Lilaphase

Nobody Knows

2010-05-25T09:50:00.004-04:00

Nobody knows that when I was a senior in high school, my brother a sophomore, and our neighbor and mutual best friend a junior, we had some great big parties while my parents were vacationing elsewhere. Yes, I remember high school like a John Hughes film.

Nobody knows that I miss that brotherly friendship with all my little brother's friends who were constantly hanging around our house.

Nobody knows that one summer night at one of those parties, sitting on the shag carpet in front of the tv that was blaring MTV (back when MTV actually played one music video after another), Ken, one of my brother's friends confessed his love for me.

Nobody knows that same night, my resistance to someone younger than me was numbed by the wine we had been drinking.

Nobody knows that we kissed passionately while Modern English sang, "I'll Stop the World and Melt With You", the lyrics and melody magically surrounding us, reflecting our feelings for one another at that moment.

Nobody knows that my heart swelled and skipped a few beats for Ken that night we shared a somewhat innocent kiss. I never told him.

Nobody knows that when I came back from college at Christmas break, I wanted to be of service to my community, so I organized a movie day for some underprivileged kids in my hometown.

Nobody knows that my brother would not go with me to help out.

Nobody knows that Ken volunteered to go with me, without me even asking him.

Nobody knows that when Ken and I walked through the doors into the darkened theater, a string of kids, who had never been in a movie theater in their lives ran in front of us all the way to the very front row. We chose two seats directly behind them so we could keep an eye on all of them at once.

Nobody knows that Ken and I both fell madly in love with the youngest and smallest of the group, a small four year old boy named 'Ocean Man'.

Nobody knows why a mother would name her son, 'Ocean Man'.

Nobody knows that as soon as the lights went out and the huge picture came on the screen along to the booming sound, Ocean Man jumped out of his seat like a shot and ran the entire row, as I stood, panicked, calling to him. He immediately turned into our row and ran by all the empty seats to hoist himself squarely in my lap.

Nobody knows how special I felt at 19 to be chosen by this precious soul, or to be sitting on this row in this dark theater with these two precious souls.

Nobody knows that when I came home from college that summer, merely three months later, I was told that Ocean Man had been hit by a car.

Nobody knows how devastated I felt that Ocean Man was dead.

Nobody knows that I wondered constantly if Ocean Man's family appreciated him and tried to protect him, or were they too busy in their survival to be bothered. Was he left to fend for himself without the protection of a warm lap? Did anyone know how precious Ocean Man was besides Ken and I? Could I have saved him?

Nobody knows that the years passed, and I lost touch with my hometown and everyone in it, even Ken.

Nobody knows that years passed, and we both moved on, fell in love with other precious souls, were married with our own new precious souls to take care of without any word to each other.

Nobody knows that when I heard that Ken had taken his own life, I was devastated. I had no right to be devastated. Ken wasn't a part of my life any more, nor I of his.

Nobody knows that I wondered constantly if his family appreciated him and tried to protect him, or were they too busy in their survival to be bothered. Was he left to fend for himself without the protection of a warm kiss? Did anyone know how precious Ken was? Could I have saved him?

Nobody knows that when I saw Ken's picture, it was a picture of a grown man I did not know.

Nobody knows that when I closely studied his eyes in the picture, I saw the Ken I melted with that night so long ago.

Nobody knows that to this day, when I hear that song by Modern English, my heart swells, and the rhythm of it's beat changes. I am back there in the embrace of a precious soul, stopping the world and melting with him.

Nobody knows how much I miss those two precious souls who each etched their initials in my heart so deeply with such brief encounters.

Queen of Sheba Cake

2010-01-09T15:29:00.003-05:00

I read about this cake that inspired Julia Child. It may be the first cake she

tasted in France. I was dying to try it.

The Christmas season finally gave me an excuse. It is the perfect occasion, right?

I invited some friends over for dinner on Christmas Eve eve.

I made a simple fish stew, and that was nice with the cheddar biscuits and a salad.

It was all really an excuse for me to finally take on the 'Queen'.

Of course, you know it was a disappointment.

How could I have worked myself up like that and not experience a let down?

The cake is good. It really is.

However, what cake can live up to mythic standards?

The icing was a sort of ganache.

It, on the other hand, was mythic and epic, and I'd happily trade

my husband and children for a bowl of it right now!

I Gotta Start Somewhere!

2009-07-09T11:04:00.007-04:00

Wow, I really let this blog go. A couple of blog friends tried to nicely mention all the cobwebs building up in the corners and the dust covering everything, but it took me a while to get over here and clean it up.

So, my last post was ~ 2 months ago. What have I been doing?

I can account for ~ 3 weeks, which were spent traveling. Then, there's the packing before the trip and the unpacking after the trip. There's the time it took to find a place for the dog . . .

Okay, okay . . . honestly, I just got out of the habit. I had planned to do a lot of blogging while we were in Europe, but obviously, that didn't happen.

Since, I have to start somewhere, I'll start by recounting the three weeks I can account for.

I'll start with the Negresco.

It's a hotel in Nice. Let me rephrase that. It's a sort of . . . a crazy hotel in Nice, France. My husband had a business event in Nice, and his company chose to put everyone up at the Negresco. We actually started our trip in Germany. I love Germany, but the German part of our trip was really short and to the point,

and I don't have any interesting pictures from that part.

So, without further ado (my mother's favorite word when I was young and able to cause much ado), if you haven't met, let me introduce you to the Negresco.

