Last night at dinner we played a game. A little grammar game. It started like this:
Boy said: "I like suckers that are sour.
...But I like ice cream that is cold."
So I said: "I like brownies that are soft, and I like chocolate sauce that is warm."
And Boy said: "I like carrots that are crispy."
And I said: "I like noodles that are hot."
And Husband said: "I like chips that are spicy and drinks that are fizzy."
Boy dissolved into giggles at the word fizzy, then composed himself enough to shout: "I LIKE CHIPS THAT ARE SPICY, TOO! And, also, sandwiches with no lettuce."
Then he bugged his eyes out and looked at both of us, eager for a reaction. He didn't know the name of the game, exactly, but he knew that just as suddenly as we had created it, he had violated its order "with no lettuce."
We all laughed. It was a good game. And then it was over.
I think we're going to have a lot fun with this parenting thing.... Nerdy fun, perhaps. But family fun.
Just a girl, asking for grace, to survive her happily-ever-after.
9.29.2005
9.28.2005
The Sea-Farin' Life
Today I awoke to the sweet strains of my son's most cheerful Good-Morning voice. "Mom?! Is that you? Are you up? Guess what? I am going poop now!"
(Let's just keep moving....)
Shortly after I awoke, Miles appeared in the living room and began to sing: "Make him walk the plank! Make him walk the plank! ...What do ya' do with a scurvy pirate? Make him walk the PLANK!"
This is a strangely regurgitated memory from a cartoon we watched together months ago, The Backyardigans "Pirate Treasure."
Why the words should come to him NOW, today, this morning, is the stuff of serendipity. You see, just last night, as my own two scurvy pirates slept soundly in their bunks, I first discovered RealLivePirate.com. And of course, of course, I LOVE the site!
I committed to heart pirate etiquette (perhaps not what you think) and found a new pirate name and everything! (I briefly considered an official surname change to "Rackham," but I don't want to be disloyal to the family B. flag.)
I guess Miles' interests coinciding with mine are not that strange, given that he has some new Lego... or maybe Playmobile (the difference is?)... toys from his Mama Kay, all within the pirate theme.
In fact, truth be told, Miles was first on board the pirate boat. He played for a whole weekend with two little peg-leg figurines, a crocodile, a shark and a treasure chest. (Oh, how he LOVES the diamonds! Bling, bling!) Then he got a pirate boat with skull and cross-bones flag and a tiny red scorpion.
I was actually a bit disturbed by the pirate toys at first, but now that I am (see below) AKA Capt. Anne Rackham, I'm fine with it! :) Actually, I just find it neat, and appropriate, somehow, that soon after I discovered some of the coolest kids I know have formed a pirate web site, I realized my own kid is among the cool.
What choice have I, the laggardly cool, but to don a coat, tuck in a hand, grab a hook and play along?
My pirate name is:
Captain Anne Rackham
Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!
Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.
PS: I am guessing there aren't that many names/ descriptions total, as my friend Susie was first recognized "as the one in charge." Ah, well, we pirates aren't like Indians. We can have more than one chief! Especially if all in charge are groovy girls who like craft projects! I can see it now: Pirates with booty cozies! (For stolen treasures, you gutter-thinkers. Geez!)
(Let's just keep moving....)
Shortly after I awoke, Miles appeared in the living room and began to sing: "Make him walk the plank! Make him walk the plank! ...What do ya' do with a scurvy pirate? Make him walk the PLANK!"
This is a strangely regurgitated memory from a cartoon we watched together months ago, The Backyardigans "Pirate Treasure."
Why the words should come to him NOW, today, this morning, is the stuff of serendipity. You see, just last night, as my own two scurvy pirates slept soundly in their bunks, I first discovered RealLivePirate.com. And of course, of course, I LOVE the site!
I committed to heart pirate etiquette (perhaps not what you think) and found a new pirate name and everything! (I briefly considered an official surname change to "Rackham," but I don't want to be disloyal to the family B. flag.)
I guess Miles' interests coinciding with mine are not that strange, given that he has some new Lego... or maybe Playmobile (the difference is?)... toys from his Mama Kay, all within the pirate theme.
In fact, truth be told, Miles was first on board the pirate boat. He played for a whole weekend with two little peg-leg figurines, a crocodile, a shark and a treasure chest. (Oh, how he LOVES the diamonds! Bling, bling!) Then he got a pirate boat with skull and cross-bones flag and a tiny red scorpion.
