers, then screw up, then try to do Weight Watchers again; organize closets; analyze relationships; and continue to pray for everyone I love and plenty of people I don't even know.

All that oughtta keep me going another year, huh?

And Just Like That...

2011-06-07T21:30:00.000-07:00

... She's Eight!

Cayna turned eight today. There was a little fanfare, not too much, but plenty of feeling special.

My morning rosary for her. Prayed in bed with her sitting next to me, then snuggling and remembering newborn her with her rosy skin and how she tried to suck on her whole hand.

Good friends in a toy shoppe playing in 3,000 pounds of recycled milk carton product. A tree at the back of the store sang "Happy Birthday" to her, called her by name, and knew her age.

Spent too much at said toy store, on a toy that she will outgrow soon, but it's noteable that she's not an OLD age eight. And I'm just fine if she wants to play with "young" toys rather than Justin Bieber stuff for a while longer.

Went to a park. She wrote "I Turned 8" on the ground with sidewalk chalk. And used her characteristic 97 colors to do it. She also went barefoot, her favorite way to be; played in the sand; climbed on the jungle gym; ran along the snake wall; and proclaimed that she is not afraid of dogs. Her choice of movie to watch on the DVD player on the drive across town was "Pocahontas." She is enamored by all things Native American and has coerced her Daddy into constructing a teepee for her birthday.

Chose IHOP for dinner and sweetly asked that someone sing for her. The whopping two servers on duty in the near-empty restaurant rallied with the hostess and presented her with a scoop of ice cream and a little song with enthusiastic applause. They were so sweet to her.

Dragged BaBa through WalMart, then Toys R Us and ended up going back to WalMart for the bike she's been searching for high and low. It's a 20-incher. Blue, pink, sparkly, fenders, etc. All I care about is that she'll feel LOTS of wind blowing through her hair in the coming years and if she falls down, she'll get back up. That about sums it up.

What Not to Eat While Giving Blood

2011-06-06T15:47:00.000-07:00

At the end of the 9:30 Mass yesterday, Father John announced that the Knights of Columbus were sponsoring a blood drive at the church.

I have this funny habit. When I want to do something, but maybe feel unsure about it, I try to get millions of other people to do it, and then I can just join in unafraid. So I turned to Kevin, "You should give blood!" To my surprise, he said, "I'll do it."

From there, my campaign had a different look: "Hey, so-and-so, Kevin's giving blood. Wanna join him?" I asked eight people and was rejected by eight people. Bravely, for me, the needle wimp, I decided I would join him. Thankfully, my mother-in-law was visiting and took the kids home.

It was a long wait, but finally I went "behind the curtain" to answer questions about my sex, drug, and health practices. The funniest moment was when my interviewer asked if I'd ever been pregnant. I said yes. She asked how many times, and I answered eight. You should have seen her face. And she seriously thought I was joking (we'd already established a rapport, which is good when you're divulging whether or not you've had sex with someone with HIV - and we'd been joking a little bit). I told her I had four kids and four miscarriages and she was still shaking her head as we went on to the next question.

It was determined that I could donate "a double". I was tall enough, heavy enough, and had high enough iron to do it. After my finger prick revealed my super-star iron level, the interviewer goes, "GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL!" at the top of her lungs - announced my double donation and all the volunteer Knights on the other side of the curtain were clapping. (Just a note, the "double" means they can take double the blood because they pump your plasma right back into you and you can give more that way. It's also more readily usable, if I understood right, and just takes 45 minutes or so to give.)

I was actually having fun at this point. There was lots of attention given to the donors, and I like attention. Kevin and I were hanging out without the kids - nearly like a date! And my interviewer told me I had permission to eat a cheeseburger while I donated. I was hungry, having not eaten since breakfast about four or five hours before, and the Knights were sponsoring their monthly cook-out after Mass and all donors got a free ticket.

My plan was to have Kevin go fetch me a burger after he finished his donation. This went awry when time flew and he had to go get Joseph for a meeting back at the church at 1:00. So Ken, my new best friend, and one of the nicest Knights, brought me a scrumptious burger.

This blood donation thing seemed easy-breezy. I do hate needles and get faint at the sight of blood, but I had promised my interviewer I would not be dramatic and would keep communicating with the techs if I had any issues. Plus, compared to the thousand times I've had blood taken during my pregnancies and pregnancy losses, this was like a cruise ship compared to a row boat. The phlebotomists were friendly and jovial, the chair was like a La-Z-Boy recliner, and, for Pete's sake, I was saving a life or two! You can't beat that!!!

I was all hooked up and had enjoyed a small bag of pretzels and two water bottles by the time the cheeseburger arrived. It was delicious. I chewed it slowly while I focused on relaxing and NOT looking at the tube coming out of my arm.

I remembered labor with each of my pregnancies, and how successful it was to employ the mind-body connection. When I heard a tech say my blood had "slowed down" I visualized a river flowing. Even got a random old, old song by Joel Weldon going in my brain: "Still the River Flows". This river visual might have been the beginning of my demise.

It's frustrating, as the whole world knows, to do everything right and still have your body betray you. Despite all my prayer, visualization, happy singing, and relaxation - I started to shiver. Then get light-headed. It was annoying. But it was easily solved. Two blankets and a further reclined position plus two ice bags on my neck and I started to feel better. The guy told me that the saline pumping back into my body was twenty degrees cooler than my body temperature, so that explained the shivers. But I was starting to look more like a hospital patient then a calm, collected, breezy blood donor.

Ken had brought me such joy with the cheeseburger that he decided to bring a whole tray for other waiting donors. I remember when he walked in, my stomach turned. Then turned again. Then started somersaulting and cartwheeling and no amount of forced relaxation or trying to talk myself out of the nausea would work. I told my friendly phlebotomist that I was REALLY nauseous and before I knew it I was barfing endlessly into an orange biohazard bag.

Perhaps you're not fully appreciating this scene. I was wearing a pretty pink dress, left over from church. My friend Andrea had even complimented my hair. I was trying to save a LIFE! And it all came crashing down with a whole lot of wretching into a plastic bag held by a stranger.

Imagine also the orientation of the room. The donor recliners faced straight toward the waiting area. So I had an audience of like a dozen men and women. My buddy phlebotomist mostly blocked their view of my puking, but it had to be evident what was going on when other techs came running with napkins and chorusing, "Is she okay?"

I was okay. My pride was wounded, but the moment I started vomiting, the phlebotomist said, "Your blood came rushing out!" So maybe the visualization HAD worked! (A little TOO well.)

I was given extra time for recovery, and Ken gave me an apple juice. Another man insisted I couldn't drink it from a can, and brought me a cup. My pink bandage tape matched my dress. There was only the faintest hint of barf stench emanating from my cleavage where I hadn't thought to wipe. And as soon as I could walk, I went home where I could change clothes and recline on the couch.

Whether or not they wrote "Puker" on my donor record remains to be seen. I can donate again in September. If I avoid the cheeseburger, and they can put up with me, I'll give blood again. People go through way worse than this to save a life. Just call me the hurling heroine!

He's Three

2011-05-04T13:41:00.000-07:00

Through various turns of events, I found myself on a porch swing in the backyard next-door to my old backyard. John, age 3, was with me. He wanted me to swing higher, but a porch swing isn't the same as a playground swing. He didn't get that. I tried to make conversation, nodding my head toward our old house: "John, there's our old house. You were BORN there!"

And his reply: "How old was I?"

Plastered

2011-05-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

The good news is that ALL of the inside projects we wanted to do in this new house are now complete. Anything else we do is like icing on the cake.

The bad news is that plastering the ceiling was WAY more difficult than I bargained for. Plastering, in and of itself, is pretty basic. It was made more difficult by yours truly - thanks to the Easter deadline I imposed, the "side projects" I had going simultaneously, and my perfectionism. Fortunately, when one grows increasingly desperate and anxious, the perfectionism starts to go out the window. Passers-by hear statements like: "I don't give a rat's @$$ anymore about the air bubbles! I just want this stupid project FINISHED!!!" (Sadly, for my husband, he is really the only passer-by.)

It all started with this:

You'll have to squint a little. See that pale spot just past the air vent? That was the former site of a truly ugly medallion which was screwed into the ceiling with many VERY LARGE screws. And a light fixture. But, since we removed the light fixture, Kevin patched the damaged drywall, etc. And that is where he stopped. He kept procrastinating the texture job. Partly because it's messy and partly because on any given weekend we already have 250,000 OTHER things on our to-do list. You understand.

I, the brilliant wife, had the economical idea to finish the ceiling with Venetian Plaster, which can be obtained at your local Home Depot. (You don't have to be even a little bit Italian. They just sold it to me!) Plastering would kill two birds with one stone - release Kevin from the pesky texturing job and accomplish re-painting which would be inevitable.

And here I insert a HUGE thank you to Neal Kellen for loaning us his scaffold, Tammy Kellen for posting a photo of their scaffold on facebook during their painting job (or else I never would have known anyone owned such a thing), and Kathy Litto and Kendra Green for coaching me (in person and on the phone) in the fine art of Venetian Plaster. I still didn't get it entirely right, but I think it looks pretty good, it accomplished my goal, and on days when my perfectionist beast is subdued, I live in happy satisfaction with a job done.

Here is the scaffold, which joined our family for a little less than a week. The kids loved it. They played on it, lunched on it, spilled juice on it... (whoops! didn't mention that to the Kellens!)

And here is the "after" picture.

Please do just enough squinting to appreciate the texture and the effect of the "burnishing." What is "burnishing?" you ask. Burnishing, loosely translated, means: to scrape a steel putty knife across endless square feet of ceiling surface to make it shiny and give it "depth" and color variations; it often results in sore arms and shoulders, plaster-dust in the eyes, vertigo (depending on the height of your ceiling) and a deep need to tell everyone you meet about the job you just did so they can pat you on the back and be impressed.

Easter

2011-04-29T22:55:00.000-07:00

Despite the craziness of Holy Week, brought on by my own decision to take on too many home improvement projects while the kids were off school, Easter was still a glorious day.

Easter began for us on Saturday night. Joseph wanted to attend the Easter Vigil again (it has become a tradition of sorts) and since Kevin went with him last year, I was elected to go this year. Kevin stayed home with the children who would implode if they stayed up til midnight and then spent the entire next day eating chocolate bunnies.

(I will eventually post a photo of) the fire that lit the Easter candle. We all gathered here with our candles to process into the church. I'd love to add photos of the baptismal font that Father John built, all 30 baptisms, Father Steve standing on a chair to light the candles behind the altar (we all laughed - the guy is already six foot eight!) and the joy I felt sitting through the Mass with Joseph and our young neighbors Christina and Maria. While we're at it, I wish cameras could capture how moving it is to hear Stephanie sing the litany of the saints. What a night! What a savior we have to celebrate!

After a midnight snack of sandwiches, shrimp, and delicious fruit, we all went home and went to bed with the resurrection on our hearts.

And woke up to Easter baskets!

I'm happy to say that I refrained from buying so much candy as to guarantee diabetes by summer. But there was enough, and the kids were all thrilled with their choco-bunnies, Mike & Ike's, and pool-themed gifts.

After I ran to the Mayers to hide the zillion eggs for the after-Mass hunt, we dressed up and took a family photo on the couch before Mass. At Mass, Joe had altar server duty and the girls both sang in the choir - it was bizarre to sit with just one child! (Though Grandma Noela joined us, too.)

After Mass, it was lots of kids and baskets in the Mayers backyard. Here's the whole group, minus John, who shies away from large group shots.

Back to our house for the potluck. Yummy ham, lots of marvelous side dishes, and, oh! - a wild and crazy confetti egg fight. This was compliments of my fabulous friend Andrea. The confetti eggs are a tradition in her family and she provided 36 of the well-decorated little suckers. The kids (and adults) had a blast breaking them over each other's heads. Here is Joe dashing out of the bathroom, where he had chased Christina and covered her and the entire commode in shiny confetti.

Here is a tiny sample of what my floor looked like at the end of the afternoon. The entire first floor of our house, minus the guest room looked like this. No joke. Praise the Lord for the broom and the vacuum cleaner!

To prove my cheery disposition despite the crazy confetti mess, and despite the fact that she broke an egg over my head right before this was taken, here is photographic evidence that Andrea and I are still friends.

It was fun to have a neighborhood lunch gathering to celebrate Jesus. And Easter season is just beginning. Happy Easter everyone!

Holy Week Upholstery

2011-04-27T10:39:00.000-07:00

Leading up to Easter, I didn't have enough to do with filling eggs for the big hunt, ironing Easter outfits, and cleaning the house for a party - so I figured it was a good time to reupholster our dining room chairs.

We bought these chairs in Hanford in 2004. I loved the white fabric, but purposely inspected their design for ease of reupholstering. At the time I had two children and knew the fabric wouldn't stay white for long. Call me a prophet.

Seven years later, these suckers were WAY overdue for a makeover.

I think the cran-grape juice stains make them especially lovely. If I were a guest, I'm not sure I'd even want to sit on a chair this disgusting. (No one needs to ask what kind of forward thinker would buy white chairs with children in the house. I have no answer. Except they were so pretty!)

On about Wednesday night of Holy Week, Kevin unscrewed the seat cushions from the chair frame and I sat on the couch with a screwdriver and some pliers and got to work removing the old fabric from the chairs. Between the black "under-cover" (not sure what else to call it) and the fabric itself, there were roughly 150 staples per chair to be removed. And they didn't come easy. I had a cramped, blistered hand and very sore muscles by the end of the night, and was only half done. I spent about two or three hours the next morning finishing the job.

At this point, I thought the hard part was over. Now I got to use the fun staple gun and be done in a jiffy, right? I pulled out the staple gun we inherited from my step-dad and shot the first staple. It only went half way in to the wood seat. After a desperate and annoyed phone call to my husband, he reminded me that the gun was "about ninety years old" and suggested I hammer in the staples the rest of the way. No freaking way was I going to hammer 900 staples. So I called our neighbor Derryck, who has a very well-outfitted tool collection and works as a high school teacher, so he was home on Spring Break. He sent over his stapler. Shot the first staple. It only went half way in. You might think I was over-reacting if I told you I burst into tears and ran screaming into the closet where I suffered a full nervous breakdown. But what you might not know is that I was functioning on very little sleep since I was working nights on what I think I might start referring to as "The Great Ceiling Plaster Project of Holy Week 2011." Home improvement projects have a way of not going entirely right, so home improvement workers have a way of falling apart emotionally from time to time.

This is staple gun loser #1:

This is staple gun loser #2:

By a wonderful turn of events, my father stopped by shortly after my nervous breakdown and casually said, "Well, hey, I have a staple gun in my car. Let's try it."

The "Little Staple Gun That Could," despite it's size, accomplished the feat of shooting the staple through the fabric and into the solid wood seat. (And here we insert the Hallelujah chorus. It's not just for Easter.)

No longer did my stack of chair cushions look so daunting.

I used the old fabric swatch for a pattern and got to work.

Almost a thousand staples later, I had six beautiful new chairs, only a slightly arthritic hand, and huge respect for people who carry staple guns in their cars.

Toy Stories

2011-04-15T17:56:00.000-07:00

Following are some photos I took of my daughters' toys in various "situations." Sometimes I'll come across their play and I'm taken aback, to say the least. I wonder where they get these ideas at the same time that I laugh out loud. I've recently gotten smart enough to capture their "creativity" with my camera. What follows are the results. The toys and dolls are exactly as I found them. The captions are mine.

Rhinoplasty? At such a young age? What kind of mother....?

"Yes, they're a little large... but they keep me warm up to my thighs."

The student body is sufficiently diverse. They even have a grizzly bear.

"I always feel so smiley when I've been to see Jesus!"

In urban areas, it's often hard to find a good saddle shop. In a pinch, masking tape will do fine. Just have the stable boy be the one to remove it.

Dolphins are terrible drivers. Even if it's a shoe car... just don't let them behind the wheel at all if you can help it.

Efanie was soooooooo glad to not be the only one in second grade with an unusual name.

While the Infant Stunt-Riding course is less than popular, there is the occasional newborn who knocks your socks off with her talent.

Still on the Floor

2011-04-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

Star Reporter: Much time has passed since your last blog post. Are you still sleeping on the floor?
Me: Yes.

Star Reporter: And how's that goin'?
Me: It hasn't been as difficult as anticipated. A few weeks ago, I removed the memory foam topper I was using and replaced it with a sleeping bag. Much less comfortable, but it beats a bed of nails. If there has been any lesson, it is that I can get by with less than I have. Nice to be reminded of that. We'll be sleeping on the floor at my brother and sister-in-law's during an upcoming visit, and that's just fine and dandy. Couple months ago, I might have been nervous about my comfort and annoyed at not having my bed with me.

Star Reporter: Excited to approach the end of Lent?
Me: Yes and no. Of course I look forward to the joy and celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. But this has been a VERY rich spiritual time for me. Thankfully, that doesn't have to end when Lent does, and many of the disciplines I've attempted will continue. Hooray for that!

Star Reporter: What has been most fruitful?
Me: I can't answer that. Jesus could. Let me know if He clues you in. But I certainly have gained a lot from my reading of the Diary of St. Faustina. Man oh man, that woman loved Jesus. Every word I read of hers brings out a strong desire in my whole heart to love Jesus more. I'll do anything. Well, almost anything. The theme of suffering is STRONG in the life of St. Faustina (and in the lives of all the saints I've read about) and I am daily trying to understand what that looks like for little old me. I resist the level of suffering that Faustina endured, and yet I can hear a call...

Star Reporter: Speaking of suffering...
Me: It is all around me, but mine is so minimal. So I can pray a lot, praise God for that. This very day, I have news of a friend beginning chemo for stomach cancer; my god-daughter desperately needs a new liver; and another friend is suffering through severe emotional turmoil. Still, in the midst of it all, there is the light of the Lord of Lords, and it is the most amazing light. I pray so hard for that light to shine in their darkness. (I suspect, actually, that they might see the light more brilliantly than I do right now.)