It looks beautiful. It is impressive. It's outrageously expensive. Supposedly, celebrities stay here. There were paparazzi outside taking video, hoping to capture me stepping out on the balcony . . . or someone equally as impressive.

If I had $700/night to spend on a hotel though, this probably wouldn't be it. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying.

This is the wall inside the elevator. Enough said.

This is the wallpaper in the hallway of our hotel room.

This is the sink in our bathroom. If you can't tell from the picture, it is glittery, sparkly gold. The bathtub and the bidet matched the sink.

This is the antique bed in our hotel room. Notice the canopy that matches the wallpaper from the hallway walking into the room.

This is an original Salvador Dali painting found on the Dali hallway, which was filled with original Dali paintings.

Did I mention that this hotel actually prides itself on being an art museum?

This unclear photo was taken in the Negresco in Salon Versailles (said with a pretentious French accent). This is a portrait of King Louis IVX by his original portrait painter. There are three of these authentic paintings in existence. One is located in the Palace Versailles. The second is located in the Louvre, and the third is here in the Negresco. This room is complete with Louis IVX furniture placed the way it was placed at Versailles. We know because we tried to move a chair and got yelled at by the Negresco's proprieter.

This is a massive and gorgeous chandelier in one of the main salons.

The roof was designed by Eiffel. Yes, that Eiffel.

Is the Negresco unapologetically pretentious? Yes. Is it ostentatious? Yes.

Is it a mix of art from the 17th century through to the 21st? Absolutely.

Is it lovely and tastefully decorated? Not so sure.

The absolute best part of the Negresco you see in the top photo.

The view from our room was awesome.

I will continue recounting the parts of our trip that I feel like recounting

until I find my 'blog voice' again.

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry about the dust - I'll try to be more attentive.

Birthdays - the good, the bad and the . . .

2009-05-06T22:02:00.003-04:00

I have to start by saying I am not complaining. Really, I'm not. I am soooo blessed and I do know how blessed I am.

My birthday was on Sunday. Whenever anyone in our family has a birthday, we start the day with breakfast together. It doesn't have to be fancy, but we always set the table to make it feel that way.

This Sunday I knew that my daughter and husband had to leave at noon. They let me know that we would have breakfast together before they left, and they would be home to make me dinner and had invited my mother and friend to join us that evening.

So, Sunday morning we all enjoyed a much needed sleep-in. I was hungry when I woke up, but I didn't get myself anything to eat, because I was waiting for everyone. I was reassured several times that soon they would get breakfast together.

Finally, at 12:05 my daughter and husband apologized profusely that they had let the time slip up and ran out the door. My nine year old son had cut up a peach for himself. I peered into the bowl of mush. It looked like he had pulled apart the ripe, mushy peach with his bare hands, squeezing as he went. He held the bowl out to me and asked, "do you want a piece of my peach?"

Fast forward to the evening when the guilty culprits returned with tails between their legs. They both promptly disappeared to do 'important' stuff. I was worried because I knew people were coming over, and I generally prepare before someone walks in the door.

I couldn't just sit by and watch more crashing and burning. I grabbed some cheese out of the fridge and poured some crackers on a platter just as the doorbell rang. I sent my son to find the scoundrels that were supposed to be making dinner.

They came and sort of pulled it together. There was a lot of talking and joking as we waited and waited for food to be prepared. At every opportunity my daughter disappeared, and we had to call her back to join the festivities. Granted, she's a teenager, but she also LOVEs a party.

When I opened my gifts, there were potted herbs for my herb garden, some great placemats, a Barnes and Noble gift card that will be used before you know it. My son made me a gorgeous bracelet out of purple string and silver beads. My husband gave me the big finale - something I had been really wanting - the Bamboo fun tablet for doing artwork and crazy creative stuff on my computer. My daughter's gift was conspicuously missing. She said she was still working on it.

The next night there was a beautifully wrapped gift on my bed. Within the homemade sparkly paper I discovered an amazing photo album full of our family at different ages. Every page was completely covered with colorful clippings, creative doodads and scrapbooked sayings all straight from my daughter's heart.

It might be my favorite gift - ever. But, next year I want to eat before noon!

Soiled at 10 and 2

2009-04-22T00:55:00.005-04:00

Today I was driving around on my normal chauffeur route, squeezing the errands in between.

I drove up to the bank drive thru, and as I sat in my car next to the pneumatic chute waiting for the receipt to come back, I realized my hands felt sticky (no, not like the lady in my WWUD post).

Upon inspection, I realized my fingers were black. I surveyed the steering wheel and immediately discovered the source of my problem.

Black, sticky splotches of paint were strategically located in the 10 and 2 position on the back of my steering wheel, but now smeared blotchily around the steering wheel and my hands.

*Important background info that I knew* 1. The last time I drove my car I took it to the car wash, which I rarely do, but sooooo enjoy the aftereffects. 2. My husband used my car after I took it to the car wash and had to open our recently painted gate to drive my car through. (you guessed it - I don't have to tell you what color the gate was painted!)

I was pissed (putting it mildly). The whole momentarily pristine state of my car was sullied. I lost my 'moment'.

I started fumbling for wet wipes, trying not to distribute the lovely blackness any more than necessary. Once I got the deposit slip, I slowly pulled into the closest parking space in order to clean up, take a breath and plot revenge on the guilty culprit.

I got it together and moved on.

When I got home, my home phone was ringing. Here's the phone conversation that followed, and this is absolutely true:

"Hello, this is Rena, the manager from the Wachovia branch you visited today."