I was actually a bit disturbed by the pirate toys at first, but now that I am (see below) AKA Capt. Anne Rackham, I'm fine with it! :) Actually, I just find it neat, and appropriate, somehow, that soon after I discovered some of the coolest kids I know have formed a pirate web site, I realized my own kid is among the cool.
What choice have I, the laggardly cool, but to don a coat, tuck in a hand, grab a hook and play along?
My pirate name is:
Captain Anne Rackham
Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!
Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.
PS: I am guessing there aren't that many names/ descriptions total, as my friend Susie was first recognized "as the one in charge." Ah, well, we pirates aren't like Indians. We can have more than one chief! Especially if all in charge are groovy girls who like craft projects! I can see it now: Pirates with booty cozies! (For stolen treasures, you gutter-thinkers. Geez!)
9.20.2005
Blue, Glue, Glee!
(A quick aside: If I hadn't known a true bipolar person before, I'd think I'm a prime candidate. Low and then high. High and then low. Low and then... I seriously give myself a headache. And I don't know what that title means, either.)
But what I came to say is that I've sublimated.
Successfully redirected.
Ah, the power of lunch!
I ate Thai food today with two great people, and my discontent and bitterness has somehow folded itself into possibility. I learned about some new volunteer opportunities in new places within my church. Dear and Rational Spouse may have a heart attack when he reads this, but I have big plans for myself! BIG plans! (Don't roll your eyes. I'm SERIOUS.) I am on a long-range mission to free myself from things I don't have passion for and the other volunteers who make me crazy, while adding work in places that challenge or grow my soul. I will know and speak the Truth! And the truth (while potentially taking up more of my time) will also set me free!
Just thinking about it, I'm light as a feather!
Now, I'm STILL supposed to show up for lunch w/the old ladies tomorrow, to get fired up for Quadrennial (yes, that's the name of the conference. and, no, no one knows what that means. How about a THEME, ladies?) Just between you and me, I won't be attending this big-time, big-expense, big-commitment event. But it'll just be our little secret. :)
And, I still have 8 board meetings at which to take minutes, a new committee for praise & worship service, the possibility of becoming a "liturgist" -- whatever the hell that is, and Jeremy, hon, you maybe should have stopped reading by now -- plus a women's Bible study to find a substitute teacher and a nursery worker for. But all in all, I am racheting down my commitments.
No Pumpkin Patch. No more kid's church. The list goes on....
Light as a feather, I tell ya'. A Forrest freakin' Gump feather.
And now I have to go buy fax ink. Hope I can press the gas pedal, as light as I feel.
(Upon a quick re-read, I imagine some bipolar tendancies could actually be documented. For the second time today, let's keep something our little secret.)
But what I came to say is that I've sublimated.
Successfully redirected.
Ah, the power of lunch!
I ate Thai food today with two great people, and my discontent and bitterness has somehow folded itself into possibility. I learned about some new volunteer opportunities in new places within my church. Dear and Rational Spouse may have a heart attack when he reads this, but I have big plans for myself! BIG plans! (Don't roll your eyes. I'm SERIOUS.) I am on a long-range mission to free myself from things I don't have passion for and the other volunteers who make me crazy, while adding work in places that challenge or grow my soul. I will know and speak the Truth! And the truth (while potentially taking up more of my time) will also set me free!
Just thinking about it, I'm light as a feather!
Now, I'm STILL supposed to show up for lunch w/the old ladies tomorrow, to get fired up for Quadrennial (yes, that's the name of the conference. and, no, no one knows what that means. How about a THEME, ladies?) Just between you and me, I won't be attending this big-time, big-expense, big-commitment event. But it'll just be our little secret. :)
And, I still have 8 board meetings at which to take minutes, a new committee for praise & worship service, the possibility of becoming a "liturgist" -- whatever the hell that is, and Jeremy, hon, you maybe should have stopped reading by now -- plus a women's Bible study to find a substitute teacher and a nursery worker for. But all in all, I am racheting down my commitments.
No Pumpkin Patch. No more kid's church. The list goes on....
Light as a feather, I tell ya'. A Forrest freakin' Gump feather.
And now I have to go buy fax ink. Hope I can press the gas pedal, as light as I feel.
(Upon a quick re-read, I imagine some bipolar tendancies could actually be documented. For the second time today, let's keep something our little secret.)