Star Reporter: So... you haven't been blogging, but things are okay?
Me: Yes. Jesus is alive and He is the hope of the world and of my life.

Little Pink House

2011-03-22T11:56:00.000-07:00

Here is the house I came home to when I was born, in 1970. This photo was taken near Christmas-time, judging from the lights still hanging around the roof.

Can you tell from the photo that the house was pale pink? I wonder if the color of one's childhood home contributes to her personality in any way.

Strain your eyes a little and behold the red-carpeted front step, and the cactus beside the door. Who puts a cactus right by the front door? Welcome mat, no... cactus, yes.

It was 1970, as I said, so stepping inside, you would see the white carpet, gold sofas, and dark wood wall paneling. Not to mention my mom's five-foot high painting of a Spanish bullfighter in blues and greens.

The backyard was huge by Vegas standards. My dad built a two-story playhouse back there for my brother and I, complete with a balcony. Through the years, we had three dogs, three cats, a rabbit and a couple tortoises back there. Additionally, my father found the skulls of cattle on desert hikes and wired them to the back fence for decoration. There was also a tire swing. And a pool table, at one point. And morning glories. And a patio table with Dad's arrowhead collection displayed on the top. My tenth birthday singing telegram came to that backyard. Most of my ballet recital photos were posed there. And our doberman, Tia, once cornered me in the sideyard. (All the good memories blend in with the not-so-good.)

Inside, once the white living room carpet was replaced with dark brown, Dad and I would watch NOVA on PBS while eating ice cream out of glasses. The macrame plant holders that Mom made still hung nearby, but Mom lived elsewhere. Not until halfway through tenth grade did I walk out of that house for the last time. As an adolescent, I wasn't sad to leave behind my bright blue room, the cockroach problem, or memories that balanced precariously between good and bad. I had always wanted a front window in the living room, where we could set up the Christmas tree, and we had that in the next house.

All these years later, I still drive by my old house from time to time. I want to make sure it's still there, and see how it's doing. I can't get away with staring for long, but it only takes a second for the memories to rush in anyway.

I was shocked to see the pink house painted yellow on my most recent visit. There is also a broken window, an unfamiliar car in the driveway, trash and junk furniture near the driveway, and a different front door. Plus no cactus on the front step. But I can tour the floorplan in my imagination. I can see the red and pink carpet in the bathroom. Remember the new kitchen phone with its ten-foot cord. Help a couple of Dad's girlfriends move in, then out. Celebrate another birthday, another Christmas, another Easter. Then I drive away.

Reading Ambition

2011-03-14T08:34:00.000-07:00

It's already mid-March, and I've only just finished the first of the eleven books on my "to-read" list for 2011.

Yesterday I finished Great Expectations, by Dickens. WAY easier read than A Tale of Two Cities, but lacking the huge payoff at the end. Don't get me wrong, it still had a nice ending, but not one that lingers in your heart and mind for days and weeks afterward.

Last night I started Robinson Crusoe. I have my fears about this book, but I chose it next because Joe just had to read an abridged version for school and I want to share it with him to some extent. Like Great Expectations, I am reading it on my iPhone. I am reasonably sure that I will be legally blind by age 42 if this phone-reading keeps up, but I don't feel the strain, so I can't forego the convenience.

In addition, for some Lent reading, I have chosen "The Way," By St. Josemaria Escriva. It's more of a booklet, really, and after I complete it during Lent, I imagine keeping it in my purse, or with my Bible. Here's a sample of today's reading: "May your behavior and your conversation be such that everyone who sees or hears you can say: This man reads the life of Jesus Christ." (Yes, the gender-neutral patrol would have a heyday with this booklet, and two notes later, Escriva writes, "Be a man!" - I'm translating that one myself.)

Along with "The Way," the Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska is on my "bedside patch of floor" (my nightstand is rendered useless since it's across the room and I'm not using my bed, remember). St. Faustina had a remarkable relationship with Jesus and was the "apostle" for the Divine Mercy, which has become more and more captivating for me lately. So I want to know more. (And I always think it's really cool to read diaries.)

Finally, I read of one or two or three saints a day from my "Treasury of Women Saints." Typically, the phrase that runs through my mind after I read about saints is, "These people are crazy!" So how can I be more like them? How can I be crazier for Jesus?

Well Rested

2011-03-10T08:16:00.000-08:00

I don't think I'll be reaching any amazing heights of asceticism... I made it through my first bedless night with only some achy hips.

Kevin set up a floor-bed of sorts himself. I admit I was feeling more than a little sorry for not having discussed this sacrifice with him beforehand, so it's nice he is joining me.

The kids asked all kinds of questions. I think this Lenten decision will be among the more benign of their therapy recollections, and it made the explanation of "sacrifice" all the more tangible.

I found this website through a favorite blog of mine, The Ironic Catholic. It's called Busted Halo, and if you're looking for a really unique Lenten calendar, check there. It also links to a video - "Ash Wednesday in Two Minutes." Ash Wednesday is past, but the teaching is present and relevant.

On with Lent!

Ash Wednesday Worries

2011-03-09T07:01:00.000-08:00

After blogging about my Lenten sacrifice, I asked Kevin if it was a bad idea to blog about it, in light of scripture that talks about NOT praying for others to see, or making fasting obvious, etc. He didn't say much, he might have still been reeling from the news that I'd be sleeping on the floor for over a month. He did wryly offer to buy me a hair-shirt, which made me laugh, and for the millionth time I chuckled to myself about all the strange things I've learned since becoming Catholic. (Read about hair shirts HERE.)

This morning, I open my nifty "Not by Bread Alone" Lenten app and this was the first scripture: Jesus said to his disciples: "Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father." (Matthew 6:1)

I have no defense, unless those two little words "in order" can be highlighted. I am not making my sacrifice to show people. I really do hope that it will make a difference in my relationship with Jesus. But I will still ask God to help me with humility and I will consider my motives carefully.

Have a blessed Ash Wednesday. (In keeping with the Word - Matthew 6:16 - I will not become gloomy as I fast today. However, in telling you I'm fasting, I've already messed up. Oh, dear.)

I'll Be Sleeping on the Floor

2011-03-08T21:47:00.000-08:00

The idea of a Lenten sacrifice has deepened the longer I've been Catholic. Two years ago, I gave up sweets, because I know how much I looooooove them, and it was a real sacrifice. But last year, I decided to try a sacrifice that was also designed to bring me closer to Jesus. Giving up sweets doesn't inherently bring me closer to Jesus unless I stop to pray every time I would otherwise be grabbing a cookie. So last year I thought about OTHER things I really love (after sweets, I mean, because I do really, really, really love sweets). Sleep was next on the list. So I gave up some sleep. I started setting my alarm an hour earlier to make time in the morning to read scripture, pray, journal, and do other spiritual reading. It was so good for me that it has continued ever since. It has become a regular discipline.

Which brings us to this year. What is next on the list after sweets and sleep? Friends? My iPhone? What? Languishing in my wonderful bed one Saturday morning, looking over the stripes on my luscious plaid flannel sheets, I pledged undying love for my cozy bed. It is a sleep number bed, and I would be willing to do a commercial for it. It is like sleeping on a cloud. Ever since we bought it, all my back pain has been eradicated. I could go on and on but the point is, it is one of my favorite places to be. So this year, I'm giving my bed up for Lent.

I've read a lot of stories of the lives of saints over the past few years. And I am always intrigued by the "mortifications" that some of them performed. In my limited understanding, a mortification is something you do to voluntarily suffer. For Jesus, no other reason. To be like Him. To be closer to Him. Not because you have to, but because you want to. Maybe penance is involved, or maybe it's just a desire to know Him better. I expect I'll figure out a lot about this as the days of Lent go by.

My plan is to set an eggcrate bedroll on the floor with a sheet and a blanket. And my pillow. (I'm not ready to give up my pillow - that'll happen when I am MUCH more serious!) And before bed, instead of checking facebook or playing Words With Friends, I will read more of my "Treasury of Women Saints" compiled by Ronda De Sola Chervin and my newest app: "Not By Bread Alone - A Lenten App" which includes scriptural readings and a short devotional. Sounds great, huh? But then I have to go to sleep on that tiny thin layer between me and the hard floor. I am positive that many parts of my body will be numb every morning. So that's when I'll pray. I'll pray that Jesus will make me more like him, more willing to suffer. And I will SURELY pray for the countless men and women who sleep in much harsher conditions than I. I will still have climate control, pajamas, a pillow, and food in my tummy. So hopefully this will also compel me to give more during this season and into the future. Like I said, these Lenten sacrifices, when taken seriously, tend to extend well beyond Easter.

I will be journalling. And blogging. I hope you'll be reading, and praying, with me!

Here is the scripture I'm holding on to: "Indeed I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as refuse, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own, based on law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith; that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead." - Philippians 3:8-11 ......I can hardly align my little sacrifice with that of Paul or Jesus, obviously. But I look forward to seeing what meaning it will have.

Blessings to you this Lenten season. I pray you will draw closer to Jesus who suffered for you.

Put on your boots and hop in my pickup!

2011-03-04T21:35:00.000-08:00

Kevin took the kids to the park for a couple hours this afternoon/evening and I spent the whole time they were gone in the kitchen. There was cheesecake to prepare (read: thaw) for Kevin's birthday celebration; Bethanie's birthday cake and cupcakes to bake. It is a strange but welcome sensation to have the house quiet and deserted now and then.

When you remove an animal from its normal habitat and transplant it somewhere entirely unfamiliar, the animal will exhibit odd behavior. It's only natural. Same goes for housewives, apparently, because when I found myself in a quiet, kid-free dwelling - I grabbed a beer from the frig and started blaring country music on Pandora.

The kooky-ness didn't end there. A song by Trace Adkins called "You're Gonna Miss This" came on and THAT made me get weepy! Seriously! I became the subject of a sullen country music song myself! If there are any budding lyric writers out there, here's your subject: 40 year-old housewife with blonde hair, jeans, a beer, and standing in her socks leaning on the pantry door CRYING.

It's not time for my period. I'm not medicated, so my dosages can't be off. And nothing particularly mournful happened today. But check out the song for yourself and tell me how it makes YOU feel. (This will be more effective, granted, if you are ALSO a wife and mother and have just downed half a beer.) Full lyrics and a sample of the song, along with a photo of Trace Adkins can be found HERE. The best explanation I can offer for my behavior is that this song comes right on the heels of my day yesterday, (see my most recent blog post) in which I became newly aware of my kids growing up too fast. Mr. Adkins is preying on this tendency in us mothers to get all sentimental and nostalgic about not only our children, but also all the other meaningful parts of our lives. (It worked! I bought the song off iTunes.)

I haven't been a big country music fan in the past. And I'm not sure whether tonight's incident will make me one now. But I will conclude with these related facts:
1) Men in cowboy hats are not totally unattractive.
2) I stopped drinking after one beer.
3) Despite the tears and distraction of my mom emotions, all my baking turned out well.
4) My family reappeared at 6:30 p.m. and the sibling rivalry, yelling, complaining, whining, hugging, goofing off, singing, dancing, and tripping over each other commenced. Above all the noise, I could still hear the voice of Trace Adkins: "You're Gonna Miss This."

Three Big Signs They're Growing Up - All in One Day

2011-03-03T22:33:00.000-08:00

Bethanie woke up first this morning. That is normal, but it was fun to give her a "happy birthday" kiss in the quiet before everyone else got out of bed. In minutes, she was literally running around downstairs and she came to me and said in a breathless whisper, and with a little grin, "I think I'm faster now." Soon afterward, "I do seem bigger." My favorite moment of all was hours later at the mall, of all places, standing by the fountains hurling pennies in the water. I asked if she was making any wishes and she nodded, "I want to learn to fly!" I gave each of the kids three pennies, after taking stock of the quantity in my coin purse - but Bethanie got six. She turned six years old today, and that was the first milestone of the day.

Since we were already out, and getting out in the middle of the day is a big deal (I will refrain from saying "fiasco") with four homeschooled kids - I threw all caution to the wind and extended an already long shopping trip in order to hit one more store where I'd heard there were reasonably-priced First Communion dresses. Because, you see, Cayna is preparing to receive communion for the first time in May! This is exciting, yes. And a tremendous joy. It is also, in the heart of this relatively new-Catholic mother, completely bizarre to shop for an all-white dress and a veil for your seven year-old daughter. We are helping prepare Cayna to draw closer to Jesus in an all-new way. And Jesus is helping prepare ME to rely on Him in new ways as my daughter grows up. (He is also, thankfully, flooding our hearts with forgiveness because Cayna had a tantrum in the mall parking lot and I wasn't too nice to her in response.)

Joseph needed dress shoes. And he was such a patient, even-tempered companion through the throes of maniacal shopping-with-younger-siblings that I probably would have bought him his own convertible sports car just to thank him for being good. But I kept quiet about the sports car. Our shoe shopping, meanwhile, led us to the men's department. My firstborn now wears a man's shoe size. If that ain't a HUGE indicator that your kid is growing up, I don't know what is. (Well, yes I do, I guess. There was the first purchase of deodorant. And the extension of bedtime. And so on and so forth.) But really, men's shoes??? (Little economic sidenote here: black slip-on dress shoes in the kids' section cost $19.99 at the store we first tried. Same style in men's? A cool $60.00.)

Once safely home from the three-hour shopping bonanza, I marveled at how I could experience three major parenting milestones in ONE day. And then John needed a diaper change. Nothing like a wet diaper to remind me they're not quite off to college yet.

Little Walks Down Memory Lane

2011-02-14T22:25:00.000-08:00

Had a Tootsie Roll today. I eat Tootsie Rolls very seldom, and when I do - I might as well be right back at Baker Park at the age of about three. No kidding, I can still remember it. I took swimming lessons and the instructor put Tootsie rolls under water where she wanted us to put our faces. Just a step or two down (and wouldn't they float?-- she must have held them there...) That taste is summertime and swimming pool and reward for taking risks.

For Valentine's Day, Kevin bought me a combo iPhone alarm clock/charging station/music playing thingy. It was past time to throw away my old alarm clock. Many of the buttons were failing to work, and since I had my eyes fixed, I don't need the HUGE display the old clock had. That old alarm clock was the one we got when we got married, and it served us for almost 13 years! Can't say that about many of our other appliances. I can remember it resting on the bedside shelf in our first home on Lorilyn. And Kevin setting "Wake 1" and "Wake 2" when we both had jobs to get up for in the morning. I actually got a little nostalgic when I unplugged it tonight. It was 7:34 p.m. Can't count how many 11:11s I've seen on that thing.

I bought some pretty candles tonight to put in our bathroom. They're Gardenia-scented. A long time ago, my mom told me that was my Grandpa's favorite flower. I bought Gardenia-scented candles for my wedding, too. In a related story, Grandpa used to buy all the girls and women in the family a corsage for Christmas Eve. Not sure what type of flower -- probably not gardenias -- but regardless, the aroma in my bathroom now reminds me of Grandpa and corsages and special occasions.

That's all. Now I'm off to enjoy the scent of the candles drifting into my room and listen to the sounds of my iPod.

Finally Finished Walden

2011-02-07T22:41:00.000-08:00

It's never a good sign when a book takes me several months to read. I picked up Walden, by Henry David Thoreau in oh, say... November?

Thoreau was a transcendentalist. I linked to its definition on Wikipedia, but if you don't have time to go there - think Oprah, but without so much fortune and a glossy magazine. Come to think of it, what I wouldn't give to be able to witness a conversation between Thoreau and Oprah. It is for sure that she would have asked him to appear on her show (were he alive) - given his transcendentalist beliefs and cherry-on-topped by his anti-slavery writing and lecturing. I can just imagine her applauding his simple life in a tiny abode on Walden Pond.

I don't have the intellect to comment much on Walden. If I had to sum up my problem with it - it was largely boring. When I was paying attention, I loved some of what he wrote, and found it challenging. But out of 224 pages, I was only truly engaged for about half.

Walden was never required reading in any of my high school or college classes, yet I recognized many lines - and I wonder where I heard them before.

If you're not already friends with Thoreau, acquaint yourself here with a few of his thoughts that stood out to me

"I should not talk so much about myself if there were any body else whom I knew as well." -p.5

"Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate." -p.8

"None can be an impartial or wise observer of human life but from the vantage ground of what we should call voluntary poverty." -p.13

"It is an interesting question how far men would retain their relative rank if they were divested of their clothes." -p.19

"I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes." -p.19

"We no longer camp as for a night, but have settled down on earth and forgotten heaven." -p.29

"We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate." -p.39

[Too long to quote here, but he wrote insightfully on "news" (-p.67) and his critique is scathing and (to me) laugh-out-loud funny.]

"I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now." -p.217

"Shall a man go and hang himself because he belongs to the race of pygmies, and not be the biggest pygmy that he can? Let every one mind his own business, and endeavor to be what he was made." -p.219

"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." -p.219

"I sat at a table where were rich food and wine in abundance, and obsequious attendance, but sincerity and truth were not; and I went away hungry from the inhospitable board." -p.222

Work

2011-02-03T11:50:00.000-08:00

I'm introspecting. Nothing new, I do it all the time. But this is a bigger topic than my usual "Should I have that second helping of spaghetti?" Right now I'm wondering if I've ever really had to work hard at anything.

College degree? I went to UNLV. 'Nuff said.

Finding a husband? We were a match made in heaven and InterVarsity brought us together. I didn't even have to join an online dating service.

Ballet? Starring roles in my childhood recitals.

Golf? Natural talent.

Running? Okay, that takes a little effort...

The list of things I've dumped because they are too hard is much longer:
Really learning the computer...
...my camera...
...algebra...
...chemistry...
...online billpay...
...the coffee maker...
...Rubik's cube...
...football...
...Skype...
...shopping sales...
...cooking...

Did I mention cooking? Okay, I haven't dumped cooking because Kevin once gently explained to me that our family won't work unless I make at least a genuine effort to TRY to put together meals. (He also graciously offered to help, a lot, and thankfully follows through on this regularly.)