"Okay" - immediately scrolling through my memory banks - did I leave my card in the machine again?

Rena: The teller who helped you today said that when you left the drive thru, you did not have a smile on your face. We were concerned that you did not receive excellent service.

Me - stunned : Uhhhh, the service was fine. I had other issues within my car.

Rena: So, is there any way we could have improved your service today?

Me, so in shock that I can't come up with anything snappy: No, I don't think so.

Really?!?

Is my bank now concerned about my emotional health? I find this whole phone call hard to swallow. I still haven't figured out the underlying angle. They can't actually be interested in customer service after all these years of not caring. The economy must be horrible if the bank is actually having to resort to positive customer experience in order to retain clientele.

This personal service is making me uncomfortable.

Story of a Princess

2009-04-19T15:35:00.004-04:00

This story is based entirely on actual events that have occurred in the life of my friend, Gem and her boyfriend, Duke.

Gem was born in a small town in Georgia. Gem was always bigger than the life she was born into. She loves to travel and has an appreciation for the finer things in life.

Into Gem's life, Duke sauntered. Duke was born in Nigeria to a prominent family. He is now living in Georgia and in Nigeria, where he maintains three homes.

Life in Nigeria is far different than life in America. Duke is accustomed to such things as having his underwear ironed. He has one person on his staff in one of his homes whose only job is to reset the switch (equivalent to flipping a breaker) whenever the power goes out.

Duke quickly swept Gem off her feet and they were drawn together into a full-swing romance, traveling frequently all over Europe and Africa.

After a year together, they decided to establish Duke's American residence in Gem's home. They officially moved in together, though he still had his three homes in Nigeria and work there kept him in Africa quite often.

During one particular extended stay, Duke walked into their Georgia home from the garage. He was overtly upset as he slammed the door.

He said to Gem, "something's wrong with the light in the garage."

She asked, "is the lightbulb burned out?"

He said, "I don't know. Can you get somebody to fix it?"

Upon further inspection, Gem realized it was simply a matter of changing a light bulb.

Gem said to Duke, "I'm on my way out. You can change the bulb - there are new bulbs in the cabinet, " and she left.

Duke was panicked. Duke had no idea how to change a lightbulb. Duke went to Gem's twelve year-old-niece and asked her how to change the lightbulb.

I dont' think I have to spell out who the actual princess is in this story.

I must admit. My son is afraid of any work. What I'm really saying here is, "I'm afraid my son may also be a princess."

Update on the whole horse debacle . . .

2009-04-19T15:21:00.002-04:00

If you didn't read the previous post - this is just a follow-up.

It was pretty anticlimactic.

After many calls to Edna where she never answered, I loaded the kids into the car to drive over there with our gardening gloves and grubby jeans. We knocked on her door to report for duty - still no answer. I was beginning to worry about her.

We walked back to the barn and peaked into the stalls to see what was in store for us.

Those stalls were unbelievably, spotlessly clean.

So, we left, and I continued to call Edna until she finally returned my call.

This time it was a whole different story. Her voice was bright and chipper, and she said she felt much better and had no problem now taking care of the horses.

So, it's the thought that counts, right? I mean, I was willing to help her, and I didn't just hang up the phone originally, pretending that I didn't understand her, like my husband said to do.

So, God, do I still get all the points as if I had actually done the dirty deed of cleaning up behind the majestic creatures that are so much nicer when you don't have to clean up behind them?

I'm not sure though if I actually believe in domesticating animals like this. Would I get more points for sneaking around at night and letting all the locked up horses run free?

Oh No!

2009-04-09T00:02:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I phoned my friend, Lane, to let her know about the health of a mutual friend.

Lane still lives in a different time period than the rest of us. She barely uses her cell phone. She barely emails. I'm sure she has no idea what a blog is. Her kids are in high school and, of course, techno savvy, but somehow she missed the whole technology bandwagon.

Anyway, when I called her home phone, her mother-in-law, Edna, answered and told me that Lane was in Costa Rica. I had forgotten about their family vacay this week.

I was about to hang up the phone when Edna, in a highly distressed tone, said, "Wait!!!"

She then asked if I knew who usually took care of Lane's horses.

I said, "no, why?"

Edna said (very distressed tone): "I can't do it any more. I'm supposed to take care of them, but I'm 80 years old, and it has really messed up my arthritis. I'm in so much pain. I don't know what to do."

Me: "Gulp."

Now, I'm trying to think of a way out of going over there and cleaning stalls. What could I possibly say other than I'll be over to help you, poor little old lady? I barely have time for my own life - now I have to become a farm hand? What the hell is Lane thinking?

I told her to do some research? (well, what would you have said?) and try to find out who helps Lane out. I guess their cell phones don't work in Costa Rica.

So, I now have to call Edna in the a.m. to see how mad her research skillz are.

Wish me luck, cause I'm thinking I'll be smelling like horse manure tomorrow evening.

DAMN!!!! I didn't need extra chores this week!!!!

Haunted

2009-04-07T22:30:00.000-04:00

When I went to see a movie the other day, I saw a preview for another movie. Well . . . I sort of watched it through my fingers. It was a scary movie.

This was a preview of a movie about a haunted house. These people buy a used house in Connecticut. The house is possessed by ghosts. There is a teenage boy who is also possessed by the ghost. I don't know what else happened, but it was scary. After this preview I vowed to never go to the state of Connecticut or even the adjacent states.