Bleh, Blah, Blues...
"...Just make sure I'm around when you've finally got something to say..."
I don't know why this song by Toad the Wet Spocket sticks, but it won't leave my mind today.
I think it's because I might, indeed, have something to say, but I have no way of knowing when it will come out, in any way more thoughtful or readable than a projectile jumble, so I couldn't ask anyone to be sure & stick around for that.
I'm having a hard time. I am in the midst of hard times. Well, writerly hard times. Not so much will-I-survive hard times.
I'm just having a lot of trouble expressing myself.
And this is bad news for such an emotive, emotional sort as me.
Bad, bad news.
It's kind of like being Gregor in Kafka's "Metamorphosis." I woke up feeling recognizable "me" feelings, but I suddenly can't communicate them because no one understands my insect-speech.
I think I am supressing (oh, perhaps? suppressing? what a psychological breakthrough!) some discontent with people who are very much part of my church and life routine, so my routine is all out of whack.
What are my options? Confrontation or sublimination. Sigh. I guess I'll go with B. I'm pretty much a B kind of girl.
But one day -- SOME DAY, and I'm SERIOUS here! -- I want very much to learn to confront in Christian love. To admonish without the inner knowledge that I am being a judgmental jerk. To speak the Word instead of twisting it to cover my perceived hurts and slights.
Some day. Some day.
And to carry on until that day.....
I don't know why this song by Toad the Wet Spocket sticks, but it won't leave my mind today.
I think it's because I might, indeed, have something to say, but I have no way of knowing when it will come out, in any way more thoughtful or readable than a projectile jumble, so I couldn't ask anyone to be sure & stick around for that.
I'm having a hard time. I am in the midst of hard times. Well, writerly hard times. Not so much will-I-survive hard times.
I'm just having a lot of trouble expressing myself.
And this is bad news for such an emotive, emotional sort as me.
Bad, bad news.
It's kind of like being Gregor in Kafka's "Metamorphosis." I woke up feeling recognizable "me" feelings, but I suddenly can't communicate them because no one understands my insect-speech.
I think I am supressing (oh, perhaps? suppressing? what a psychological breakthrough!) some discontent with people who are very much part of my church and life routine, so my routine is all out of whack.
What are my options? Confrontation or sublimination. Sigh. I guess I'll go with B. I'm pretty much a B kind of girl.
But one day -- SOME DAY, and I'm SERIOUS here! -- I want very much to learn to confront in Christian love. To admonish without the inner knowledge that I am being a judgmental jerk. To speak the Word instead of twisting it to cover my perceived hurts and slights.
Some day. Some day.
And to carry on until that day.....
9.19.2005
The Next Thing
Wow. Is summer really over?
Quick date check: Monday, Sept. 19. Ugh. I guess so.
With all the continuing heat and consistent busyness, the trauma of weather and human suffering, a change of season hasn't actually registered with me. Until today, actually. While reading this blog.
I've done some sucky writing -- or some sucky not writing, or both as the case may be -- over the summer. Don't I have more, well, output to show for myself? Something better AND something bigger?
I was teetering toward rank self-disappointment, but, honestly, I have no grounds. The good ol' college try was all I committed to in the beginning. Just making the effort was the whole idea behind silly little me starting a blog. (It sure wasn't snappy politcal commentary or insider juice, a la wonkette or gawker!)
To commit to (semi-public) view some (semi-consistent) writing, and not be able to delete it all when my mood turns blue. That's all I set out to do. (Baby steps! Baby steps!) It wasn't supposed to be about outcome, but process. Process and simply presence. Here, as imperfectly as I represent myself, I'm still in. Sometimes all in. Or at least on the record. And, in beginning the record, I knew I'd commit myself to keep recording. (If for no other reason than to make the sub-par posts move further down!) Here, in this space, I WILL do the next thing.
That's the challenge of my whole adult life, really. To "do the next thing." It sounds so simple. But not at all for me. Sometimes I can't decided what, of so many things, should come next. Sometimes I lack the passion to start. The patience to finish. Sometimes, more than I like, I am completely stymied by my own life.
Luckily I am not a finished product just yet. Like my blog, I'm still more about process than outcome a lot of the time. So we'll just soldier on together, me and my little project, my Jiminy Cricket for the writing self. And we'll see what we become, as time and space and every next thing stake their claims.