But, really, I think I skate through a lot of stuff keeping it as simple as possible. I have NO idea how I ever passed algebra and chemistry without cheating. But I know I didn't cheat, and I didn't flunk - so there must have been magic involved.

Today's introspection involves Joseph's registration in this online school. My vocation just got a LOT harder. If all the homeschool moms who know me could read this (and I hope they don't - my ego can't handle it) they would point and chuckle, surely. You see, I was skating along with homeschool. And if I didn't put in an hour of effort into teaching math every day, I justified my laziness by assuming my kids would still get the concepts by "being-home-with-mom osmosis".

For the past week, Joe has had about six to seven SOLID hours of schoolwork per day! Those of you who send your kids to school might roll your eyes at this, since a public school day is about that long - but these are SOLID WORK hours. For both of us. Not counting lunch, snacks, and other breaks. I'm tired. And I feel like I can't feel sorry for myself since I chose this route.

It's still the early days of this new curriculum. I know there's a learning curve and catch-up work involved in a "mastery-based" program. But as I stated before, I'm not good at learning. I'm MUCH happier with being naturally gifted at things. You can see how this new thing is stretching me in good ways, right? Because I can't. I want to go pout a little more.

Pudding Woes

2011-01-27T21:10:00.000-08:00

Kevin wasn't coming home after work. No Daddy at dinnertime, no hero to put the kids to bed. Just me and my four children, all alone against the elements of a weeknight. A friend suggested I get my kids to help me make mini-pizzas followed by that pudding/banana/Nilla wafer dessert. This would pass the time and hopefully make the evening fun.

I made a grocery list for our menu, and lucked out when another friend kept the older three kids while John and I headed to the store. Once home, I realized I had gotten everything except the pudding, which is kind of crucial to the dessert. I called or texted all six of my neighbors, hoping someone had a box of vanilla pudding on hand. Nalleys - no. Mayers - no. Earlys - no. Elisaldezes - no. Kings - no. Rickards - yes! This was great news because I really had no energy or desire to load up the van and go back to the grocery store.

I procured the pudding and mixed it with milk and THEN noticed that I had a smaller box than the recipe called for. But I'd already added the larger quantity of milk. Texted Derryck Rickards again: "Do you happen to have TWO boxes of pudding?" The reply: "Sorry, no." Called Kristi and asked if she would interrupt her own dinner prep and evening craziness to come hang out at my house for 15 minutes while I ran to the store without kids. She said yes.

I was in a rush. I grabbed the pudding and narrowly missed colliding with a guy in the baking aisle as I attempted to dart between him and his cart while he looked at something on the shelf opposite. He finished looking and turned to his cart, not knowing a crazy lady with three boxes of vanilla pudding would be zooming by. Mutual apologies.

Shrewdly, I bypassed all the long lines at the checkstands to use the self-serve. Scanned the first box of pudding and an annoying pop-up informed me that "the attendant has been summoned and will help you shortly". Out loud, I said, "Seriously?" and scooted to the next station. I'm not sure if the attendant ever appeared. I think the attendant is a ruse. The whole point of the self-serve is to eliminate humans, right? That's my impression.

At home, I ripped open the new package of pudding, but just before adding it to my earlier mixture, Kristi stopped me. She noticed that instead of instant pudding, I had bought the "cook" pudding. I was crestfallen. Despondent. Frustrated. Hopeless. Pitiable. Angry.

Since I'd purchased three boxes of pudding, I scrapped the original batch and cooked up a new one. Kids cut up the bananas and we layered them with Nilla wafers and pudding. Even though this is the easiest recipe in the world - so easy even snakes can make it (and they don't have arms!) - mine turned out terrible. The pudding never set properly and was runny. I left bananas exposed at the top, so they browned. Frankly, I'm surprised toxic fumes didn't come rising out of the dish and wipe out my family.

The day was done. We ate the runny pudding. We brushed our teeth and went to bed. Next time I make dessert, I'll stick to what I know - chocolate chip cookies. In fact, this might be a great time to bake up a batch for all of my wonderful friends - even those who don't keep vanilla pudding on hand. Because I am a COMPLETE loser in the kitchen, but I sure have good neighbors and friends.

Picture of the Week

2011-01-21T20:56:00.000-08:00

Here we see the dashing tiled entry way of a house not far from mine. Know what's special about it? Some really cool people are moving in to the house that boasts this entry way. All the way from Bakersfield, California. And they picked this neighborhood voluntarily! That means they must think it sounds acceptable to live close to us! (I know that the irresistible lure was Mike Nalley's home-cooked Chateaubriand --- but for the record we are still awaiting an invitation to dine there.)

Just this week they found out that their offer was accepted and now I'm counting the days until we have some (more) fun friends just a few houses down.

Mouse? Or Dinosaur. You Be The Judge.

2011-01-19T21:21:00.000-08:00

Today, the girls got out the modeling clay. Bethanie made a pink bowl, lined it with paper, filled it with rocks, and placed it out back in the sun to bake.

Cayna made a mouse. Here she is with her work in progress:

While she worked, I noted the long legs on the mouse. The word "brontosaurus" came to mind. But I don't even think they call the brontosaurus a brontosaurus anymore. I think he's a brachiosaurus or apatosaurus or some such thing. I just kept my mouth shut as my sculptor daughter added the ears, whiskers, and tail. Just like I keep my mouth shut when she chooses her outfits, spells her words phonetically, "cleans" her room, styles her hair, and asserts her will-that-is-always-opposite-of-my-will in every area of a seven year-old life.

Here is the finished... mouse, I suppose:

Smiley thing, eh? And long-legged. Have you ever met a long-legged mouse? Ever met a mouse that peed in a litter box? Meowed? Wiped small villages out with its tail?

Whether I agree or not, the creator has declared this a mouse. So a mouse it is. In motherhood, I've learned, things aren't always as they appear.

Shortly after the mouse was presented to me, the girls went back to work upstairs and manufactured this, their boat:

It "sailed" out of Joe's room to music Cayna makes. Music which sounds like trumpeting and humming and a repeating drum line all wrapped into one. They had worked hard on their boat, and I was relieved to recognize it as, indeed, a boat. Take a close look and you will see the "driver" up front, the toilet in the very back (shield your eyes--someone is using it) and two little girls with all the time in the world to build boats and craft bowls and... mice.

School Switch

2011-01-18T22:16:00.000-08:00

We're making a big switch in our homeschooling. At least for Joe. As of today, we are re-registering him in public school - but he'll still be homeschooled. He will be a student at Nevada Virtual Academy, using K12 curriculum.

What motivated the switch: 1) I had pared down Joe's daily lessons, eliminating parts of his curriculum that were overly dry, in my opinion. He was left with less than two hours of schoolwork a day. He needed more work and more challenge and I couldn't pull that out of his current curriculum (or create it myself) without expending loads of energy I don't have.

2) My concerns about "compartmentalizing" faith, schoolwork, friend time, sports, and other activities - which drove me to choose a Catholic curriculum initially - were unfounded. As Kevin and I have talked about this, we realize that since we live out our faith and try to follow Jesus every day, there is no way that faith could be relegated to a separate compartment. Our faith permeates everything we do, and I am no longer concerned that it will be removed from other parts of our lives.

3) Community. We have none. Even the Catholic families who homeschool in our very same neighborhood do things so differently and have such varying life circumstances that we rarely get together. We are also part of a vibrant Catholic homeschool group, but, sadly, most of the families in the group are on the other side of town. We can enjoy occasional get-togethers, but I'm not seeing friendships grow between my children and theirs. There is too much distance and not enough time. Admittedly, I have hopes and expectations that we will develop some community through this "school" and it will help me feel less isolated.

With everything that I've recently learned about Classical education, Kevin initially pointed out that this seems a step away from my ideal. Yes, but it isn't any further than we already were. And thanks to the learning I've done, I've been able to implement new principles in our school day - principles which won't evaporate when we start this new school. This might be an on-ramp to eventually enrolling in a school like the Catholic Liberal Arts Academy - but let's see how an online school works a little closer to home first.

There is the worry (for a home-birthin', home-schoolin', home-cookin' kind of a gal) that I am selling out. I may be. Certainly it will be odd to have report cards and standardized tests become a part of our lives again. But there is hope in change, and this change comes with much prayer and the wisdom God has given me.

Mrs. Personality

2011-01-17T10:32:00.000-08:00

If I could earn my Masters and PhD tomorrow, I'd do it in a heartbeat, and then I would use my illustrious degrees to travel around and give personality tests to people in corporations and organizations. They would all hate me, because I'd be interrupting their workday, but I would have so much fun!

If I didn't think it would cost me friendships, I'd go around all day administering personality tests to everyone I know. And then talk about it. Endlessly. I just don't get bored of it.

Which is why today I added my Myers-Briggs letters to my blog header. (ENFJ) Maybe people will read that and suddenly realize why they love me so much. Or why I drive them bonkers. Layla will simply realize I copied her.

If you are intrigued by the idea of a personality test, or a "type indicator" or a temperament analysis - you can find free Myers-Briggs mini-tests online. Or pay the $29.00 for the whole shebang. Or call me! I'll pose as the PhD I want to be and analyze you for FREE! (Yes, I realize this is how men and women end up in jail every day... so on second thought, I better not do any such pretending.)

I'll close with a quote from a saint which I could argue has something to do with personality:

"Do not wish to be anything but what you are, and try to be that perfectly.” - St. Francis de Sales

Teri David Thoreau

2011-01-15T23:11:00.000-08:00

I don't know what y'all were doing today mid-morning, but I was sitting in my van outside church while Joseph altar-served at a 40-Day Memorial Mass (a Filipino tradition). Yes, I might have run home to clean something or to Target to buy something, but I opted instead for some quiet alone time with my book and my iPhone.

I'm still reading Walden. I've been reading it for well over a month, maybe it's even two now. I don't hate it, but it certainly isn't a page turner. Today I thought that if Henry David Thoreau knew I'd read his book intermittently playing Words With Friends and checking facebook - he would probably puke. And I'll admit, some of his philosophizing is lost on me (when occasionally I realize I've read half a page whilst daydreaming, I rarely reread it), but since I reached a section on "Sounds" today I made a note of what I was hearing.

My van window was down. It was a beautiful day. Do you know that in Edmonton Alberta, they've been dealing with a blizzard and temperatures reaching 36 BELOW? Below freezing. How inconceivable is that? And there I was with the window down in January feeling the warmth of the sunshine enough to park so that it wouldn't beat down on my face. But back to what I was hearing. First I noticed the chirping of the birds. Maybe just one bird. My ear isn't trained to decipher how many birds, but I'm fairly sure it was a genuine bird. In some young tree in our parish parking lot. Next the whirring of a small-engine airplane overhead. Do you ever stop and listen whether the whirring is getting louder and faster and closer? As if you're about to make the evening news when it crashes near you in a cornfield? No? Me neither.

After the chirping and the whirring was the hum of the cars going by on the parkway. When that quieted, I could hear the buzz of the power lines. In my observation, the buzzing grew louder as the morning wore on and I had to deduce that people were awakening in their Saturday-morning houses and turning on their coffee makers and griddles, hence more power line activity.

Finally, there was the settling-ticking sound of an engine cooling in the parking space next to mine. It was a silver Lexus. With a rosary wrapped around the rear-view. While the Lexus cooled, its driver mourned - but I just sat there with my Thoreau and my facebook.

All this from just one hour of solitude. Imagine if, like Thoreau, I parked my booty on Walden Pond for a few seasons and tried to grow beans. My blog would become intolerable. That's all I'll say.

Except... look at that post time! (Below.)

A Resolution and a Challenge

2011-01-14T21:45:00.000-08:00

Kevin signed me up for a free photography class at REI. I was very excited until the day of class came. Suddenly I had fears out of nowhere: What if no one else signed up and I'm all alone? What if it's only twenty-something single men? What if it's only forty-something moms?

I went. Me and my camera and the camera bag that makes me look like I know something about photography (which I don't - I owe it to my brother for telling Kevin and me exactly what to buy). I moseyed fake-confidently into the warehouse classroom and sat in my folding chair among about 25 other people of varying ages and genders. (Interestingly, there were only about seven women and it occurred to me what a female-centric life I lead. It was fun to be in a group of people discussing a topic removed from my usual daily life.)

Learning to use my camera and more about photography is one of my resolutions for this year. It ain't gonna come easy. Between aperture, shutter speed, ISO, and all the myriad of corresponding numbers and adjustments - I truly feel like I could study and practice and shoot five thousand photos a day and still not get very far before 2012.

I am kinda discouraged but I have two things keeping me going: 1) The profound wisdom from Mike Nalley that Kirsten shared with me recently: "Everything is hard until you learn how to do it." and 2) I know about myself that I shy away from things that are difficult. It is good and healthy and invigorating to tackle these difficult things!

Our instructor gave us his e-mail address and said he'd be happy to give us homework. As soon as I finish reading my owner's manual for my camera, I plan to e-mail him and see what kind of assignment he'll come up with.

Stay tuned for photos by Teri. Meanwhile, I wish you strength and success as you meet your own challenges this year.

Monday Night -vs- Thursday Night

2011-01-13T22:15:00.000-08:00

On Monday nights, we have survived the start of the week. Energy levels are high. Every dish is clean and in its place. Toys are picked up. Laundry is done and everyone has a fresh pile of undies in their dresser drawers. Meals have been planned and I even had the foresight to thaw something for dinner.

By Thursday night, I'm not sure I'll make it to Saturday without just the "teeniest little bit of crack cocaine."* The dishes are in a two-foot-tall pile leaning up and out of the sink. A dirty diaper sits on the stairway, and Nerf darts are poking out of the window blinds. More than one member of the family has no clean pants. Dinner choices include frozen fish sticks or pasta and meatless sauce.

Granted, I've been sick this week. But regardless, I always prefer Monday nights to Thursdays when it comes to energy level. There's a reason more people order pizza on Friday than Monday. It's not just to celebrate the weekend. The gosh-honest truth is that in households like mine, there isn't one clean dish or desire to cook left.

*Just kidding! Don't send the police to my house. I got this from an SNL shampoo commercial parody starring Kelly Ripa.

Sniff

2011-01-12T22:20:00.000-08:00

Motherhood is often overwhelming enough without going and adding minor illness to the workday. I have a mild fever and cold symptoms, but my mood indicates something more along the lines of pancreatic cancer.

When the snot fills my head, it is as if I have regressed thirty or more years and I find myself moping and whining around the house wishing everyone would just leave me alone to lay on the couch. (They don't.) Responsibilities for young people and their meals and upbringing seems a burden too heavy to bear without downing ten to twelve handfuls of Peanut M&Ms in the afternoon.

I know there are mothers out there FAR more mature and well-adjusted than I - and I would like them to comment on this post with just a snippet of that well-adjustedness to share with me.

I feel sorry for myself. How can I be expected to feed and educate four children while simultaneously blowing my nose? It's too much!

Somehow, after a record three days of this (I am rarely sick at all - and never for more than a day!) I think I might pull through. The NyQuil that I know sits on my bathroom counter is waiting for me tonight. Beckoning like a lover with clear sinuses.

I'm forty, people. Will someone please tell me when maturity will kick in and I will be able to handle a mere head cold without all the melodrama and end-of-the-world feelings? I'll be waiting for your answer, but I will probably be snoring... and passed-out drunk on the NyQuil enjoying a few hours of respite before tomorrow comes. Good night.

Catalog in the Mail

2011-01-05T21:56:00.000-08:00

So the Christmas eggnog sure tasted great.

At Thanksgiving it was the pumpkin ice cream.

In October it was the Halloween candy, primarily the fun-size candy bars.

Here it is January and I am back on Weight Watchers. As if someone is watching, I received a "fitness wear" catalog in the mail today. Aptly timed.

Instead of just standing around craving peanut M&Ms, which would be my usual late-afternoon practice, I decide to thumb through the catalog. Perhaps this is what skinny people do? Instead of eating all the time?

Mostly the whole 60 pages are filled with photos of really firm tushies in a variety of pants, capris, and shorts. If the M&M craving wasn't already averted, the photos of really firm tushies would do it.

Did this catalog miss its intended demographic when it came to my house? I'm a 40 year-old housewife with four kids and I clean my own toilets --- is this a catalog for me? Here is a sampling of my daily activities, on, say, a typical Wednesday, just like today: wake up groggy; shower, shave, and trim my fingernails; start laundry; greet kids; referee breakfast; homeschool; run to Target; make snacks when kids' friends come over; make dinner; go for a walk; blog; go to bed. And then here is a sampling of the daily activities seemingly enjoyed by the firm-tushy women in the catalog: yoga; running; more yoga; rock climbing; walking to the yoga studio with mat in hand; yoga on the beach; yoga in the garden; yoga on a slab of granite; riding scooter to yoga; biking; yachting; spending a great deal of time around Jeeps; hiking; kayaking; surfing; wheeling luggage up and down a pier (to embark on a yacht trip?); tightrope-walking in new French pedicure; playing beach volleyball.

I suppose they've done trials. I suppose they sent out a catalog with their skorts and hoodies and tanks being worn by softer-curved women holding preschoolers on their hips while scrambling eggs at the stove, but it didn't sell. I'm smart --- I know they make it look like the life we want so we'll buy their clothes thinking the yacht and the yoga beach session (sans kids) and the firm tushy will be included. But I'm not buying a thing! I'm just going to use their little publication to get my mind off the M&Ms. It would, after all, take a really bad day with the kids and a total disregard for our budget to buy the seashell hoodie pictured on page 28 for $79.00. For the love of Pete!

Future Running Partner?

2011-01-04T11:26:00.000-08:00

Who am I kidding? If Joe takes up running, he'll leave me in his dust. But that's okay, I'll be able to say, "I knew him when..."