After watching this preview, I realized that maybe our house is haunted.

Incident #1: I had a 48 ounce bottle of Dr. Bronner's eucalyptus liquid soap in my shower, and it disappeared. It was a 48 ounce bottle, really - it was huge. It just vanished. No one in my house took it. It was not in the trash can. I even thought eucalyptus was some sort of ghost repellent, but perhaps it attracts ghosts, and this started the whole thing.

Incident #2: My son was possessed by the ghost and became obsessed with Mario Kart.

Incident #3: My daughter was possessed by the ghost and became obsessed with Facebook.

Occasionally, our cat is possessed by the ghost and bites whoever happens to be next to him.

My daughter is destined for greatness, or at least a close-up of some sort

2009-04-02T00:11:00.003-04:00

I now know that my daughter is destined to be a famous movie star - on the big screen.

How do I know this, since she is only fourteen and not interested in acting?

I know this because we went to the orthodontist today, and he informed me of a procedure that she will be getting in the near future.

There was no consultation before he told me this today. There was no question about how far we want to go in order to achieve dental perfection. There was no mention of the cost of this procedure or weighing our options.

I was told that after the next visit, if the exactly particular spacing has occurred between the specific teeth, then we will make an appointment immediately following that ortho appointment with a dentist.

Have you ever tried to get an appointment with a dentist immediately for cosmetic reasons?

Once we have successfully performed the phenomenal task and been granted the appointment, we are supposed to come back into the ortho office to have a bracket removed from the offensive tooth. Then, we are supposed drive over to the cosmetic dentist that will miraculously give us an emergency appointment for the procedure. Once the cosmetic procedure has been completed to perfection (and I still have no idea how much that procedure will cost), we are supposed to drive back to the orthodontist to have the bracket put back on so that my daughter's destiny can be complete.

She will be ready for the close-ups that her profession will require. Why else would they have me jump through all these hoops?

I'm not even sure I really believe in braces. But, since this investment will eventually pay off and replenish our retirement fund through the movie star's earnings, I guess it's all worth it!

In Memoriam

2009-03-30T23:21:00.001-04:00

Misha

1994? - March 30, 2009

You were sweetness personified and you will be missed

Apologies in advance for lame post

2009-03-25T22:25:00.004-04:00

My life today -

"Mom, he's breathing on me!"

Overheard from the other room as my son was in his piano lesson:

Piano teacher playing a new piece of music - then loud, fake snoring noises from my son as he pretended to sleep when he was supposed to listen to his new piece of music. (I'm so proud)

After my daughter's piano lesson -

Mo,ooommmmm, he came into my piano lesson wearing a grim reaper costume!!!!! Then, he stood next to me and chewed in my ear, while I was in my piano lesson!!! I pushed him away, but he just came back!!!

Me: No pushing.

Later at dinner:

Husband: I called your brother today.

Me: I know, he emailed me.

Husband: Really, what'd he say?

Me: Tell your husband to stop calling me.

I fart in your general direction . . .

2009-03-21T00:45:00.006-04:00

Disclaimer - If you have never seen a Monty Python movie or if you have no idea what Spamalot is, or if you did not know that Spamalot is a musical version of the movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (much of it word for word), then you may want to skip reading this post or skip down to an important issue in italics below.

My mom called me yesterday to ask if I would go with her to see Spamalot. I enjoyed myself some Monty Python back in the day. So I said - sure, why not.

I was never one to randomly spew quotes from the Monty Python movies as many of my friends did in high school. Even though I had seen The Holy Grail and The Life of Brian, I could not figure out what they were talking about when a friend said something like,

"Go and boil your bottoms, you sons of silly persons!"

So, I would say something ridiculous like, "huh, what are you talking about?" and then they would act like they had a private club that I would never be cool enough to join or something.

So, anyway, my mom and I went to the show.

This brings me to one big, huge, giant major pet peeve -

Would everyone please rise up with me in protest of one thing - the standing ovation.

I don't get it. Regardless of how mediocre a show is nowadays - no matter what - there will be a standing ovation. If you go to the crappiest hometown rinkydink show, there will be one. I get so frustrated by the whole thing that I try to sit them all out. It's not easy. My husband and I just look at each other as everyone starts standing up and both do a big eyeroll instead.

The true big O was supposed to only be for those rare special moments when you just can't contain the amorous elation bursting through your veins due to a performance, it is an event where your mere mortal body cannot contain the vibrations coursing through your flesh. The big O is then both spontaneous and unmistakable.

I'm protesting the whole 'fake Big O'. I am afraid I will lose my grip on the difference between the real thing and all these little fako's if my fellow audience members are constantly faking it! Come on, people!

I'm not saying Spamalot didn't deserve a Big O. I'm saying I don't know anymore when it's real and when it's fake.

Stepping off my soapbox and back to the show with my mom. We really enjoyed it - it was absolutely hilarious, and as we were leaving I mentioned something about how so much of the dialogue came directly from the movie.

Mom: "no, honey - it was originally a musical, then a movie."

Me: "I don't think so, Mom."

Mom: "It was the musical, Camelot. You do realize that the Lady of the Lake is NOT Guenevere, and I can't believe they called Merlin, Tim? Why would they do that?"

Me: "Mom, have you ever seen a Monty Python movie?"

Mom: "No, I don't think so."

Where did the time go?

2009-03-16T23:01:00.005-04:00

My husband had a two week business trip through Europe. I have only 4 more nights until his return.