Quick date check: Monday, Sept. 19. Ugh. I guess so.
With all the continuing heat and consistent busyness, the trauma of weather and human suffering, a change of season hasn't actually registered with me. Until today, actually. While reading this blog.
I've done some sucky writing -- or some sucky not writing, or both as the case may be -- over the summer. Don't I have more, well, output to show for myself? Something better AND something bigger?
I was teetering toward rank self-disappointment, but, honestly, I have no grounds. The good ol' college try was all I committed to in the beginning. Just making the effort was the whole idea behind silly little me starting a blog. (It sure wasn't snappy politcal commentary or insider juice, a la wonkette or gawker!)
To commit to (semi-public) view some (semi-consistent) writing, and not be able to delete it all when my mood turns blue. That's all I set out to do. (Baby steps! Baby steps!) It wasn't supposed to be about outcome, but process. Process and simply presence. Here, as imperfectly as I represent myself, I'm still in. Sometimes all in. Or at least on the record. And, in beginning the record, I knew I'd commit myself to keep recording. (If for no other reason than to make the sub-par posts move further down!) Here, in this space, I WILL do the next thing.
That's the challenge of my whole adult life, really. To "do the next thing." It sounds so simple. But not at all for me. Sometimes I can't decided what, of so many things, should come next. Sometimes I lack the passion to start. The patience to finish. Sometimes, more than I like, I am completely stymied by my own life.
Luckily I am not a finished product just yet. Like my blog, I'm still more about process than outcome a lot of the time. So we'll just soldier on together, me and my little project, my Jiminy Cricket for the writing self. And we'll see what we become, as time and space and every next thing stake their claims.
9.13.2005
Not Angry
Doesn't it feel like a long time since Katrina? A long time in a short-minded world.... And yet, a wound still festering fresh.
Like a lot of people, I've tucked into WAY too much written and broadcast news since August 27. I just needed to know, in all the horrific detail, what was happening next door to home.
I've been teary and rageful and nauseous and depressed and sort-of catatonic over it all. As, again, lots of people have.
All I can say is I don't think it's my right to be angry.
God is good. As the little ditty goes, "all the time."
..."God is good. All the time. Through the darkest night His light will shine."
I can't deny this knowledge, and so I must confess it. In the face of rotting human corpses and toxic black water, God is still God. And God is good.
That's all.
Like a lot of people, I've tucked into WAY too much written and broadcast news since August 27. I just needed to know, in all the horrific detail, what was happening next door to home.
I've been teary and rageful and nauseous and depressed and sort-of catatonic over it all. As, again, lots of people have.
All I can say is I don't think it's my right to be angry.
God is good. As the little ditty goes, "all the time."
..."God is good. All the time. Through the darkest night His light will shine."
I can't deny this knowledge, and so I must confess it. In the face of rotting human corpses and toxic black water, God is still God. And God is good.
That's all.
9.01.2005
Alright, Suse... I GET your Message!
:) A big shout out to my friend NPT, who is known in these circles as SusieDerk. She has been gently encouraging me to post more often, for a while now. Failing in that effort, she's gone a step further. She has issued a challenge via the world wide web... It's like an electronic double-dog dare, and it must be met.
OK, so, in answer to the survey:
1. Number of books owned:
Not so many as before the move to Texas, actually. I've been trying to thin the novel collection every subsequent move because, as my husband patiently explained, "They have these things called libraries, you know. And they will let you have books for free. All sorts of books! All you have to do is return them."
2. Last book bought:
"Praying God's Word" by Beth Moore. (Honesty disclaimer: Not sure I would get through the whole thing on my own, but I'm starting a women's bible study and we're reading it together.)
3. Last book(s) completed:
"Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince." (Ging heart JK Rowling. And it seems, now that the end is near, the characters have seeped into my subconscious like Scout and Gem or Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy, and it must be true I've always, always loved that -- very bad English accent approaching -- 'ER-ree Paw-tuh.)
Just after Harry, looking for a change of pace, I read "The Anglophile," by Laurie Gwen Shapiro. Summer fun with a sassy Jewish girl. How could I go wrong? Now I need to tackle "The Matzo Ball Heiress."