Last night, Joe and I did a 3.7-mile walk around our "block". I put block in quotes because not everyone around my neighborhood agrees what a block is. My primary detractors in my definition of block are: Kevin, the Nalleys, the Mayers, and now the Kings. But I stand by my definition and our block is 3.7 miles around.

I'm proud of Joe (and myself) for walking just over 5K in the cold. It took us an hour. It is noteworthy that he wore his Crocs the whole way. Someone buy that kid some proper shoes!

Favorite Joe quotes:
"Mom, you look like C-3PO." (I was walking with my elbows bent.)
"Ah, the sweet smell of pizza!" - as we passed a pizza place

He never complained, and never slowed. At the end he said, "I could've run that!" Say no more!

15 Things I Enjoy More Than Potty Training

2011-01-03T13:14:00.000-08:00

1) Beets

2) Barfing

3) Paying bills

4) Crowds

5) Talking to a guy at my front door trying to sell oil changes

6) Gridlock on the I-15

7) Public Restrooms

8) Credit card debt

9) Falling into a cactus

10) Body odor

11) Barking dogs at three a.m.

12) Fighting with my husband

13) Funerals

14) Men in tights

15) Paper cuts

Am I making my point? I really don't want to do this. Neither does John -- he keeps telling me. Yet, I know if I delay much longer I will be the laughingstock of the Successful Moms Club. They already tease me over there...

Look at him. The little schnickelfritz.

Ready or Not...

2011-01-02T21:55:00.000-08:00

... tomorrow is coming! First day back to school after two weeks off. And, really, if I'm honest, we've been on a "relaxed" schedule for about two months. I hope we can get back into our schoolwork without feeling like I got hit by a train at the end of the day.

A few things are helping me mentally prepare:
1) Prayer, and lots of it - my prayer and the prayer I've solicited from several friends.
2) Exercise - went for an easy run tonight with my four friends. Yes, we froze our gazooties off, but it was a good way to beat the Sunday-night-at-the-end-of-a-vacation blues.
3) Weights. As I did my arm weights upon returning from my run, I got out a little anxiety and agression. Not sure how that works, but it does.
4) I have a plan for fun when the schoolwork is done. Usually I struggle to come up with an activity we can do on schooldays, but thanks to Kristi and Katie - I've got a destination for tomorrow.
5) If I get too desperate in the midst of my day, I can turn to my iPhone. I now have 5,400 games of Words With Friends going - and I have to confess I like that little quasi-connection to people.

For a few minutes, snow fell in our neighborhood tonight. It was so pretty to look up and see the snowflakes coming down in the glow of the streetlight. I'm thankful my kids got to see it too.

Before I sleep tonight, I'm praying for all of you going back to regular routine tomorrow. May you find peace and joy this Monday!

1/1/11

2011-01-01T13:30:00.000-08:00

I can't relate to my friend Derryck's cynicism toward making resolutions or date-based goals.

I can't RESIST a date like 1/1/11 to try to conjure up something signficant. A first. A goal. A resolution. Whatever.

So here it is: I'm training for a marathon. December, 2011.

That oughtta keep me busy, huh?

Obviously, there is a lot more to this goal then a starting date - thanks to Layla for processing with me and being an inspiration. And to my sister-in-law - with whom I've had the "humans aren't meant to run 26 miles" conversation - we can do it!!!

Finally -- last night's festivities were magnificent. Friends, food, fun. I can't bring myself to post photos of other people and other people's children, but here's Kevin and me (thanks to photographer Michelle):

Happy New Year again - and come run with me!

I'm Ready!

2010-12-31T15:56:00.000-08:00

I'm ready for 2011.

Having received an iPhone for Christmas, I'm already unrecognizable to my old self.

There are memories to be made with my family, challenges in my faith, races to be run, bathrooms to clean!

Enough of this aimless philosophizing. I will come back on the morrow and post photos of our New Year's Eve revelry (unless it gets too racy).

Celebrate!!!

Bidding Goodbye to 2010

2010-12-30T23:57:00.000-08:00

This was the year I turned forty.

Bought a new house, intending to stay longer than two years for the first time in eleven years.

Lost a pregnancy.

Watched many friends be out of work, and a few lose their houses.

Built some bridges with parents, step-parents, in-laws, and step in-laws.

Nearly agonized over the consideration of having another child... or not.

Ran some, sat some.

Homeschooled some more.

Felt elated, apprehensive, connected, and lonely - often in a two-minute time span.

Enjoyed practicing hospitality.

Gave up sugar for a year, and it lasted four and a half months.

Prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed that God would cure me of my temper.

Celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, and milestones in the lives of the people I love.

Made some friends, lost a few (people leave Vegas often).

Tried to bring women closer to Jesus and each other at Moms' Group.

Gave the mice away.

Laughed a lot with my husband. Scowled at him a few times, too.

All in all, am ending the year a few steps closer to God. That's pretty good if you ask me.

To Get to the Snow:

2010-12-29T23:56:00.000-08:00

1) Inventory your snow clothing supply

2) Make a list of needed items on your iPhone, because it's so cool to type on that cute little yellow "paper"

3) Try to ignore all the whining: "I don't WANT to wear snow pants!"; "I don't WANT to go to the snow!"; "I don't LIKE those boots!"; "I'm hungry!"; "When are we leaving?"

4) Be thankful your neighbors went to the snow two days ago and give you hot tips on location for sledding along with clothes the kids can borrow

5) Go to Goodwill to get bargains on needed items (no luck)

6) Go to Target to get bargains on needed items (no luck... however, while searching for gloves, I discovered they now sell "keypad sensitive" gloves. Just in case the weather dips below forty degrees and I need to text people. Do they sell tiny cute sweaters for the iPhone as well?)

7) Go to Big 5 and spend a freaking fortune on needed items for probably two short hours of snow fun

8) Scold self for not attempting to borrow needed items much sooner than right before the trip

9) Check local paper for possible part-time job to help pay for items purchased at Big 5

10) Drive to Mount Charleston

11) Begin twitching when the road block comes into view along with the "Chains Required" sign

12) Brainstorm alternate activities that will compensate for not making it to the snow

13) Call NHP to see if other, further canyon is also road blocked - it isn't

14) Head up the road to other, further canyon. Everyone has to pee.

15) Observe blizzard, and snow rapidly piling up on roadway

16) Find campground. Stop. Pee (flushing toilets! praise Jesus!). Pay fee to stay in campground area where there is a snow play section. Total cost of this precious family outing has now risen sky-high.

Time to sled. Make snow angels. Climb in and out of a snow tunnel. Eat clean snow. Listen to the sound of rapidly falling snow hitting our hooded heads. Try to make snowmen but it's too powdery. Wonder why family fun has to be so darn difficult. While lying in the snow making a snow angel, look up at the sky and notice a small patch of blue between all the falling flakes and relish that moment of peace and beauty and the oh-so-brief realization that it was worth the monumental effort to get here. They'll remember we took them and I'll remember that single second when I wasn't worried they would break bones on the sled, crashing into a tree, or get frostbite, or ever stop whining.

Afterward, drive down the mountain. Snow ceases below five-thousand feet. Re-entering the city, we saw a rainbow.

Christmas Questionnaire

2010-12-28T08:16:00.000-08:00

What was the best gift you gave? We gave tickets to my in-laws to see Jersey Boys on the Strip. We never have ideas for them, so this was a nice change.

What was the best gift you received? I have to list three: my new iPhone; a "published" version of my blog; and a vase to replace one I really really really liked a lot that got hit by a stray football and smashed about a month ago. Kevin and Joe are to thank (for the gifts, not the stray football).

What did your mother-in-law give you? (If you have no mother-in-law, what did your sibling give you? If you have no sibling, what is the most unique gift you received?) A new toaster oven.

What was a meaningful spiritual memory from Christmas 2010? Other than being at Mass and really focusing on Jesus, I had a few times in the midst of the pre-holiday madness where I was able to stop and realize my thankfulness for the gifts I'm able to enjoy because of Jesus' life and forgiveness - primarily my children, but especially my relationships with my parents, which are often hard for me.

Furthermore, it was ONLY because of Jesus that I invited my in-laws to join us this year - for the first time since Kevin and I were married 12 years ago. It went wonderfully, as things tend to do when you follow Jesus. And I don't mean that in a circumstantial way - it was still difficult, but I enjoyed the peace in my heart that resulted.

Best Christmas movie you watched this year? Elf. No question.

What was the most stressful memory from Christmas 2010? I forgot to buy John's rollerskates. All three other kids got theirs, and I totally intended to buy them for John. I even got him the knee and elbow pads, but forgot the skates after being in two stores looking for them. He kept asking on Christmas, "when will my skates be here?" Thankfully, he got a little skateboard, so the pads weren't totally random. Poor fourth kid. I already often forget to order for him at restaurants.

Best Christmas baking? Kevin's Dunking Platters. They win the award partly because I don't like them that much so I don't gobble them all up. Everyone else seems to enjoy them.

P.S. My kids seemed to start to "get" giving this year. All three of the older kids had amazingly thoughtful ideas for their siblings, and for Kevin and me, that warmed my heart. In Joe's case, he even had the finances to purchase the gifts himself.

I would love to hear others' answers to these questions in the comments box or on your own blog.

Merry Christmas! (For Catholics, Christmas isn't even half over yet - so keep celebrating!)

Here's my Christmas princess wearing her new roller blades and the accompanying red, white, and blue tiara from her long-ago Fourth of July program at school. She got a 3-foot tube of bubble gum for Christmas, and is chewing some here. If she looks inappropriately dressed to those of you in colder climes, it was 55+ and sunny on our Christmas day.

Sticking to What I Know

2010-12-23T23:45:00.000-08:00

I don't know how to create the perfect Christmas. I don't know how to erase my parents' and in-laws' divorces from decades ago so as to make today's holidays more pleasant. I don't know how to cook a frickin' perfect turkey. I don't know how to fulfill all my children's Christmas dreams. I don't know how to quit yelling. I don't know how to keep the floors polished. I can't prevent backorders on online purchases. I can't make a batch of toffee AND disinfect the bathrooms at the same time. I can't make sure everyone has festive jammies for Christmas morn. I can't get the perfect seats at Mass to watch my angels sing in the choir. I can't quit drinking eggnog.
But you know what I can do? I can make a kick-ass paper chain!

Check this out --- first, Cayna made one to go with our snowflakes:

Then, Bethanie made one:

So I decided to make one too. Blame it on the frenzy and fury of the pre-holiday, but once I started my paper chain, I couldn't stop.

My "Christmas 2010 Paper Chain Project" required printer paper, scissors, Scotch tape, and just a teeny little bit of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I think even my kids thought I was weird. But look! --- Just a few short sessions of chain-making, and I have forty feet of Christmas whimsy!

Wreaths - A Neighborhood Photo Essay

2010-12-20T15:19:00.000-08:00

From my vast research, conducted over the past five minutes, wreaths are a Christian symbol of the coming of Christ. We have advent wreaths, we hang them on our doors, and occasionally, if we dress up like Julius Caesar, we wear them on our heads.

All around my neighborhood, there are marvelous displays of Christmas lights and inflatable snowmen. But I wanted to give special attention today to the Christmas wreath. Enjoy!

First, when deciding whether to adorn your door with a wreath, you must make a decision about size and number. This is easy if you have a single door. Single door=single wreath. Easy!

Perhaps, though, you have double doors. Now the possibilities are more numerous. But logic dictates that double doors=double wreaths.

Logic isn't the main factor in decorating, however. Maybe you moved from a single-door house to a double-door house this year, and you just don't have the time or money to go purchase an additional wreath. That's okay. Plenty of people hang a single wreath even with two doors. No one will judge you.

For some personalities however, the two door, one wreath option seems out of whack. Looking at it makes you a tiny bit cockeyed. There's an easy solution. Center the wreath between the two doors! You'll be so avant-garde!

And speaking of centering --- and avant-garde --- who says the wreath must be positioned towards the top of the door? No one! Go ahead and center that sucker however you like!

For that matter, center-shmenter! Put 'em wherever you darn well please! When you're already stressed out about the in-laws coming to visit, convention be damned!

There is some significance to the circular shape of the wreath. It represents eternity. But if you're feeling less immortal, go with square. And again, don't be confined to the somewhat stifling rules of spatial arrangement.

Furthermore, not everyone feels comfortable with a wreath. Why not try bows?

Bells!

Swags!

In my neighborhood, the prize for most wreaths on one house? Eight. They hang on doors, lights, stucco popouts, and... windows. Like so.

Conversation overheard at Monty's Custom Wreath Shop: "I don't care if it isn't evergreen. Just so the bows match my shutters."

For the photo-essayist, nothing escapes the eye. Hence, I think I figured out who stole the wreath off of the above house last year... these guys! (Look closely. You can just make out the teal-green bow.)

(I'm wondering who the Santa frog used to belong to. In my opinion, they're better off without it.)

Here we have a classic case of an individual wanting to embrace the Christmas season, but hesitant to leave behind the Autumn gourd and all of its beauty.

"Crap, Sheila! I'm losing my mind. Go check whether I hung the wreath by the fireplace."

Sad but true: If you opt for the 3,700 square-foot house, you might have to settle for a smaller, less expensive wreath for a few Christmases.

Finally, this house gets my "Prettiest Wreaths" award. And even though they belong to my friends Derryck and Kelly, I swear I'm not biased.

These photos were taken in my neighborhood today, December 20, 2010. All photos are mine. So is the humor. Feel free to use the decorating ideas, though!

Best Friends

2010-12-19T22:40:00.000-08:00

Tonight at dinner, my step-mom asked me about my best friend. I probably looked at her a little funny because I wasn't sure how to answer. Does every other forty year-old woman have a best friend? I don't know if I can put one person in this category, and "best" implies one, right?

I have fantastic friends. Old friends, new friends, phone friends, Christmas card friends, facebook friends, invite to birthday party friends, Church friends, college friends, neighborhood friends, homeschool friends, homebirth friends, reader friends, adventurous friends. Many friends cross over into multiple categories, of course.

The question intrigued me so much that I got quiet. I just sat there munching on a rib and pondering the answer. (We ate at Famous Dave's. That was my second time. It's pretty tasty.)

I came home and tried to figure out how I'd define a best friend. Is it simply the person you like the most? I can't rank people that way. I admire those who can - who have simple enough lives and thinking.

I decided a best friend would probably like the same things as me, and like to spend time with me. We'd have to share at least a few key opinions (though I have friends who don't). And then out of those thoughts rose this image of... (drum roll here)... ME. Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! That's WAY too Oprah Winfrey-ish! Me as my own best friend? Well, it kinda makes sense. There's no one else that I have so much in common with. And I do like spending time with me. But when I set out thinking about this, I in no way thought I'd end up here.

Perhaps my first move should be to buy one of those cutesy frames with "Best Friends" engraved on the border - and feature a photo of myself! Or select a best friend charm - and wear both halves!!! I'll take myself out to coffee more often. Start talking out loud to myself. Invite myself on a girls' night out!

Good golly. If any of you, my friends, my blog readers, are still willing to call me your friend after this kooky post - you're a keeper!

I think I'll go to bed now and mull over this some more. At the same time, I can think about what to get my new best friend for Christmas!

One Week Til Christmas

2010-12-18T23:56:00.000-08:00

1) You can buy one hundred thousand toys in Target, a million in Toys R Us, but it's really hard to find a simple set of jacks for a seven year-old daughter who saw some and asked for them for Christmas. She had spotted them weeks and weeks ago in Aaron Brothers of all places, but I've checked two of their locations in the last two days and they're gone.

2) People with their houses already covered in lights are still adding more even one week before Christmas. Funny to me.

3) Do I invite my Jewish neighbor over on Christmas to hang out? We're having ham. I'm thinking no.

4) A Minnesota Timberwolves Kevin Love jersey costs nearly $300.00.

5) Next week at this time will feel tremendously different from tonight. And the build-up isn't over yet.

6) There is a time and a place to turn the volume high on even the sappy Christmas songs - and that time and place is mid-morning in my mini van when I'm all alone and shopping for my kids.

7) Had a peppermint mocha frap at Starbucks today, compliments of a CCD student who gave me a ten-dollar gift certificate. And Joe had a decaf eggnog latte. It was pretty fun.

8) Made a visit to downtown Vegas tonight. In one 15-minute stroll down Fremont, we saw the following: an overhead zipline; Elvis; Frankenstein; Tweety Bird; Sylvester; two human statues; a guy with a poster that said, "God Doesn't Want You To Go To Hell;" four girls dressed up as showgirls; and a woman/man (?) wearing next to nothing (you would think the gender would be obvious - but I had to avert my eyes).

9) You can buy a Holy Family nutcracker at Target.

10) Even with the silly stresses and economic trials and extended family challenges and crowds - I still agree with one of those sappy songs I sang along with this morning - it's the most wonderful time of the year!

Christmas Season Filler

2010-12-17T07:05:00.000-08:00

(Newspapers, magazines, and my blog all have something in common. From time to time, there is a need for filler. Filler compensates for writer's block, extra space on the page, or lack of good stories. Here is today's filler. You can guess what my reasons are for including it.)