I hate when he goes - I so dreaded his leaving.

But, now that he's gone . . . I'm thinking of all the things I could have done, could still do before he comes back, and now I'm thinking I've been totally wasting a golden opportunity.

I do have the kids to take care of, but what about the rest of the time, like while they're sleeping? There are a lot of hours during the night where I could become a french pastry chef? or prolifically paint? or write a novel?

Of course, I had to google what I should be doing, because I hardly think for myself anymore. When one of the kids ask me what a word means, or how something works, I instantly turn to google.

I found this list of amazing things I should be doing. This is just a sample, the list goes on here!

Try to not think about penguins
(Amusement Potential: 1-5 minutes)
This is especially hard, because by trying too much, you remember what you were trying to avoid thinking of. If you try too little, you end up thinking about penguins anyway.

Use your secret mind power
(Amusement Potential: 5-10 minutes)
Pick a passing by and try to use your mind power to command them do something, like drop their bag or knock into someone. The law of averages dictates that sooner or later one of your mind commands will come true, so you can convince yourself that you really have super human powers and waste even more time trying them out.

Pretend you're a robot
(Amusement Potential: 1-3 minutes)
Walk down the street with mechanical movements, adding 'zzzzzt' sounds with each motion. Pretending to have a motor broken in, say, your left hand can add at least 30 seconds more entertainment.

Scratch yourself
(Amusement Potential: 1-3 minutes)
Go ahead, scratch yourself now. Even if nothing itches, go ahead. Doesn't that feel pretty good?

Repeat the same word over and over until it loses its meaning
(Amusement Potential: 1-3 minutes)
Pick a random word out of a magazine and say it aloud to yourself until it becomes a meaningless set of noises.

Pinch yourself
(Amusement Potential: 1-3 minutes)
What is pain? Why is it unpleasant? There's nothing physical about it - it's all in your mind. Plus, after pinching yourself for awhile, boredom will seem nice next to being in pain.

Try to swallow your tongue
(Amusement Potential: 1-2 minutes)
There's not much to say about this one. It is possible, but really stupid.

Pretend to be a car
(Amusement Potential: 5-10 minutes)
Make appropriate revving noises in your head as you walk along and add a racing commentary as you pass strangers in the street. Use blinking eyes as indicators for extra authenticity.

Make Star Trek door noises
(Amusement Potential: 1-2 minutes)
Stand by an electric door to a bank or something and make that silly "Scccccccchwop" sound heard whenever people popped on to the bridge to hang with Captain Kirk.

Today's Notes

2009-03-12T22:21:00.004-04:00

Notes from today:

Note to high school dude who was late for practice while I happened to be sitting in my car in the parking lot - next time you're late for practice, could you please put your protective cup on before you get out of the car, so we don't have to watch you do it in the parking lot?

Note to my son's martial arts instructor - could you pick a time to end the class and stay within, let's say 15 minutes? Do you have any idea what I could have done with that hour? I am seriously deficient in internet surfing time, now.

Note to mother mentioned in the previous post - could we refrain from discussing personal stuff, such as sleeping habits until further notice? On second thought, could we just refrain from conversing at all until further notice?

Note to daughter - could you just listen to me and do exactly what I say, just for the next, say, 3 or 4 years? How about just 1 year? 1 hour? a few minutes?

Note to son - what did you do to the wii fit personal trainer that the video trainer told you to come back later since he wasn't feeling well?

Note to husband - if you go traipsing around Europe on 'business', and I'm here with our 'real life' and I call you, can you check the attitude?

Note to Teddy, cat - when you curl up next to me, purring, then you lay your head on my leg, and I pet you, immediately feeling the stress of the day melt away, until BAM - out of nowhere - I get nailed. Could you stop with the mean unexpected biting thing - and do you do it because you're mad that you don't have a tail? It isn't my fault. You were born that way. We have to learn to love the bodies we were given, Teddy.

Weird

2009-03-10T00:00:00.003-04:00

A few nights ago I had a dream about an acquaintance. I really don't know her that well, but our kids are friends.

I don't remember the dream or anything about it. I know it was about her because I have this sick feeling whenever I think about calling her or even emailing her to arrange our kids getting together.

Remember that feeling you got back in school when the weird kid who sat next to you in chemistry started giving you candy and you struck up a friendship? and everything was fine until you found a note in your locker from that weird kid that asked you to be his boyfriend? Then you didn't know if it was really from him or if his friends were playing a trick on him or if your friends were playing a trick on you? but you got a creepy feeling, anyway, and you didn't know what to do. So you just avoided him and when he offered you candy, you said no thanks, and everything was really weird? You know that feeling?

That's the exact feeling I have about this poor innocent mother of my kid's friend when I have to interract with her.

I feel like she made an incredibly uncomfortable and unreciprocated move on me. I know she didn't.

I'm so weird. I can't communicate with her at all - not by phone or text or email or blog comment - please tell me she doesn't read my blog. I even canceled my kid's playdate with her kid!

I have issues.

Kids raising kids

2009-03-06T12:19:00.007-05:00

Okay, okay . . . I might as well own up to it. I'm going to admit it. I know it's true. Deep breath, here we go:

I have no idea what I'm doing as a parent.

There, I said it.

When I first had my little babies, they were so cute and easy to snuggle. It all came so naturally to make sure they had food and sleep and . . . oh to be back there for those sweet times.

Fast forward to today. I have no idea how to handle a teenager or even my 9 year old. I feel like I am a teenager.