4. Five or more books that mean a lot to me:
Hard! How about authors who always move me? Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Barbara Kingsolver. Zora Neale Hurston (skip the Oprah movie and READ THE BOOK!). Erik Larson (strange, because he writes nonfiction). Jane Smiley (always, but especially "At Paradise Gate"). Sandra Dallas. And, just like SusieD, Jan Karon.
A list of my 3-year-old's books that mean a lot to me include "Giraffes Can't Dance" ("everything makes music, if you really want it to."); "Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type" (beware the duck!); "Sherman Crunchley" ("but I don't want to be the chief of slow geese!") and the Sandra Boynton classics, "But Not the Hippopotamus"/"The Going to Bed Book."
Next, books that I could (and have) read again and again include the "Lucia" series by E.F. Benson; "Out to Pasture" and "Over What Hill?" -- little old-folk gems from Effie Leland Wilder; "The Chronicles of Narnia"; "Little Women" (of course! I'm a nerdy girl who grew up loving books); and anything Agatha Christie.
Finally, since I'm skirting this topic already, a list of childhood books I have re-read in adulthood and liked maybe even more include "Bambi" (very old original; strikingly NOT Disney); "Where the Red Fern Grows" (better than "Old Yeller"!) and the Bronte sisters. (Who the hell let me read those as a kid, anyway?!)
5. Four bloggers I am passing this on to...
Skipping this part, actually, because my bagel is ready. Seriously. Miles is yelling this over and over from the kitchen. Rather than grasping that I am occupied, I believe he thinks I am deaf. He just asked, appearing at my side, "Do you where the special cream is, that I put on this knife for the bagel?" Good Lord! But I also hear he set the breakfast table, forks included, so how can I dawdle any longer? The feast of life awaits!
OK, so, in answer to the survey:
1. Number of books owned:
Not so many as before the move to Texas, actually. I've been trying to thin the novel collection every subsequent move because, as my husband patiently explained, "They have these things called libraries, you know. And they will let you have books for free. All sorts of books! All you have to do is return them."
2. Last book bought:
"Praying God's Word" by Beth Moore. (Honesty disclaimer: Not sure I would get through the whole thing on my own, but I'm starting a women's bible study and we're reading it together.)
3. Last book(s) completed:
"Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince." (Ging heart JK Rowling. And it seems, now that the end is near, the characters have seeped into my subconscious like Scout and Gem or Peter and Susan and Edmund and Lucy, and it must be true I've always, always loved that -- very bad English accent approaching -- 'ER-ree Paw-tuh.)
Just after Harry, looking for a change of pace, I read "The Anglophile," by Laurie Gwen Shapiro. Summer fun with a sassy Jewish girl. How could I go wrong? Now I need to tackle "The Matzo Ball Heiress."
4. Five or more books that mean a lot to me:
Hard! How about authors who always move me? Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Barbara Kingsolver. Zora Neale Hurston (skip the Oprah movie and READ THE BOOK!). Erik Larson (strange, because he writes nonfiction). Jane Smiley (always, but especially "At Paradise Gate"). Sandra Dallas. And, just like SusieD, Jan Karon.
A list of my 3-year-old's books that mean a lot to me include "Giraffes Can't Dance" ("everything makes music, if you really want it to."); "Click Clack Moo: Cows That Type" (beware the duck!); "Sherman Crunchley" ("but I don't want to be the chief of slow geese!") and the Sandra Boynton classics, "But Not the Hippopotamus"/"The Going to Bed Book."
Next, books that I could (and have) read again and again include the "Lucia" series by E.F. Benson; "Out to Pasture" and "Over What Hill?" -- little old-folk gems from Effie Leland Wilder; "The Chronicles of Narnia"; "Little Women" (of course! I'm a nerdy girl who grew up loving books); and anything Agatha Christie.
Finally, since I'm skirting this topic already, a list of childhood books I have re-read in adulthood and liked maybe even more include "Bambi" (very old original; strikingly NOT Disney); "Where the Red Fern Grows" (better than "Old Yeller"!) and the Bronte sisters. (Who the hell let me read those as a kid, anyway?!)
5. Four bloggers I am passing this on to...
Skipping this part, actually, because my bagel is ready. Seriously. Miles is yelling this over and over from the kitchen. Rather than grasping that I am occupied, I believe he thinks I am deaf. He just asked, appearing at my side, "Do you where the special cream is, that I put on this knife for the bagel?" Good Lord! But I also hear he set the breakfast table, forks included, so how can I dawdle any longer? The feast of life awaits!
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