Teri's favorite Christmas carol, based on music - "Carol of the Bells"
Teri's favorite Christmas carol, based on lyrics - "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen"

This year's planned Christmas baking will include the following cookies and treats:

Bull Tongues - a tradition from my father's side of the family
Dunking Platters - Kev's fave - recipe from Todd Riddiough's mom
Toffee - recipe from Angie Nixon
Sour Cream Sugar Cookies - recipe given to me by my sister-in-law, Rachel, from "some lady"
Honey Milk Balls - from Aunt Kathryn (no one likes these but me)
Gingerbread - from sister-in-law again (she is a marvelous baker and cook)
Haystacks - you gotta love a microwave recipe
Fudge - in honor of my step-dad

My Christmas Cards go out to the following states and cities:

Arizona - Chandler; Lake Havasu City; Tempe; Tucson; Prescott; Scottsdale; Flagstaff; Gilbert

California - Crestline; Yucaipa; Hanford; Fresno; Walnut Creek; Mt. Shasta; Bakersfield; La Mirada; Sacramento; Folsom; Stockton; Mt. Aukum; Calimesa; Hemet; Woodland

Colorado - Longmont; Denver; Castle Rock; Thornton

Florida - Melbourne

Georgia - Douglasville

Idaho - Twin Falls; Rexburg

Illinois - Naperville

Missouri - Blue Springs

Nevada - Henderson; Las Vegas; North Las Vegas; Boulder City

Oregon - Salem

Pennsylvania - Allentown; Philadelphia; Centre Hall; Emmaus

Texas - Round Rock; Brownwood

Utah - Parowan; Ogden

Virginia - Fairfax

Washington - Ferndale

and this year, one went to Yigo, Guam

Photo of the Day - "Hey Reb" and the Loves

2010-12-16T13:00:00.000-08:00

It seems kinda perfect that we would have a family photo in front of the "Hey Reb" statue at UNLV. After all, Kevin and I first met at UNLV. We were also engaged right on campus. Looking back, we should have planned the wedding there. Okay, maybe not... but the campus is still a place full of memories for both of us, separately and together. I'll save those for future blogging.

Las Posadas En Mi Familia

2010-12-15T22:46:00.000-08:00

In 1994, as a college student, I applied to obtain my non-identifying background information. (I am adopted, and had never known anything about my birth parents.) I wanted to know, among other things, my ethnicity.

I found out I was not Mexican. I had kind of suspected this, considering how much trouble I had had in high school Spanish class.

According to the paperwork, I am half Irish, a quarter Scottish, and a quarter German. This is a bit of a bummer, compared to being Mexican. Mexican food is WAY better than Irish food. Though I do like potatoes. And beer. And Irish pubs. And the color green. And leprechauns. But I digress. My original topic (unbeknownst to you) is Las Posadas.

Had I been Mexican, I would have found out about Las Posadas long before now. Well, maybe not, because Las Posadas isn't just Mexican, it's Catholic. And it took me a lot of years to get back around to my Catholic roots. (As it turns out, my one-hundred-percent Irish birth father was also Catholic.)

This year, I heard about Las Posadas three times! First, at a field trip with other Catholic homeschooling families. They were discussing Las Posadas and staging it at a farm so we could use live animals for the Nativity scene. They also mentioned having a LOT of Mexican food afterward and I wasn't sure how a live Nativity and homemade tamales all fit together.

Shortly after, I learned more in a catechist training session I attended at church. There, several actual Mexicans described how they celebrate Las Posadas. The picture was becoming clearer. Evidently, Las Posadas is a nine-day event, culminating on Christmas Eve, wherein groups of people (family, friends...) sort of reenact the events leading up to Jesus' birth. There will be a procession of some sort, and the visiting of several homes, each of which will turn away the "Mary" and "Joseph". But there is singing. And food. And prayer. And often a pinata. You can read about it from a more reliable source than an Irish/Scottish/German girl here.

The third time I heard about Las Posadas was the best time, because it was my friend Michelle inviting my family to join in her family's celebration of Las Posadas at her home. We did, and it was a great time. There was a procession. Singing. Children dressed as Mary, Joseph, an angel, and a shepherd. Knocking on doors and being turned away. Finally, a place to stay thanks to a kind innkeeper. And then we ate tamales! With some recognition for American diversity, and Michelle's own half-Mexican, half-Irish heritage - we also had chocolate martinis, a chocolate fountain, and a pinata shaped like a ghost (because Halloween pinatas are discounted in December!). It was a very fun evening, no less so because I'm not Mexican. I'm glad I have good friends who are!

11 Classics for 2011

2010-12-14T23:53:00.000-08:00

Here is my reading list for 2011. Anyone want to join me in reading any of these? If you come to my house to discuss any of them afterwards, I will provide wine and finger foods! Or beer and pizza. Or water and a veggie tray. I just love company. I admit it's an ambitious list, but I think I can do it.

1) Don Quixote - Cervantes - I'm reading a translation... I'm not THAT hard-core

2) The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo

3) Something of Aquinas', I just don't know what yet, but I'm not brave enough to tackle the Summa

4) Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

5) Confessions - Augustine

6) Wuthering Heights - Bronte

7) The Divine Comedy (Inferno, Purgatory, Paradise) - Dante

8) Robinson Crusoe - Defoe

9) Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

10) The Iliad and The Odyssey - Homer

11) Collected Speeches - Martin Luther King, Jr.

I'd love to hear others' thoughts on any of these...

The Cure for the Doldrums: Sixth Graders

2010-12-13T20:50:00.000-08:00

I have had a serious case of the blues. I've been down in the dumps. Depressed. Forlorn. Irritable. Grouchy. Feeling sorry for myself in a hundred ways.

Tonight I was asked to substitute in a CCD class of sixth graders at church. There were ten of them. We prayed, watched a DVD about Juan Diego, made Christmas cards for our Priests, and processed into the Church to look at the Advent banners and to study the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. They also ate a truckload of Oreos, brownie bites, and candy canes because tonight was their "Christmas party" - their last class until after the new year.

Before the class, I was kind of nervous. I don't have any experience with sixth graders. Right now, my expertise cuts off at fourth grade and doesn't pick up again until college. But it turned out to be a joyful time. I loved talking about Jesus with these kids. I loved hearing their perspectives on things.

I came home with a sense that my black cloud, my Eeyore outlook, my frustration with life had lifted. I've heard it a thousand times that if you're feeling depressed, you have to do something to get your focus off yourself. Serving others is the ideal way to do this. It's true. And tonight, those sixth graders were saving grace for me. Praise Jesus.

Tonight our parish had a five o' clock Mass in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Before I left the building, I stood for a moment in front of her image and smelled the roses and read the words spoken by Our Lady to Juan Diego in the midst of his concern for his sick uncle:

"Listen and let it penetrate your heart ... do not be troubled or weighed down with grief. Do not fear any illness or vexation, anxiety or pain. Am I not here who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not your fountain of life? Are you not in the folds of my mantle? In the crossing of my arms? Is there anything else you need?"

Along with the medicine that those sixth graders provided for me, these words of Mary are also penetrating my mind. Thanks be to God!

My Life in Verbs

2010-12-12T22:42:00.000-08:00

I'm copying Layla with this verb idea. If you happen to go check out her blog, she has an especially neat post about a tree right after the verb post (therefore above it on the page). Yep, a tree. Trust me, it's good stuff.

This is my life in verbs this Sunday night approaching Christmas:

Acknowledging - that I am in a grumpy mood. Now if I could just figure out why and kill it. Loved the recent episode of 30 Rock where Jack's character said he dealt with problems by crushing them with his mind-vise. Not healthy, not comprehensive, but attractive just the same when I'm fed up with wading in mire.

Congratulating - myself on getting Christmas cards ready to be mailed today. Sending them out adds a big item to the "to-do" list, but I enjoy the whole process. With the grumpy mood mentioned above, I didn't do a little greeting or letter to go with the card, but that's just as well. My bitchiness might have shown through and dampened someone's Yule.

Anticipating - a full week. Here's a run-down (you can sing this to the tune of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," if you're in the mood): a potluck at Kevin's office; visit to Santa; Christmas program practice; CCD; Moms' Group Christmas party; baking with friends; shopping for gifts; mailing the out-of-town stuff; attending the program; bidding a co-worker from Kevin's office good bye; celebrating friends' wedding anniversary; driving to the Speedway to see Christmas lights!

Falling - asleep. I gotta go crash. Monday mornings always seem to jolt me, so I better rest up.

In the Interest of Family Unity... I Bought a Candle

2010-12-11T21:29:00.000-08:00

Right before Thanksgiving, my extended family had a rare reunion of sorts. It was the first time I had seen my cousins Fred and Willy (not their real names) in YEARS, which is a tragedy of sorts since we used to spends large chunks of time together in our growing-up years.

The thing about Fred is, he's been through some hard times the past few years. True, they were all his own doing, but that doesn't make them any less difficult. I was careful, at the Thanksgiving gathering, to hug him and smile at him and never once say, "You frickin' bonehead! What were you thinking running off with another woman to Montana?" We all got along quite nicely and it made me sentimental and nostalgic to the point that I thought I would invite him over for Christmas.

So about a week ago, I called him up and he tells me he's "out delivering candles." Huh. I had no idea that candle sales was a good rehab for a rough patch in life, but apparently he's making a go of it with his new girlfriend. And it just so happened I was in the market for a candle that smells like real Christmas tree since ours is fake and devoid of any aroma.

What a perfect opportunity to build some bridges in our family! I order a candle from Fred's new girlfriend, and there will be peace on Earth and in our family forevermore!

Sidenote: the candle scent is quite authentic. But not realistic. With a real tree, you can sit on the sofa sipping eggnog across the room from the Christmas tree and every so often a light hint of pine will make its way to your nostrils. With this candle, it is as if you have somehow enclosed yourself in the actual tree, so strong the scent is. As if the sap is smeared around your nostrils like VapoRub. As if there are no longer any other aromas on earth besides pine.

That nifty candle will burn away all its hours on my countertop - in honor of the efforts we make at Christmastime and year-round to get along with our families, resolve conflict, and accept each other for who we are. However, if anything goes awry and it burns down my house.... I'm going to take that as a sign.

Sneak Preview - My Christmas Letter!

2010-12-10T21:28:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays, 2010! What have you been up to? Well... be sure to write and give us the details, because each year I turn The Christmas cards we receive into a professional-quality decoupage suitable for framing, and auction it to benefit quality charities!

But for now, sit back, relax, and enjoy hearing about our family joys, triumphs, purchases, and accomplishments!

I have not one complaint about 2010. Every moment was tinged with delight. I kept my "List of Bright Spots" on the refrigerator, and it got so long - I had to finally break down and buy a double-frig to accommodate it. (Really, we needed those extra cubic feet anyway what with all the entertaining we do now that Kevin has climbed so high on the corporate ladder.)

Probably my proudest accomplishment, truth be told, is making the decision to homeschool the children for another year. The little dearies are thriving under my tutelage, and in between waxing the van on Saturday mornings and baking the week's bread in the afternoon - I write out a college-prep curriculum designed to challenge and stimulate their minds.

Though Joseph is busy memorizing the Old Testament, he takes breaks to tell me he has set his sights on "something overseas" when I ask what university he's considering. He just turned ten!

Cayna is a social butterfly and wants to use her "people gifts" to serve mankind. With all her spare time thanks to homeschooling, she recently earned her MSW (Masters in Social Work) and puts in hours at the downtown homeless shelter reconfiguring their community relations department.

Bethanie, our Kindergartener, moved quickly from basic phonics to reading the Classics. We are racing through Shakespeare's Complete Works together. On weekday afternoons, she deftly manages an early-elementary tutoring program to help public-school children master foreign languages.

John is only three. We don't want to push him. So he spends his day more casually, alternately working on his pilot's license and tinkering around in the garage working on Kevin's newest acquisition - a 50-foot yacht we've Christened Lady Teri.

Which vacation do you want to hear about first? In March, we took our family trip to Nova Scotia. And in October, Kevin and I had our yearly "no-kids" getaway through all of Spain in a too-short three weeks. Many thanks to our live-in nanny, Lisl, who managed to care for the children and simultaneously oversee the addition of an extra 3,200 square feet onto the south side of our home. It was nice to come home to a larger Master bathroom, closet, and astronomical observatory. I think if you can swing it, this is a helpful addition to any homeschooling household.

May your days be merry and bright this season! If you're receiving this holiday letter, you are invited to our Christmas Eve gala again this year. Strictly black-tie, and bring a canned food item for Cayna's shelter. Celine Dion will appear as our musical guest. Don't miss it!

I Missed A Couple Weeks

2010-12-09T21:31:00.000-08:00

I planned to process what I've learned about the Mass along with beginning to put together my story of our conversion to Catholicism. Then I missed a couple weeks. But I'm back!

The four parts of the Mass are:
1) The Introductory Rites (all the stuff that happens at the beginning)
2) The Liturgy of the Word (reading the Bible)
3) The Liturgy of the Eucharist (eating the body and blood of Jesus)
4) The Concluding Rites (all the stuff that wraps it up)

Last time I talked about a couple things that are part of the Introductory Rites, the entrance and the greetings. The Act of Penitence, Kyrie Eleison, The Gloria, and The Collect finish up the Introductory Rites. I can list these efficiently because I'm sitting here with a handy-dandy printout from the General Instruction of the Roman Missal in front of me. On my own I would tell you that during this time, we spend time asking God's forgiveness for our sins. It's too short to recall all the ways I screw up in a given week, but definitely long enough to humble myself before God, acknowledge my sins, and thank and praise him for his mercy. Though some of the words and the way we sing or recite them change from season to season - the prayer I resound with most is the Confiteor -

I confess to Almighty God,

and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have sinned

through my own fault,

in my thoughts

and in my words,

in what I have done,

and in what I have failed to do;

and I ask Blessed Mary,

ever virgin,

all the angels and saints,

and you, my brothers and sisters,

to pray for me

to the Lord our God.

Amen.

It's powerful to pray this in a Church full of people and really consider what I'm praying. When I acknowledge that I'm asking those around me to pray for me, and they're asking the same from me - it evokes a huge sense of responsibility and accountability in my heart - that if I (we) could constantly act upon, would render me (and all of us) MUCH more free of sin. But, anyway...

The G.I.R.M. lists the Kyrie, Gloria, and Collect next, and there you have the Introductory Rites. If you were to come worship with me, I could point out the occurrence of each of these - and the G.I.R.M. tells their significance. All I have left to say is that each part of the Mass is so full of meaning and reason, it knocks my socks off.

In my experience of becoming Catholic, it was important to learn and study the parts of the Mass. Every little thing has significance - even the Church itself is jam-packed with symbols - down to why there are a certain number of steps leading to the altar. And because we believe God reaches out to us in love through all of our senses - the Catholic Church is the place to be with it's art, incense, statues, candles, music, holy water, silence... beauty! Praise be to God!

Next time I'll write about the Liturgy of the Word, or "Yes, Catholics read the Bible!"

Not Just Your Usual Wednesday

2010-12-08T07:54:00.000-08:00

Today is the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception. Our family goes to Mass at noon today. We honor the date held as Mary's conception (we celebrate her birthday in September).

Since becoming Catholic, I've read more books about Mary and Marian doctrine than any other subject, probably because my Protestant self was so afraid of her.

But today I'll go to Mass, honor Mary, worship Jesus, and thank them both for each other.

If you want to kick off your day with Jesus in a unique way, watch this beautiful clip in under four minutes. Images are from St. Mary's University of Minnesota and Immaculate Heart of Mary Seminary and quotes are from, as the blog's author says, "kickin' saints." "Ave Maris Stella" is sung by a grad student from there, and this was posted this morning on a fave blog of mine called The Ironic Catholic. (Thanks to Andrea, for first introducing it to me.) To give you a taste of the writer's humor, she has a quote on her sidebar that reads: "Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the floor each morning, the devil says, 'Oh crap, she's up.'"

A Tale of Two Opinions

2010-12-07T11:09:00.000-08:00

Not so very long ago, I would tell you I detested Charles Dickens' writing. But the reading syllabus I adapted for myself, based on teaching I heralded, included A Tale of Two Cities and I was determined to read it. I fully expected to grit my teeth the whole way through. Boy, was I surprised!

A Tale of Two Cities is hereby added to my "all-time favorites" book list. Plus, I think I got a lesson in good writing. Before reading this book, I realized I was struggling to explain what constitutes good writing and bad writing. I wanted to understand. I thought maybe my brain was dull because I couldn't participate in conversations about good writing, or even good acting. I think I get it now (the writing... I still don't think I'm a good critic of acting).

Take the Twilight series. I thought it was a good story, which kept me reading. But I realized part way through how little I cared about the characters. Crazy things would happen to them, that should have evoked some feeling - but wouldn't. That's the writing! Ta-da! (Now imagine if Dickens tackled the story that Meyer came up with! Or don't. That's probably literature sacrilege.)

I certainly cared about the characters in A Tale of Two Cities. They, and the story, affected my life. THAT'S good writing! Plus, the words were just so flavorful! Even when I had to read and re-read a paragraph (whether from being interrupted or because I didn't understand something), I didn't mind. I love how Dickens writes! Heck, I love how he thinks! I'm realizing those two go hand in hand. You can be one or the other and get by quite well. But if you are both (excellent writer and thinker) - you're going to influence the world with your books.

Speaking of which, Oprah will be reading A Tale of Two Cities in her book club. I think I'll tune in to that discussion for sure. Meanwhile, if the mainstream gets you motivated, you can buy her book club edition which includes Great Expectations and even follow her schedule. I think I'll peruse the website to find out what questions and character backgrounds the club came up with. (About an hour later: I highly recommend the materials on Oprah's site. I just looked it over. There are far better descriptions of the book than I can give, and lots of insight to motivate you to read this book! I was moved to tears reading some of the information. What a joy to share the reading experience with others - even strangers! even OPRAH!)

Later today, in case you've joined my book club, I begin reading Walden, by Thoreau.

I'll end with Sydney Carton's words in A Tale of Two Cities, which are haunting me in a way. I can hear them in a man's voice, deep and resonant. Makes me wonder if I've seen the movie, or just overheard my dad watching it. Whatever the case, they're memorable words from an amazing character in a must-read book: "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done..."

Double Digits!

2010-12-06T12:43:00.000-08:00

Joseph is ten! Amazing. He spent his birthday going to Mass, bowling with a bunch of his buddies, and then having cake and presents with family and friends.

(I spent the day recovering from barfing in the middle of the night and in the morning, but I don't want my stories of horror to overshadow the sweet tale of my son's birthday - so I'll leave it at that - except to say that I did recover, I don't know what caused it, and it forced me to simplify everything from the cake to the punch to the cleanliness of the backyard - which is actually a good thing!)

Joe's cake. Ten years, ten pins.

And Joe himself, no doubt considering what to wish for.