When I catch her 'chatting' with her friends on Facebook, and she's supposed to be defining terms for biology, what am I supposed to do? I have no idea.

As I sit here, typing in comments on blogs when I should be getting my husband's shirts out of the washer, so they don't get that sour smell, or wiping the kitchen counters, so the back cover of my book doesn't transpose itself there. I'm doing the same thing. Like mother, like daughter. She learned from the best.

By my senior year in college, I had the 'system' completely mastered. No classes on Fridays, Film Appreciation (watching movies) on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Human Sexuality on Mondays and Wednesdays, etc. It was awesome. Everyone I knew was in awe of my schedule. Isn't that what she's doing? Figuring out the system?

My son is 100% addicted to video games. The rest of his life is just superfluous and all about doing whatever he has to do to get back to his one true love - Mario Cart. He has to eat, sleep, do his school work and unload the silverware from the dishwasher - no problem, because somehow it will all lead to . . . (sound the trumpets, strum the harp) - maybe not today, but eventually - - - - - Mario Cart!!!!!!

What do I do? Give in to the indulgences? Get rid of all screened media in our household? (okay, you can forget that idea - we're all addicted) Restrict the times so I end up spending my life as a policeman? Lay guilt trips on them? Devise complicated charts and hoops to jump through in order to earn their respective addiction?

They actually used to be kind to one another!!!!

I know they're great kids. Really, they are. It's just me that's screwy and messed them up.

French Toast and . . . you don't want to know

2009-03-02T17:04:00.002-05:00

Sorry, I'm exhausted because my good friends came to visit this weekend, and we had a little too much fun.

Fun can be exhausting and disgusting!

At one point during the weekend, they shared some photos with me. One of the photos depicted a brown blob on a plate. When I asked what it was, they told me they didn't know.

We were also enjoying a nice brunch of french toast at the time.

As I chewed a particularly eggy bite of the french toast, my friend explained to me that the blob had plunked out of a maple syrup bottle onto a plate.

Hmmmm, that's really weird.

My friend continued to describe the blob. Remember I had an extremely eggy bite in my mouth. She said, "it was exactly like a placenta that just came out of the bottle and onto the plate."

Thank you to all the top entrecard droppers in February!


Lola's Diner
Rocket Scientist
Starcasm
Not Your Ordinary History
Celeb Girlz For Charity
Crotchety Old Man
Stuff and Nonsense
Celebrity Body Gossip
Prague
MakesYouLaugh

At least LOL cats aren't teachers, right?

2009-02-21T22:50:00.001-05:00

I was helping my daughter format a biology term paper. I googled 'sample term paper format', so I could remember proper formatting. No, I was not trying to buy a paper for her online. But, I did find many, many sites willing to sell me one!!!

I finally found a website purporting to assist high schoolers in the term paper writing process.

Here is a passage from that website

When time for writing a high school term paper comes, you think that not everything is so good anymore, and you should do a lot of work. Writing a good high school term paper requires some time and your efforts. So, be ready to this.

What??????

In homeschooling my kids, I have come across this issue more often than you would believe.

How can you put yourself out there as an educator or a 'helper', when your grammar sucks? I really don't get it.

I have had two homeschool curriculum companies send me emails with attrocious grammar. I'm not talking about a simple apostrophe ommission or typo - I'm talking serious issues with grammar - like LOL cats bad grammar. Really - that bad.

Creepy and beyond . . .

2009-02-17T12:30:00.008-05:00

There is a disturbing incident that I couldn't keep down and continues to bubble up in my memory coffers.

It all started in high school as most of these things do. There was a boy who had a crush on me, Mick. I considered him a good friend, but that was the extent of my interest.

He wanted us to be an 'item'.

The biggest problem with this issue was that all his friends were the only ones I was interested in dating. He had somehow forbidden his friends to date me (you know the ol' bros before hos' thing - not that I am or ever was a, you know, ho).

It was our senior year and all I wanted to do was date. I wanted to date every one of Mick's friend's. Somehow, I did manage to date quite a few of the forbidden friends, you know, on the downlow. (That whole 'bros before hos' thing can easily be gotten around.)

Anyway, I stayed in touch with Mick loosely through college and then we sort of drifted and lost touch.

Fast forward to our 20 year high school reunion. Yeah, I could have fudged and claimed it was my 10 year reunion, but I'm owning it. Anyway, my really good friend from high school called and asked me to come, so I did.

Once at the reunion, I was standing in the midst of all these strangers trying to remember who each of them is, and Mick walks up.

*note: I'm taking the high road here by not commenting on his appearance.

He came up to me and asked me if I still all had the poetry he had written to me in high school!!!??!! I know, creepy, but it gets worse.

I sort of stuttered that I could look in some boxes, but really didn't know what to say and found a way to wander off.

A little while later, Mick's wife approached me and introduced herself. She was sweet and soft spoken. She reminded me of a kindergarten teacher. She told me how highly Mick had spoken of me. This is a bit creepy in itself, as my husband has no idea who Mick is.

Then she dropped the bomb: "He keeps a picture of you in his bedside table!"

WHAT!!!!?!!!!?!!!!!!!!!!?

I haven't spoken to Mick in over 15 years. This is so wrong in so many ways:

1. Creeeeeeeeeeepppyyy!!!!!!!!

2. His wife knew this piece of information and actually told me.

3. Creeeeeeeeeeepppyyy!!!!!!!!

4. Creeeeeeeeeeepppyyy!!!!!!!!

Did I mention I'm having nightmares?