I want to list all the wonderful adjectives that describe the miracle that is my son, but they wouldn't be good enough. I love him and I'm so glad he was born! I'll leave it at that. God bless you, Joseph, into the next ten hours, days, weeks, months, years... I hope they go on forever!

In The End...

2010-12-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

... I didn't wear the exact same outfit this year as I did last year to Kevin's company party. But I also didn't buy anything. My sharp-dressed friend, Kelly, loaned me a blouse and a sweater to wear with last year's skirt. I finished off the whole flowy ensemble with Kelly's necklace, Cayna's choice of earrings, my hair down, and some brown sparkly lipgloss. For the record, I was WAY more comfortable than I was in the tighter, lower-cut top from last year. And I preferred the neutral lip gloss to the bright-red lipstick that, with my skin, makes me look at best like a porcelain doll - and at worst like a prostitute.

Other details on the party - we had a good time! I thoroughly enjoyed my sea bass, had great fun and laughs with our whole table, and honored Kevin as his ten years with the company were recognized and rewarded. And thanks to the white elephant gift exchange, we brought home this little treasure:

You have to have seen "A Christmas Story" to recognize this. I think it's a tasteful, elegant addition to our bedroom.

All in all, it was a nice night. Thanks for all the help with my outfit - I remembered everyone's advice as I got ready and went to the party. I think NOT buying a new outfit took a lot of pressure off of myself and off the whole event in general. I was better able to relax and party!

Dear Diary,

2010-12-04T08:13:00.000-08:00

The day dawns and I am of much better fortune than ten years ago today. Ten years ago today I was in labor, not to give birth for about 29 more hours.

At present, though, I have very little pain, except for the prickling of the blood moving back into my arms after reading A Tale of Two Cities in bed in an awkward position, rendering both my forearms soundly asleep.

Yes, it's the last day of Joseph being nine years old. Unbelievable if it were not for the feeling of the decade of time between now and that gruesome labor. Is gruesome too strong a word? I think not. Worthwhile, yes. Gruesome, not less so.

This morning two things weigh heavily on my mind:
1) I must attend a company Christmas party. This has its joys and annoyances. I think everyone feels awkward at this sort of thing, and it doesn't need to be that way! We could can the small talk and right off the bat it would be more fun (for me). Anyway... Kevin works with great people, and he IS working, which is huge right now in our economy, so I'm going to make the best of it and enjoy my sea bass. Besides, I don't have to do dishes!

2) My vain idealism is suffering over the fact that my first Christmas card received in 2010 is from our exterminator! I looked closely at the picture on the front of the card and was relieved to find only a wintry train scene, and no hint of the Truly Nolen trademark.

Apart from the goings-on in my brain, there is grocery shopping to be done. Kevin is about to hang the outside Christmas lights. We have fun lunch plans with old friends. In-laws are scheduled to arrive this afternoon. Life is full and good and I am enormously thankful for all of life. I'm knock-down, drag-out, dance-in-the-streets happy that I'm not in labor right now.

Signing off on this December 4th morning, with my 7 year-old singing a made-up song about "having a dream" downstairs.

Yours Truly.

P.S. Enjoy this photo taken shortly before Joseph was born. Dig the Birkenstocks. And the belly. And Kevin's "Wetlands Clean-Up" t-shirt. This was in the front yard of the house where Joseph was to be born. And I think that's a borrowed Riddiough car in the background? Ah, the memories.

Deck the Halls and Spackle Walls! Fa la la la la la la la la!

2010-12-03T20:37:00.000-08:00

Other people have big things to worry about in their lives. But I? I worry about the height of my sconces. It has been troubling me for months - ever since they were installed. The ones that came with the house were cheese ball city. So my mom bought us new ones as a housewarming gift and Kevin put them up. And they were just too high.

Until last night. Last night I sang alleluia while Kevin lowered the sconces. There is still drywall work, texturing and painting left to do - but at least the sconces are in place. I can get on with my otherwise really really interesting life.

Here are the before and after photos:

Before. So high their noses are bleeding.

I mean, seriously. I don't know how I slept at night with such preposterous placement of the sconces. And they were further accentuated by the moulding.

Newly-placed sconces after photo. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So much better, I can go off my medication.

After recently swapping the living room/dining room/family room set-up, Kevin had to move light fixtures around. Here he is repairing the hole left by the original chandelier and the ENORMOUS and tacky medallion they had adorning the light fixture. I had to snap a photo to remember this great night of lowered sconces and wall/ceiling repair. Plus he's a stud. He deserves a photo for all his hard work. Right before he did the sconces, he installed a ceiling fan where before there was none. He is magic.

Now, to conclude. Abe is getting in the swing of things with the holidays approaching. I really do think I'm funny. I thought of this all by myself when I looked around the kitchen wondering what else I could decorate.

And this little undertaking was a true pain in the butt and doesn't look HALF as good as it did in the windows of the photo in Better Homes and Gardens. Oh, well. I spent too much time on it to take it down.

The best part is that Cayna took one look at it (and its matching counterpart just to its right) when I finished and said, "It's too much!" Too much! This from a girl who dresses like a cross between Punky Brewster, a jazz-dancer and a Native American princess.

Fashion Questions Thursday

2010-12-02T08:08:00.000-08:00

It's Thursday, and that means Fashion Questions! (Just kidding. Thursday just means Thursday. Sometimes I like to pretend I have a thematic talk show. Hence the home episode yesterday.) But I do have some fashion questions to pose to the studio audience (see? it's hard to let go of).

1) It's housecleaning day. On housecleaning day, I often opt to wear sweats. I happen to have some UNLV Rebels sweatpants. Today I paired them with my Penn shirt. So here's my question - if I wear an Ivy League t-shirt with sweatpants from a commuter party school, does it upset anything in the university cosmos? Does it balance things out that the pants are fairly new, while the Penn shirt is worn and slightly stained?

2) Kevin's company Christmas party is Saturday night. Last year, I purchased a flowing black skirt, red blouse, jewelry and shoes for the occasion. I then wore the same outfit to Christmas Eve Mass. I then hung the outfit in my closet where it has been ever since. I'm wondering - can I wear the same outfit again this year? I'm guessing such a question makes some women shudder. But considering there are people out of work... considering I have only so much money to cover all pre-Christmas purchases and charitable donations... considering I HATE shopping and DETEST the idea of having to go out again and choose another one-time wear outfit... can't I get away with this? In the name of frugality? Practicality? It can't have gone out of style yet. And how many people will remember my outfit from last year? Well, maybe I underestimate myself. Maybe all eyes were on me. In that case, shouldn't it count that I'm not a First Lady or a Royal or a movie star? Can't an engineer's wife wear the same get-up two years in a row and still maintain her dignity? Or not?

That's all for today. These heavy questions deserve some time for consideration.

"My Home Show" - December Episode

2010-12-01T21:38:00.000-08:00

On today's episode - a glimpse of some of my recent furniture rehab, home organization tips, and decking the halls for Christmas!

First, the furniture rehab:

I wanted to buy the girls a white dresser. Cheap. Which means garage sale, but I hardly have the time and desire to shop garage sales. So imagine my delight when our across-the-street neighbors had a white dresser, desk, and two hutches for sale on their driveway a couple weeks back. I knew with some cute, girly handles on the drawers, they could be all I wanted them to be.

Here is the before photo of the dresser. I had already removed one of the handles in my excitement to replace them all.

And here is the after photo.

If I was a better photographer, you could see that these are cute silver handles with pink crystal embellishments on the front. I purchased them in two-packs at Target.

Next --- the before photo of the desk, with its red handles.

Red handles were replaced in favor of simple silver ones, purchased at Lowe's. Here is the after photo.

Next up - some home organization tips:

It was wise of me to marry Kevin. He builds good shelves. Just admire these floor-to-ceiling beauties in the guest room closet.

I highly recommend making the most of your closet space. Here we incorporate our vacuum supplies; gift wrap department; musical equipment; and assorted holiday accoutrements while still allowing space for our guests to hang their clothing. Since this photo was taken, I have added our home paint department as well. (I have roughly twelve gallons of assorted colors of paint on that fifth shelf.) True, the paint fumes are probably not safe or desirable for our houseguests, but no one stays with us for long periods of time anyway, so exposure will be minimal. And the chances of paint can explosion are slim unless there is a house fire - and in that event the exploding paint cans are the least of our worries, right? Not sure how my organizational tips digressed into this conversation about paint can explosion and the effects on my houseguests, but your safety is my number one concern. I don't want to ignore the difficult issues.

Next up? I'm very proud of my potty-room cabinet. Take a look!

Isn't it darling? And clean and innocent and oh-so discreet. For all you know, I keep grilled cheese sandwiches in there. That's the beauty of a toilet-room cabinet. It keeps things discreet. No longer do you have to keep grilled cheese sandwiches strewn about the floor or stacked on the back of the toilet. Or, God forbid, you store the sandwich supplies TOO FAR AWAY from the toilet for easy access when you need them most. (No one likes to hobble across the bathroom, pants down, to the far-away closet to retrieve grilled cheese... no one!!!) So do yourself a favor and purchase or construct your own little potty-room cabinet.

I really wish I could see everyone's potty room. Is that too much to ask? I bet we'd learn all sorts of clever organizational tips. Recently I found out a friend of mine installed a little shelf in his potty room. (Incidentally, I don't think he called it a "potty room". "Potty room" isn't very masculine-sounding. It's downright annoying, really - but what else can I call it?) He explained that he needed a place to set his coffee cup, and I can respect that.

Last but not least - decking the halls for Christmas! That's what I've been consumed with this week. I want to share with you my newest acquisition. I have a feeling this will be especially popular with my fellow desert-dwellers and you will all want to run out and procure one.

Now if that doesn't say "Merry Christmas to all, and happy birthday Jesus Christ!" I don't know what does.*

*What in tarnation was I thinking? I bought this post-season 2009 at Hancock Fabrics. I remember, at the time, thinking it was the embodiment of a desert Christmas and my home would be incomplete without it. This week, when I unwrapped it, I was almost overwhelmed by kitsch. No matter how much I might crave an elegant, sophisticated home, I am doomed by my own cheesiness and the fact that I have four children and WAY too much of a sense of humor to NOT buy snowmen on broncos.

Thanksgiving Chronicles

2010-11-30T13:42:00.000-08:00

Once back from camping, I had a whirlwind 48 hours to unpack, do laundry, repack for our RV trip, and scoot the family cross-town for an early Thanksgiving with my side of the family. It was a rare gathering of some of my once-close cousins and our growing brood. Some of us hadn't seen each other in years. That's me in the back middle between Joe and Shiane. When Shiane was an itty-bitty thing, she was the flower girl in our wedding. Now she's driving!

The RV Trip Diary:
Tuesday- We didn't discover the mouse poop until bedtime on Tuesday night. We had arrived safely at the Grand Canyon, donned our warm clothing and raced the sunset to the canyon's edge to show the kids a view of a lifetime. It didn't disappoint, even with the deep dusk and the snowclouds. Once we were all tucked in for a night of sweet dreams, I realized the little black specks of "dirt" all over the place were really mouse poop. Nothing a little positive thinking and some disinfectant wipes couldn't take care of. Thankfully, I think the poopers themselves were back at the RV storage facility in Las Vegas, rather than on board with us at the Grand Canyon.

Wednesday- We bundled up to the best of our desert-folk capability and made our way back to the canyon's edge to walk a bit along the rim trail. SO beautiful. Our hope is to go back in the future when we can hike down and camp - maybe in another five years-ish. Here Kevin poses beside our big rig with the four toasties. (Many thanks to the Early family for the use of their RV again!)

We posed right at the head of the Bright Angel Trail. It looked a bit foreboding covered in ice, but I still want to hike it someday - during a different season. Interestingly, this is also only a few feet from the Kolb Studios. In my recent read, Sunk Without a Sound, by Brad Dimock, I was introduced to the Kolb brothers - so it was really neat to stumble upon their actual studio!

On the way south from the Grand Canyon, in Valle, Arizona, there is an airport where some antique airplanes and motorcycles are displayed. My dad had a huge part in restoring them, so we stopped to take a look. Here we are beside the Ford Tri Motor (a.k.a. the "Tin Goose"). I took a ride in that sucker when I was Cayna's age, and still haven't forgotten it!

Thursday- How about a pajama hike to start the holiday off right? After a night at Granite Dells in Prescott, Arizona, our final destination, we killed some time in the early morning and followed a trail and let the kids climb some rocks.

From there, we showered and dressed and arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's house. My Thanksgiving was a slew of in-laws, yummy food, about five hours of the game Apples to Apples (no exaggeration), and some football watching.

Here is father-in-law carving one of the turkeys.

It doesn't surprise me that I don't have a group photo. We were so busy enjoying our meal!

Friday the men golfed (Joe got to drive the cart a lot!), the women shopped, and I elected to stay home with a few of my kids and go for a walk and make gingerbread houses. My only shopping hankering involved a used book store, and my wonderful mother-in-law took me out the next day to fulfill that.

Before heading home, we celebrated Joe's birthday a little early so he could open his gift from the grandparents.

Once home, to usher in the pre-Christmas season, we watched "Miracle on 34th Street". There was plenty of popcorn to go around.

We had a memorable trip. And a joyous homecoming. And now we go full tilt boogie into Christmas prep. I'm grateful for Advent to keep me focused and quiet. Yeah, right.

To Prep for the Holidays: CAMP!

2010-11-29T11:46:00.000-08:00

If you're feeling a little edgy about all the upcoming family mirth (like I am), and it's not quite time to take down the fall decor or deck the halls with Christmas stuff - I highly recommend getting out there and TENT CAMPING!

You know, I've tried a lot of things to deal with my anxiety over family issues in the past. I've gone to counseling. I've turned to food. I've turned to drink. I've turned to television sit-coms. But until last week, I'd never tried heading out into the cold winter wilderness for a little tent camping. It certainly got my mind off any worries I had related to family and holiday stress!

Thanks to the Cub Scouts, and to WalMart for our new 8-person tent - we had a great time! As we entered Valley of Fire State Park, we exited the norm of pre-holiday craziness.

You've heard of "The Love Shack?" This is "The Love Tent." We were very happy here for two nights. And you can't see it in this photo, but there is a small hole in the tent in the lower right hand corner where a hungry mouse chewed through to help himself to my trail mix. I can handle mice. Bears, notsomuch. But mice are fine.

There were lots of families on the trip, but we had a nice little set-up with our friends the Rickards. So this is an ode to our two families. Not to be confused with Ralph Lauren, which would make no sense whatsoever on the red desert floor.

Here's a little shot of our "neighborhood". You can see Cayna running toward the tents. You can also see the beautiful rocks all around.

Speaking of rocks, the kids had a blast climbing all of them. If you put on your specs, you can see tiny Joe waaaaaay up on this one. About three fourths of the way up on the right. He really liked to perch there and look down on us.

I greeted the rising sun on Saturday morning. It was exhilarating to be up so early for a good reason!

AND I greeted the rising sun on Sunday morning. (We had gone to bed about 7:15 on Saturday night.) I'm telling you, with the cold temperatures and the lack of other responsibilities, you start going to bed and getting up with the sun like the pioneers of old. (Well, at least the pioneers who didn't have to stand watch for Indians and wolves all night.)

And speaking of Indians, here is some of their artwork. No one was there to translate, so Kevin and I decided that's a fallopian tube on the left. Some antelope. A cinnamon roll. A trapeze artist. And some allusion to their addition skills. Put those all together and I bet you'd unlock a mystery of the universe.

As I stated earlier, this was a Cub Scout function, (not just a getaway for me from my holiday "issues"). So here you see Joe helping fold the flag on the last morning as we packed up to go home.

You will note, or you should, that there are no photos of me. While this is sad, it is for the better, and let me tell you why. I didn't brush my teeth for 48 hours. There were no sinks, and no running water except from a too-distant spigot. Normally, I am very obsessive about tooth-brushing, and can't sleep unless my pearly whites are clean. But I threw all my normal hang-ups to the wind on this trip. I'd like to say it was liberating. But mostly it was just icky.

Also, it was VERY cold and VERY windy. So the whole weekend I wore my favorite cozy warm green hat to cover my ears and contain my hair and make me look like a court jester. And, the final reason there are no photos of me --- I looked mildly traumatized the entire time due to the very-scary pit toilets. Cayna and I developed a system where we talked or sang to each other during bathroom visits to keep distracted from the horror of the pit. And we survived! Wind-burnt, slightly frostbitten, and aptly distracted from the stress that otherwise precedes the major holidays. What a successful weekend.

First Tooth!

2010-11-18T23:12:00.000-08:00

I like that we celebrate the arrival of teeth and their departure. Lots of attention we give teeth.

Bethanie tried to pry the lid off the toasted pumpkin seeds with her teeth a couple weeks ago. There was much pain, bleeding, and crying. She had yanked her bottom tooth very loose. Once the drama ebbed away, she was sooooo proud. She would show anyone who would look, and often asked me sweetly to tell perfect strangers. More than one grocery checker in our neighborhood got a look-see into Bethanie's mouth.

With all of her interest in making the event a community one, it is fitting that the tooth fell out at choir practice, with several of our close friends around.

The tooth fairy, having no scruples about more sugar this close to Halloween left chocolate coins and bills under Bethie's pillow. Plus a little Cinderella playset thing that is apparently a "first tooth" tradition started by big sis. (Tooth fairy also has no scruples about more gifts this close to Christmas.)

Bethanie is happy as can be, now showing off her "gap" to anyone who will look. Standing at the Kohl's counter the other day, I refused to tell the minorly grouchy saleslady about Bethanie's lost tooth, despite the tiny tug at the hem of my jacket. She was so sad I have promised myself to shout it from the rooftops whenever she asks from here on out. I should celebrate it. She probably won't be this enthusiastic about the other coming-of-age milestones in her future. ("Mom! Tell that lady I just started using deodorant!")

Little Bethanie - I'm so proud of you and your beautiful smile.