Note: If you didn't read the previous post, this is part 2

2009-02-10T11:16:00.007-05:00

I know you've been anxiously waiting on the edge of your seat. Sorry you weren't able to sleep in anxious anticipation of what exactly was my daughter doing in the ladies' room at the ice skating rink.

So, without further ado, I bring you the conclusion to my last post.

Yes, folks. My daughter was running a tattoo parlor out of the restroom.

Okay, no needles were involved, but sharpies are permanent, right?

Her friend was leaving for Florida, so my daughter gave her a multi-colored custom design on her belly.

I can't wait to hear from the mothers of the tattooed victims.

Teen shenanigans . . . caught in the act!

2009-02-10T10:51:00.005-05:00

I dropped my daughter off at the ice rink, an almost daily activity. As she was leaving the car, I received a phone call that changed my afternoon plans. I immediately called my daughter's cell to let her know of the change in time to pick her up.

No answer.

So, I park the car and actually have to get out and walk . . . on my two legs . . . all the way from the parking lot into the building to catch her.

I look in the main lobby area where she usually gets her skates on, etc.

She's nowhere to be found.

I walk down to the roller rink where she likes to warm up and find only five guys doing some crazy roller racing. No girls that I can see.

I walk to the next rink, which is the hockey rink. There I see slamming, pads, blood spattering, teeth flying . . . hard to tell behind all those pads but no obvious estrogen to be found.

I start to think about what sort of trouble she could have discovered - some unknown hockey boyfriend? some secret room of debauchery? pirate kidnapping?'

I continue to the second ice rink where I see figure skaters, but they're all little ones - she's obviously not there. I see her bag where she dropped it when she came in. Is that all that's left of her?

Last chance - the bathroom. It's most likely perfectly innocent. She probably had to use the restroom before getting her skates on. Why am I acting so crazy and jumping to conclusions?

So, I walk into the ladies room and first see my daughter's friend jumping around, nervously giggling and tugging at her shirt. Behind her I see my daughter with a guilty cheshire cat grin.

What did I catch them in the act of you ask?

Dirty pervs, go ahead and get your mind out of the gutter. This is not some cheap scene from Porky's. There was no girl on girl action happening here.

It was either:
a) my daughter was running an unlicensed tattoo parlor
b) my daughter and friend were engaged in underaged drinking
c) my daughter and friend were sneaking their first cigarette

Oh yeah, I'm gonna leave you hangin' stay tuned to find out the shocking conclusion, so you can judge me, my entire life and my parenting skills as well as the probable success of my offspring from one mere incident.

I know you will loose sleep wondering about this - sorry!

I'm ashamed

2009-02-02T22:27:00.005-05:00

Cloud of selfishness last seen drifting above the clouds

My family was here visiting just last weekend. This weekend my brother-in-law arrived from Germany.

I guess all this family time made me a little edgy.

As I released some lovely pomegranate jewels from their skin to add to the salad for dinner, my brother-in-law was standing and chatting with me. I'm preparing and he is chatting and . . .

he ventures over to the bar stool.

Not just any stool.

There are four empty bar stools, but he is sitting at the bar stool facing my laptop!

Okay, breathe, it's fine. I'm fine.

He reaches toward the keys, and . . .

he actually touches the keys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My kids are here. Be a good example. Sharing is good. Sharing is good. I have to be a good example for my kids. Sharing is the right thing to do. Breathe. Share.

I can't help it. I try to keep it in, but this huge dark stinky cloud of selfishness extends from me and surrounds my laptop. I'm trying desperately to pull it back. I'm hoping nobody notices.

I'm trying to continue chatting, but my voice has mysteriously gone up a few octaves.

Later in the evening he asks my husband if we have an old laptop he could possibly use.

Damn! He saw it - the greed induced cloud - or smelled it?

My selfishness is on display for all to gaze upon.

People Unite

2009-01-31T12:01:00.005-05:00

I apologize that I have to veer from my generally mundane post to address an issue of great concern. I try to veer away from politics as much as possible, but there is a movement that is growing. This movement could change our lives forever unless we stand up and act now.

I happened across this blog a few months ago, which is a, if not THE, gathering place for people taking part in this movement.

They call themselves the League for the Suppression of Celery. I have snuck over to secretly spy a few times and discovered that they are trying to eradicate (or irradiate?) celery!

Do you believe this?

Please, if you believe in all that is good about celery go over and let them know the facts. Let them know how great celery is and that we won’t stand by while they sneak about rallying people against that green noble vegetable.

Think about it, celery is great. Celery is . . . ummm,

okay,

celery is crunchy! yeah, what would we do without the crunchiness of celery?

and . . .

well

celery takes more calories to digest than it contains! So there! Celery IS good.

Just imagine trying to explain the lovely crunch to your grandchildren who will never have the opportunity to experience it.

Now is the time to take action. I’m urging you in the name of all that is thin and green and crunchy. Please go to this site and pepper it liberally with your praises of celery.

note: I have to warn you that they may follow you. Here is what happened to me.

Perhaps we can stop the madness before it’s too late.

How about People for the Ethical Treatment of Celery?

Anyone?

Boys2men

2009-01-26T12:18:00.004-05:00

When my son was still a baby, one day while I was changing his diaper he would not stop crying. I tried the soothing voice or singing to him - okay, that was a bad idea. He just wailed more.