Gambling! World Class Restaurants! Pony Farm!

2010-11-18T09:27:00.000-08:00

Las Vegas really does have it all.

Good weather: It's November and we're not even sure whether the weather warrants long sleeves.

Good food: Top chefs, five stars, sensational venues.

Gaming and entertainment: Poker and roulette and any other way you choose to lose your money, plus comedy, magic, dancing, singing.

Pony farms: The J.R. Pony Farm. What a surprise to find a farm only minutes from the Meadows Mall. My kids had a blast, learned a lot, and the people were very nice and good at talking to kids.

Cowgirl Bethanie on a pony just her size

Cayna Cowgirl

Johnny tries out pony riding. Photo credit: Andrea of Las Vegas Mama

Joe receiving special instruction for a Cub Scout achievement

Bethanie feeding sheep

Had to add a photo of a llama. They're so weird.

Dad's Birthday and the Mud Pig

2010-11-17T13:10:00.000-08:00

My dad is seventy-four today. Holy Moly, that's hard to imagine! (For me --- think how HE feels!)

I'm not sure what plans he has to celebrate. He isn't one to throw himself an extravaganza. For my part, he will be receiving a heartfelt card in the mail complete with the signatures of all his grandchildren. And he can rest in the knowledge that I'm thinking of him. Especially since this morning his old mud pig lost an ear.

I have a vivid childhood memory of playing in the backyard of our pink-aluminum-siding-house. My dad was there, and while I sat watching, he crafted a little pig out of the mud. As a young child, I thought it was so cool that he could make such a thing so seemingly easy. All these years later, I remain impressed.

I've taken good care of the pig over the years. Until one of my own children accidentally whacked its head off a while back. Kevin took care of it with Gorilla Glue. And then today... TODAY... Dad's birthday, the scissors fell from above the pig and the poor darling lost its ear. Before Mister Pig sustains any further injuries, I'm taking a picture!

Maybe when I'm older and more mature, I will write a birthday post honoring my dad wherein I laud all his accomplishments outside of parenting his lovely daughter... but because of the mud pig, I'm kind of in the mood to recall all the things Dad has made for me over the years:

A two-story playhouse (I should mention this construction project was for my brother as well)

A "TERI" puzzle

My name in cursive with bits of wire found around various airplane hangars

Shutters for my bright-blue childhood bedroom

A matching lamp made from the same shutters

Lots of dollhouse furniture

A bookshelf which traveled with me into and out of half a dozen apartments in my college years

Bookshelves in the "study" of my first house with Kevin

A toybox for my firstborn son

A pedal plane for that same son

Lots of dollhouse furniture for my daughters

I could compose a separate list for all the trips I've taken with my dad, and another for the interests he passed on to me. But we'll save those for future birthdays. And for now, I must go find a safer place for the pig.

Bold Shoelaces and More of My Issues

2010-11-17T10:21:00.000-08:00

I remember riding bikes a lot with my friend Allison in junior high. On one particular bike ride, I noticed her new "I Love Boys" shoelaces. Horrors! I'm pretty sure those shoelaces made me blush. Besides the fact that such a proclamation is throwing the net pretty wide, I would NEVER wear such shoelaces for all the world to see.

I like to think that I've always been understated. Non-desperate. Reserved. (Truthfully, I've long been unsure what to think of boys.) To this day, I'm not exactly a confident, self-assured woman of the world, relating equally to men and women.

Take the other day. I was sitting innocently in the vestibule at church. Bethanie's soccer coach, who happens to attend our parish, came walking in to drop off his daughter at CCD. Here is what I COULD have said: "Hey, Coach. How's it going?"

Here is what I DID say: "I've never seen you in pants!"

I'm quite sure that Allison in her boy-confident shoe laces would NEVER say such a thing.

I heard myself saying it and recoiled in embarrassment. Luckily, he only looked at me a tiny bit funny and kept walking.

It was a true enough statement. I've only ever seen him in shorts. And it was unique to see him at church and in work clothes. But why verbalize that? Sheesh.

The whole issue of "grown married woman relating to men" is a tricky one for me. And I'm not sure it will (or is even supposed to get better). What am I getting at? Well, I think I am bugged by the fact that I am now forty years old, and I still feel kinda like the bashful kid I was in seventh grade, to the point of blithering like a goofball around a soccer coach. I don't need to be able to impress anyone, or flirt, or captivate. I'd settle for maintaining a non-dork status.

Sunday Mass - What I've Learned Since 2006

2010-11-14T23:01:00.000-08:00

Four years ago, when we walked out of our non-denominational coffee-house style church - the only thing I knew about Catholic Mass was what I had read in books or what I remembered from a couple visits to Catholic churches or Catholic weddings. It is a drastic understatement to say I was nervous to leave behind the familiar. On our last Sunday at Yucaipa Christian Church, I knelt during the singing time. I felt more than a little weird, but I was humbled by the significance of the occasion. After church, and after we picked up our children from their fun Sunday School classes - I paused on the walkway to pray for the church, its pastor, and all the people we'd come to know but were now leaving. And we weren't just leaving that church in Yucaipa, we were leaving all that I had known as a Christian up to that point.

I had a lot to learn. I'm still learning. I like when my kids ask me questions about the Mass because it's like giving myself a pop quiz. And if I don't know the answer, it's fun to go research it.

I think for the next few Sundays, I'll blog about the parts of the Mass. I was thinking today about how much I've learned, and how much I'm still clueless about. This will give me a chance to reflect on it. Today's episode: The Entrance!

We start off by singing as the priest and his entourage enter the church. I don't think many official church documents will call the deacons, ministers, or altar servers an entourage. And I don't mean to be irreverent, in fact I'll try to be the opposite. But if you want to read the official structure of the Mass according to the General Instruction of the Roman Missal - go here. Otherwise, this is my personal version, along with my characteristic sidebars, tangents, and overthinking that go along with all that I write.

Once the priest reaches the front of the church, he bows. He also kisses the altar! Can you imagine what I thought when I first saw that? Well, truthfully, but anticlimactically, I just wondered why. Turns out it's a sign of veneration. Somehow, every Sunday for the last four years this moment gets me emotionally. Maybe I'm thinking about the priest's commitment to Jesus and the Church and am moved by it. Whatever my reason, I like that moment. (It gets even cooler on Good Friday when the priest(s) lie prostrate before the altar.)

From there, the priest goes and stands by his chair, the singing stops, and everyone makes the Sign of the Cross. Here we go! The Sign of the Cross was easily picked up by clueless little me, or so I thought, until I found out later that it's only done with the right hand and there is even a certain way to hold your fingers. While I think the church should do a better job of instructing newbies like me, I'm at the same time glad that there are no police in the aisles checking to make sure I get everything just right.

That's it for the entrance! If you're with me this far, you already know more than I did about the nitty gritty details on my first Sunday in Mass.

P.S. Just to get you going - do you know that it is a mortal sin for a Catholic to miss church on Sunday (unless there is a serious reason)?

See you next week when we delve into the Act of Penitence!

The Negative Effects of Costco Consumerism on the Obsessive Compulsive Housewife

2010-11-13T23:19:00.000-08:00

Heather Hall... are you out there? For some weird reason, I've never forgotten the sight of Heather's supply of Ziploc bags from Costco in her cupboard. There were like two hundred and ninety two boxes. And, oddly, I sort of envied the amount. "With that many Ziploc bags, you'd NEVER run out!" Isn't that the promise? The dream? Never run out... ahhhh, what bliss!

Since becoming a member of Costco, I don't think I've ever had fewer than two dozen rolls of toilet paper in my house. What am I afraid of? A sudden onslaught of diarrhea that simultaneously hits all six members of my family for two weeks straight? But that's the way it is. With access to huge quantities of toilet paper (and chicken, and juice, and Ranch dressing, and Ziploc bags, and cheesecake, and dental floss, and trash bags) - I am able to buy myself a little extra security in the material goods department. Yes, a loved one might fall victim to disease tomorrow, and that would leave me shaken, - but I will NOT be caught unawares without enough toilet paper.

(As a fascinating side note, I once spent six weeks in India. They do not use toilet paper over there, so I learned how to not use toilet paper. If toilet paper were to suddenly disappear from use, I could get along quite nicely with my left hand and a small water cup... but that's a story for another day.)

My whole point in writing this is to comment on how dependent I've become on buying large quantities of merchandise. And how good it makes me feel to be all stocked up on t.p.

Furthermore, I purchased the Kirkland (Costco) brand of facial tissue for the first time recently. It has this neat feature, highlighted on the giant box (containing 3,750 tissues): "Includes Colored Flag Sheets That Indicate 'Almost Empty'". The "Colored Flag Sheets" are a lovely shade of light blue, whereas the rest of the sheets are pure stark white. But the problem is, once that blue tissue pops up, I'm a nervous wreck! When will we run out? Should I get an extra box right now just to have nearby? Is it irresponsible of me to let a box stay "blue" too long?

See? The extra security I gained by having vast numbers of toilet paper rolls stacked in tall towers in my closets is COMPLETELY undermined by the new blue "Almost Empty" tissues.

I think Costco has me right where it wants me.

"Sin City's Past" Museum

2010-11-12T20:44:00.000-08:00

There is a very nice, big, indoor/outdoor (mostly outdoor) museum in Las Vegas. It is called the "Clark County Heritage" museum. I am glad the museum namers went with this name, rather than "Sin City's Past" museum. It sounds more reputable.

Las Vegas may be a hard sell for Christian country folk from, say, anywhere else - but there is a lot to like about this area, and it IS interesting.

My four offspring (two of them native Las Vegans) and I visited the museum for about the fifth time the other day. It does have the requisite Vegas stuff:

Slot machines-

Elvis-

And wedding chapels (this actual chapel was moved to the museum site fairly recently)-

Such highlights as these make the museum experience very Vegas-y. But, like the reporter-at-heart that I am, I'm only giving you the most sensational examples of the exhibits. In reality, there is much more to be seen on the museum grounds - covering the history of our city including Native American background, pioneering, mining, ranching, dam-building and tourism. (And mafia, but that's getting back to the more sensational stuff.)

If you are in the area, or if you visit, I heartily recommend this museum. It is comprehensive, unique, diverse, and just plain fun.

In closing, let me show you a photo I took of the very first thing a visitor sees upon entering the indoor exhibits:

Sweet and cuddly, right? It's a father wolf defending his two pups. (The two pups are barely visible in the lower right corner of the photo. They are smaller, only slightly-less ferocious versions of their father.)

In an effort to be transparent, let me share with you the quote from my three year-old when he looked up at this wolf: "He looks like you, Mommy!"

Sheesh. I know I can be grouchy. And I do tend to yell a lot. But I didn't know I ever let my fangs show!

11/11

2010-11-11T22:24:00.000-08:00

I don't know when my fondness for 11/11 started, but it's very strong. It's only slightly dorky now, but when I am an old, old woman, it will be one of the things that makes me eccentric. Because I won't just say I'm "fond" of 11/11 and then change the subject, I'll throw large parties on the date and invite a diverse group of dignitaries and relatives and nincompoops and serve expensive wine and wear elaborate outfits involving capes and whatnot and the neighbors will complain about the noise so I'll invite them, too, and everyone will have a good time and wonder what obscure excuse they can come up with to throw such a party.

This year, I spent my 11/11 in the following way: First, I employed a new method of cheering myself up in the morning--- (I need cheering up in the morning because I want with all my heart to stay in bed until ten o'clock, but my life tells me I have to get up much, much sooner and do things like shower and raise my children.) ---I decided to try a little fantasizing. I imagined that my house wasn't a suburban family home, but a charming little hillside bed and breakfast. And I opened the curtains and looked out at the foresty view (this can be accomplished in reality with just the right amount of squinting, as the neighbor behind us has an enormous pine tree) before tiptoeing downstairs to start the fire and begin making breakfast. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, poached eggs, eggs Benedict, and plain old scrambled for the less adventurous guests. Fresh fruit with real cream. Cinnamon toast. French toast. Scones. Sausage and turkey bacon. Homemade yogurt topped with just-picked berries. Just delightful. And as my fantasy reached its height with the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and just-squeezed orange juice, I heard John yell, "MOMMY!" and so I bounded up the stairs and into his room to the stink of poopy morning diaper and the fantasy disintegrated rapidly and entirely. We all had a bowl of cereal within the hour.

The rest of the day, I forsook the fantasizing, with the exception of one moment on a cross-town drive when Veggie Tales "Lord of the Beans" was playing on the DVD and I imagined myself listening to a book on tape. Thankfully, it's not necessary for me to escape my life TOO often. And, actually, "Lord of the Beans" makes me laugh right out loud a time or two.

Mid-morning, my darling children, along with over twenty other homeschooled darlings, sang for the residents of a skilled nursing facility. And there was piano and guitar and violin and recorder and poetry recitation and a whole lot of red, white, and blue for Veterans Day.

Lunch with friends, which is a joy, and some reading time in the afternoon before P.E. at the park and then our last soccer practice of the season. Bethie's team had a pizza party after practice, and that amounted to a whole bunch of us enthusiastic sports families standing in the dark and cold while we waited for the pizza. You'll be proud of me that I did no escapist fantasizing. I just stood there being thankful I have boots and a coat and live in the desert.

Tonight a short run with part of my running team and then a hot shower and pajamas. I'm typing about this funky day wearing a cozy sweater and the hood on because it's just downright chilly.

A year from today will be 11/11/11. Yes, I'm having a party. Certainly you are invited.

But for today, I think my reality beats my fantasy, and I'm glad for that. Except for the notion of that really wonderful breakfast... gosh I could sure use that!

File This Under "Parenting Lessons: Pork"

2010-11-10T11:11:00.000-08:00

Ever since I got my job, I've figured out some of what needs to be taught to my children:

1) You can't fly
2) Be nice to people
3) Wash your hands upon returning from the grocery store
4) Don't lean so close to the pond
5) Bring a sweater to the movie theater

But I'm frequently stymied by the number of things I don't realize need teaching, until it's too late.

In case this one has escaped you, add it to your parenting manual: Do not lick raw meat.

I had a huge pork loin thawing on the counter. Mid-day, I noticed it had been "handled". It was resting on a potholder that I didn't put there, and was covered by another potholder. I couldn't imagine why anyone felt the need to cover it, but whatever. Later, when I was removing the plastic wrap to marinate the thing, Cayna walked up to me at the sink and said, "We licked all the ice off of that for you."

Cringe. Shudder. Eyes widen as I informed Cayna that raw meat is NOT something we should make a practice of licking. (The plastic wrap was of small comfort. Those things are oozing at the butcher's counter... how clean can they be?)

Trichinosis is a disease resulting from infestation with Trichinella spiralis, occurring in humans, caused by ingestion of infested, undercooked pork, and characterized by fever, muscle weakness, and diarrhea.

Forty-eight hours later, and no signs of trichinosis. What a relief! On to the next lesson.

Beauty and Charles Dickens and Whether or Not I Will Attend a Symphony

2010-11-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

I've been learning more and more these days about beauty. I remember having a discussion, over a year ago, with some fellow Catholics who asserted that beauty isn't subjective, though I'd thought I'd thought it was. (I say "I'd thought I'd thought" because I'd never really thought about it.)

A few days ago, I discovered two articles on a shelf near my toilet. Ironically, considering their nearness to the toilet, both addressed the topic of beauty. One is "Presenting what is beautiful: The joyful duty of Catholic Education" by Andrew Seeley. The other is "The High Cost of Ignoring Beauty" by Roger Scruton. The crux of each article: beauty isn't subjective.

Subjective means existing in the mind; belonging to the thinking subject rather than to the object of thought.
Objective means based on facts; unbiased.
Much of my recent delving into the Classics of literature has led me to question which writing is objectively beautiful, or good? I don't understand how the beauty is determined. Same question when it comes to areas other than literature: art, interior decorating, hairstyles... If this all makes sense in YOUR head, this determining of objectivity - please explain it in my comments section or call me at home immediately!

Anyway... though many things are still confused in my brain, I have determined that if something has been deemed beautiful... I want to give it a second look. I want to find truth. I want to get smarter. And I want to experience beauty! In literature, art, interior decorating, hairstyles, education, child-rearing, religion, relationship, etc.

I gave it a go by having a book group Saturday night. We discussed The Merchant of Venice, by Shakespeare, and drank wine and ate a cheese ball. I got a lot out of it (the discussion and the cheese ball). Most of all, I decided the extraordinary effort I made to understand the play was worthwhile. It was satisfying to uncover the plot and the themes, and it was enriching to decipher Shakespeare's eloquent language and even to chuckle a time or two at his humor.

I asked my friends what they thought about the whole beauty thing - and if it was worth some work to experience beauty (i.e. reading a book slowly; re-reading it; looking up a hundred words; examining commentary...) We agreed that it was. We also realized that some forms of beauty are easier to enjoy for some people than others. A symphony, for example, might be objectively beautiful, but I think it sounds enormously boring to sit through! For someone else, a symphony is delightful, but Shakespeare is enormously boring to sit through! Are we willing to try out the thing that has been determined to be objectively beautiful even if it sounds dull? My answer is YES! I'm looking for a symphony to attend soon. And if I have to drink a lot of coffee beforehand, so be it! By the end, I hope I've come to appreciate something of beauty. Not just in my opinion, but in Truth.

Even before I attend the symphony, I have to contend with the fact that next up on my reading list is Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. If you know me, you know that I am not a fan of Dickens. I complain every Christmas about how much I dislike A Christmas Carol. And earlier this year I tried, and failed, to read Little Dorrit. But thanks to my new-found insights into beauty, its objectivity, and the effort needed to uncover it, I have resolved to read A Tale of Two Cities. My own teen-aged handwriting all over the inside covers of the paperback is proof that I read at least part of it in high school, but I don't remember it. Surprisingly, I'm nine pages in and really enjoying it so far.

A quest for beauty, even at high cost, might be a marvelous quest. Hey, I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities! If I can do this, I can go to the symphony. And if I'm willing to go to the symphony I might... MIGHT have to give Little Dorrit a second chance as well. We'll see about that.

Just Your Everyday Homeschool Field Trip

2010-11-06T14:55:00.000-07:00

The problem with homeschool field trips is that I am the one in charge of explaining and educating.(Eureka! I have just stumbled upon the problem with homeschooling in general!) HA-HA! In all seriousness, I'm fine and dandy when it comes to explaining certain subjects, but when we found ourselves about to enter Nellis Air Force Base for a sweet little tour of the Threat Training Facility (whose idea was this?) - I was at a loss for words.

Joe: Why does the guy at the gate have a huge gun?

Homeschool Field Trip Proctor (Me): Hm... weeeeell... Well, this is a military base, and...

Cayna: What's the military?

Me: Hm... weeeeell...

Joe: Mom? Why does he need that gun?

Me: Actually, Joe, we're hoping he doesn't! HA-HA! Come on kids! On to the Threat Training Facility! (Thinking to myself: Where on earth are the other people in our group?)

Immediately upon arrival at the facility - after getting lost only once on the base - we were greeted by a lovely civilian gentleman wearing a concert t-shirt and bleached hair, in sharp contrast to the soldiers in their fatigues everywhere else.

Lovely Civilian Gentleman: Kids! Have you looked at these guns?
(There was a wall full of guns, all kinds. But Lovely Civilian Gentleman points to one in particular and proceeds to tell the story of how it was acquired. It was here that the contrast between our homeschool outing to the Air Force Base and Joe's first-grade public school outing to Anderson Dairy became starkly evident.)

Lovely Civilian Gentleman: This guy gets pulled over for a routine traffic violation and the dogs just went CRAZY!!! (Dogs? Why were dogs involved in a routine traffic violation? But, as the humble proctor, I zip my lip and smile wanly.) They found THIS (indicating an AK-47 Assault Rifle with a bayonet-like thingy sticking out the front) along with several kilos of cocaine! He was a total gangbanger! Keep this in mind, mom (to me, obviously) -- next time someone cuts you off in traffic think it through before you give 'im the high sign... (praise the Lord he did not demonstrate the "high sign" at this point - I had enough to explain to my children with the introduction of the terms "cocaine" and "gangbanger") ...because he might be carrying one of THESE in the trunk! (To Joe:) Have you learned about the Geneva Convention in school yet?

Joe: (shakes his head no)

Lovely Civilian Gentleman: Well, this baby is totally in violation of the terms of the Geneva Convention. Alright! Enjoy the rest of your time here! (exits) (thank God)

And with that we were free to enjoy the acres of tanks, helicopters, and fighter jets.

What words do I use to describe how I felt seeing my five year-old sweetheart on top of a Russian tank?

Or what it was like to stare down the barrel of the enemy's weapon?

Joe sat in an enemy jet:

And John posed by a "rocket" (a missile, but I didn't go into detail about the difference):

Cayna smiled from the side of a big blue helicopter:

My innocent children held hands with a mannequin bedecked in the finest flightwear available in 1970:

And I? I snapped a photo of the AK-47 on our way out a couple hours later. And thanked heaven that next week we're going to a farm. You've heard of those -- cows, ducks, sheep... and not an assault rifle to be seen.

Painter Me

2010-11-05T14:25:00.000-07:00

One of this house's previous owners did a LOT of decorative plaster work. I put much effort into removing some of it, but plenty remains on the walls.

I kinda liked the design above the front door and decided to paint it. Like many other things in many of the houses I've lived in, I probably wouldn't have put it there myself, but I don't hate it enough to get rid of it.

Here is what it looked like right after I started painting some of the leaves:

I think the relief without contrasting color was alright as it was, so if I end up hating the paint, I can always cover it again with good ol' "Rustic Taupe".

Here's the finished project, including a close-up:

At first I didn't like the white parts, but now the white is growing on me. All together, I probably spent almost five hours on this. Kevin sat on the couch reading or watching TV and calling me Michelangelo.

Time will tell if I'll like it or cover it again with the main wall color. It was kinda fun, though.

Next project?

Today's Product Recommend

2010-11-04T21:56:00.000-07:00

I think my soap is helping me deal with overeating issues AND get more vegetables.

Trader Joe's Next to Godliness Oatmeal & Honey Soap Pure Vegetable Soap. It's $1.29 for a two-pack of four ounce bars. It's cruelty-free AND there are only two words in the ingredients list that I can't pronounce.

Here's the thing - this soap smells like delicious, just-baked cookies. There is a hint of spice akin to what you would find in pumpkin bread, but not exactly. I can't totally decipher it - and the oatmeal and honey title doesn't help me. Anyway... since I started using this soap, I do spend a great deal of time standing in the shower smelling the soap. And that's where the overeating issues are addressed. If some of my sensory needs are being met by the aroma of the soap, I have no real compulsion to go down a couple loaves of actual pumpkin bread. Or carrot cake, oatmeal cookies, spice cake, zucchini bread, etc. As I stand in the shower inhaling my soap, the extra, unwanted pounds are melting away!

Furthermore, I can cut down on eating vegetables yet still enjoy their benefits. This soap is "Pure Vegetable". Says so right on the label. And consult your nutritionist to be sure, but I'm pretty confident that if you're rubbing vegetables right into your skin every single morning and again after you exercise - there is little or no need to ingest them at any other time!

Now go buy some! You're welcome.

Bug Fear Post #220

2010-11-03T22:23:00.000-07:00

I've been living in a bug-free euphoria in our new house.

When we first moved in, there was an annoying colony of ants trying to share the kitchen with us, but a couple extra visits from my friendly professional exterminator and that was dealt with.

NO scorpions at this new address. NO earwigs or spiders or other creepy crawlies. I've wondered how long the bliss could last.

Friendly Mr. Bug Guy sprayed recently and there were literally MILLIONS of dead roaches of all ages littering our porches front and back. Literally. Millions. (Do you ever wonder if people understand the use of the word "literally"?) At least there were dozens. My neighbor, who (whom? really, I have no business calling myself a writer) I whined to, assured me that roaches are a sign of a good ecosystem. I do not care to have a good ecosystem in that case.

Anyway -- the whole point of this post is to express my fear that my bug-free world is about to come to a sad end. The weather is nice, and my carefree husband likes to OPEN THE WINDOWS to let in the fresh, cool air. What he does not seem to consider is that he also lets in all the creatures of the outdoors. Now, granted, we live in the city, so it's not like an opossum is going to let itself in (although I know from sneaking a peek on Kev's facebook that this ACTUALLY happened to a friend of mine in Fresno. Well, it didn't sneak in the house -- but it was quite comfortable in her backyard) but I remain afraid of scorpions and large striped roaches of the variety I've seen dead on the ground. The ones that will sneak in my window are the ones that escaped the ground poison and will now come to seek their revenge on ME for killing all their relatives.

I think we can all see from this writing that I have an overactive imagination. We can also see that I likely need some sleep... I'm just scared to go into the open-windowed bedroom for fear of what is waiting on the wall.

Saints and Trick-or-Treaters

2010-11-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

Have to post the pics of my good-lookin' kids.

Dressed for All Saint's Day and a party we went to with the Catholic Homeschool Group:

That's St. Michael the Archangel; St. Elizabeth Ann Seton; and Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha.

Here is our little St. Raphael the Archangel. His wings were devised by Kevin from leftover foam board from Joe's wings:

And here is the crew right before trick-or-treating. Now an astronaut, a princess, Kateri and a knight. Though the knight is proud of the sword he procured at the Renaissance Faire, he kept his hands free for toting candy.

Voted!

2010-11-02T16:40:00.000-07:00

I'm wearing my "I Voted In Clark County, Nevada" sticker.

Now to anxiously watch election returns on TV...

Negatory

2010-11-01T23:03:00.000-07:00

On a golden October day that is typical of the month in Las Vegas, I cruised along in my van with my sun roof open and tried to keep my eyes on the road despite the beauty of the sky.

My period was one day late.

And this was the first month since my miscarriage that pregnancy was a possibility.

I did what I had to do: I stopped at Walgreens to buy a 2-pack of pregnancy tests. I had no intention of taking the test that day, since that day was Halloween. I was worried that if I found out I was carrying a new life on Halloween, that new life would have a birthmark shaped like a black cat smack dab in the middle of his or her forehead. Not good. Nope, I'd wait to pee on the stick until November 1st - All Saint's Day! Yes, that's a much nicer day to discover a pregnancy.

I sauntered into Walgreens and took a look to see who was behind the check-out. Wonderful. A nice, twenty-something male would scan my pregnancy test. And you can't just load up on unneeded groceries to disguise a pregnancy test. What goes good with pregnancy tests? A bottle of 7-Up? Face cream? A Hallmark card? Nope, might as well just get what you came for and act as nonchalant as possible... ("I do this every day!"-- "It's for a friend!"-- Whistle and avoid eye contact.)

As I browsed the aisles looking for the "feminine hygiene" section, I was caught up in the weirdness that is Halloween. All down the candy rows were tiny shrunken horrific plastic heads, and I'd just seen an otherwise normal-looking couple carry their purchase of a zombie-like, life-size party decoration out the door. It was then I noticed a Phil Collins song playing on the store's sound system and the whole wildness of my situation made me smile. I'm forty. I've got four kids at home waiting to dress up and go trick-or-treating later, and here I am in Walgreens buying a pregnancy test while my favorite singer from high school croons over the speakers.

OF COURSE I've got to take the test today. It's so me! I remind myself that there is absolutely no evidence that a baby discovered on Halloween will be born with three eyeballs or have a penchant for horror flicks.

Before going home, I made one other stop at a favorite little shop in The District. Here, "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond was playing. I had to laugh! Who can hear "Sweet Caroline" and not want to sing out loud? With extra verve! My mood was so dizzy and fun that I determined to take the test immediately after arriving home.

It was negative. Kind of a bummer after the story I had going in my head entitled "The Day I Found Out I Was Pregnant With You." PLUS the due date would have been around my next birthday. Oh, well. Better luck next time*. And since I bought the two-pack, no reliving the Walgreen's trip come Thanksgiving.

*For the record, I'm not as dismissive about this as it may sound. I am truly hoping to have another baby. I don't take my fertility for granted, and it's never been a good thing to see the negative sign. But also for the record, sometimes I have to take it lightly!

Happy Halloween! Here's Your Orange.

2010-11-01T10:51:00.000-07:00

It was my turn to bring the snack to Cayna's soccer game on Saturday. I had the noble idea to bring oranges instead of, say, chocolate Teddy Grahams, since Halloween was the next day and I figured all the kids would be getting enough sweets. I guess I also figured all the parents would personally thank me for saving their kids' teeth and casually praise me for my thoughtfulness. Didn't happen. And oranges are $1.29 a pound at my grocer, which comes out to be a tad more expensive than Teddy Grahams.

At distribution time, each kid got their orange. They only looked at me slightly funny. Not one parent patted me on the back or gave me a high five for sparing them a higher dental bill.

Bethanie's team finished playing and SHE received not one, but two BAGS of candy.

I was defeated. On the walk to the car, Kevin said I shoulda drawn jack o' lantern faces on the oranges. At least that would have been more festive, if I was going to deprive the little athletes of their candy.

Sewing My Friend's Disco Pants

2010-10-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

You know, when the night before Halloween rolls around, and you find yourself doing all the usual things: candy shopping, pumpkin carving, stocking up on insulin... you might want a break from the usual -- so you volunteer to sew your friend's disco pants. That's what I did. My husband asked me why. Another friend asked me why. Let's just say I was in the mood for something a little unique on this October 30th.

So I went to her house and set up my sewing machine on her dining room table. We had to hem six inches off these glitter-y zebra-y fancy flouncy pants in time for the limo to whisk her away for a party on the other side of town.

I felt like a real seamstress for about half an hour. I completed one pantleg more proficiently than I expected and started in on the second. At this point, everything went horribly awry.

Somehow I sewed the entire thing wrongside out, completing two long seams and two short ones before my customer discovered it. It was now 3:45 and I was late for a scheduled pumpkin carving at my home involving another family. My "customer" needed to shower, apply glittery eye shadow, and get ready for the babysitter. So I packed up the machine and the pants and headed home to seam rip my heart out with a promise to deliver the correctly-sewn pants by 5:45.

While the kids and the parents who DIDN'T take on last-minute sewing projects carved their pumpkins - I ripped out seams from the psychedelic fabric and re-sewed the hem properly. I was quite stressed out as I didn't want my friend to have to ride in a limo cross-town with no pants on. I would have felt responsible.

By 5:05, the pants were six inches shorter and looking groovy. I asked a nearby pumpkin-carver to take a shot of me with the pants. Now all was right in the world and I did my part to ensure a happy Halloween.

Little John, inept seamstress Teri, and Cherize's fabulous pants!

Who Do You Love More?

2010-10-28T09:05:00.000-07:00

"Who Do You Love More?" is a game that Cayna likes to play. It goes like this:

Cayna: Mom, who do you love more? Me? Or a toaster?
Me: You.
Cayna: Who do you love more? Me? Or your friends at Church?
Me: You.
Cayna: Who do you love more? Me? Or Daddy?

It can go on and on. And at bedtime she wants to play "I Love You More Than You Love Me." And I reply, "No you don't!" She can't win that one. She doesn't get it yet, but I'll explain it to her after she has a child - of course by then she'll have already have "gotten" it.

My prayer for Cayna is that in all her complicated thinking, she will know God's love, live it, and love others. The hint of insecurity that she has makes me nervous and confident at the same time. Nervous because I don't want her to go through life thinking she isn't loved. Confident because in her search, I know there is plenty of love to be found.

Meanwhile, this morning, she was mad at me at breakfast for not getting a bowl for her. The slightest things can set her off. She said, "I wish Daddy was here!" I answered, "I do too. I could use the help." So then she said, "I wish today was your Mom's Day Out!" I answered, "You're in luck. It's this Saturday. I can't wait."

She was appalled. "WHAT? You like to be away from your kids?"

I refrained from exclaiming "GOD YES!" and replied simply, "Yes."

"You have fun without us?"

"Cayna, don't you have fun when you're at your friends' houses and I'm not there?"

"Who do you love more? Us? Or being away from us?" (Never mind that "being away from us" is not a "who" it's a "what"...)

"Cayna, you are my family and I love you more than ANYTHING, especially toasters. But I do have fun when I do other things."

I have no idea how this realization rests in her brain - but it was good for her to hear.

Quiet, Cold House

2010-10-27T17:53:00.000-07:00

I wanted some quiet time - it's the result of being exactly half extrovert and half introvert. Half the time I wish my house was full of friends, and the other half, I'd like it empty. For a stay at home mom who homeschools, it is exceedingly rare that I am in my home alone. This might be the second time in three months at our new address. My alone time is typically OUT of the house.

So Kevin took the crew to Cayna's soccer practice, and I am soaking up the silence. It began to grow dark about twenty minutes ago, enough to start switching on lights. And I'm a little chilly. As I walked through the house with my arms folded, I was seeing my house in a new way. We moved here in the hottest part of the desert summer, therefore the chill, the early dusk, and the "feel" of the place in Autumn is all new to me. I like it.

I think I'll go light my "Ember" candle from Pier 1 and sit and stare into the weird, quiet light. How's that for introvert?

(Tomorrow night I might like to invite a dozen friends over for pie and coffee.)

For All Your Moccasin Needs

2010-10-26T23:00:00.000-07:00

I got great customer service from The Moccasin House and told the guy I'd tell my friends. This is humorous because I am not sure any of my friends are the moccasin-wearing type. But they messed up an order, I complained, and they fixed it! This is such an amazing happening that I had to offer to spread the word.

Cayna is dressing up as Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha for All Saint's Day and the same for Halloween. For the amount I spent on the costume, she should also wear it at Thanksgiving for a re-creation of the celebration at Plymouth. It should be said that of all people to buy moccasins for, Cayna would be the best - she could be voted "Most Likely to Wear Unique Footwear" in our family.

After Halloween, I'll post pictures of the kids in their costumes and the saints they represent. In other costume news:

It is now two days til the All Saints party, and my St. Michael the Archangel has no wings. Nor will he wear dorky ones, so I have to fashion something amazing from two pieces of foam board and five bags of feathers. I did TRY to purchase wings. It involved a lot of fruitless internet searches, a lot of scantily clad models wearing their wings with their lingerie, and one horrifying trip to the Halloween Store. I'd rather forget that experience.

I may or may not post photos of the wings I make. Thankfully, St. Michael will lose the wings for trick-or-treating in the neighborhood and convert to a knight.

John is going to be St. John the Apostle and then an astronaut.

Bethanie is St. Elizabeth Anne Seton, which basically involves a Pilgrim costume.

Cayna has informed me I need to dress up, so I'm wondering what I can adapt from my own wardrobe to look like St. Catherine of Siena. Any suggestions?

Soccer Mom?

2010-10-22T10:17:00.000-07:00

We're about halfway through soccer season in our family. It's my first time having kids play soccer. Here's a list of my thoughts:

1) Two kids = two practices and two games per week. That's four more places I have to be, and I have to be there with water bottles, shin guards, uniforms, sun shades (thank you, Sport Brella), and a blanket and folding chairs. Frankly, a pain in my booty.

2) The pain in my booty is somewhat worth it considering they seem to enjoy it --- the weather is nice so we're out enjoying it, and we have met a few nice people. Which leads me to #3.

3) We have met some nice people. But we've also met some of those pesky snothead parents you hear so much about in this context. The ones who stand on the sideline and yell at their kid and order the coach around and just generally make giant asses of themselves.

4) Snacks and drinks for an entire soccer team (or two) are pricey.

5) I'm not convinced that my children gain any team-player skills or coordination that they don't already pick up by being part of a FAMILY and by playing outside with the neighbors. But then again, we do get a cool jersey with their names on the back...

6) Like every other thing in life, kid sports have their pros and cons. I'm quite aware of both.