It was one of those arm flailing crying jags that babies have. He was crying so forcefully until one of his waving hands touched his penis. Suddenly, the crying stopped and all was silent. It happened instantly! He was soothed into silence while his hand held onto his newfound treasure.

In that instant I had a completely new understanding of my husband . . . and all men.

If you are a new wife and you are wondering how to soothe your husband - there you go.

I just saved your marriage.

I had originally planned to post on my experience in teaching sex ed to my kids inspired by this post which Art Sparker sent me to, but we haven't totally covered the subject, yet. Meaning my husband hasn't had time to teach it yet.

Rushin' to conclusions

2009-01-25T19:34:00.005-05:00

My family was here for the weekend. It was supposed to be our Christmas get-together, but my dad hurt his back blowing leaves before Christmas.

This is something we all have to look forward to - hurting ourselves through mundane tasks?

Nooooooo - the opportunity to duck out of obligations at the last minute, inconveniencing dozens of people, changing everyone's plans with one simple, sorry excuse.

The weekend was quite uneventful. Well uneventful for everyone else, because someone had to get the house ready, make all the beds, plan all the food, buy all the groceries, do all the cooking, launder all the sheets and towels, etc., and I'm sure you know who did it all.

I'm exhausted. My butt is glued to the sofa, and I'm thinking of some simple, sorry excuses to duck out of my current obligations which include getting up to change the volume on the surround sound for the tv, or getting a blanket to cover my feet.

Meanwhile, we are watching the U.S. Figure Skating championships. My daughter skates and has high hopes for her figure skating career. Shhhhh, don't tell her there is no such thing.

Sample conversation:

husband: she must be Russian

daughter: this is the U.S. championships - Hellooooo, that means only people from the U.S. of A!

husband: she's a Russian immigrant

daughter: she's from FLORIDA!!!

husband: 80% of Floridians are Russian immigrants - they like to be warm. Those two must be married.

daughter: DAD!!!!!! She's only 15!!!!!

husband: Those Russians like to marry young, don't they.

I'm not making this up. This is what just happened in our humble abode while I sit with my butt still glued.

note: please don't take offense if you are Russian or from Florida or a Russian immigrant living in Florida or a Florida emigrant living in Russia. No harm was meant.

Successful Blogging

2009-01-21T17:13:00.007-05:00

Since I have seen so many blogs recently that profess to help you . . .

Blog Successfully!!!!!

(Not to mention the books and websites)

I decided to write a post on the secret to becoming a successful blogger.

Now, before you accuse me of not knowing anything about successful blogging,
because my blog sucks -

just wait . . .

I do have a secret that is sure to make your blog successful.

If you're still here, then here it is. The secret to having a successful blog is this:

Write good stuff that people want to read!

Then - repeat and continue to repeat as long as possible.

Shhhh . . . Please don't tell anyone this secret - it's between my faithful reader and me.

What?!? I never said I use my secret, but you can!

Sorry in advance ec card droppers. I have family coming this weekend,
so I will be out of computer commission for a while.

It hurts to 'eat it' and to move

2009-01-19T10:41:00.002-05:00

I gave my husband such a hard time for being sick. It was pretty ridiculous that he couldn't take his own tea bag out of his tea because it 'hurt to move'. But I do have to swallow some of that.

I had a fun girls' night out planned. I was meeting my friends for dinner in town. Since I live a ways out of town, I decided to get a room at a beautiful, centrally located hotel, so I wouldn't have to drive home.

It was a beautiful plan!

It was a fun evening, as it should have been. We met many characters. I'm not sure if a written description will do them justice, but I'll try for another post.

It went pretty well, until ~ 4:00am, when the sickness hit me square in the face . . . and in the stomach . . . and definitely in my head . . . and everywhere. Before you even start - no, I was not hung over!

It was the kind of sick where you start to think death is a good idea, and sleep is the only form of relief.

When I called my husband late in the morning to ask him what I should do. He didn't say anything like - see? How does that feel?

He immediately offered to drive down and pick me up, knowing it's no fun to be sick in a hotel room, especially when you forgot your toothpaste! Seriously.

So, now I have to eat all those snide accusations about what a baby he was. (later - I couldn't even keep water down at the moment).

Even though he wasn't completely recovered himself, he did climb on that white horse, don the shining armor and rescue me from myself!

Sorry, I know it's weak today, but I have to get back to bed.

Bedroom Design

2009-01-13T20:00:00.009-05:00

This photo is a reenactment of an actual event, not to be confused with the actual event itself.

I was doing laundry the other day and must have accidentally dropped my red bra.

It happened to fall on my black boots that I had left on the bedroom floor the other day. I didn't notice and just kept putting my laundry away.

The next day I saw my bra laying across the boots and picked it up and put it away like I generally do with my laundry.

That same evening my husband asked me (in his most seductive tone, but he was still a little sick, so it was mixed with a sort of whiny, sick tone) "where's your red bra? "

Really?!?

He was completely disappointed that I put it in the drawer where it belonged.

I guess in his mind the 'dropped' bra was either a new bedroom design statement or some sort of subtly hinted seduction?

This incident shed some light on why guys always leave their underwear laying on the floor. Some heretofore unknown sexual ritual language? Or perhaps it is considered the perfect decorative accessory for a bedroom?

Hmmm . . . should I use these as a lamp shade or a crappy throw rug?

Sick Day

2009-01-12T22:29:00.005-05:00

My daughter has been sick with a cough and cold for the past week. Then last night my husband started with the waah waaah waah - my throat hurts.

I was all prepared to give up my important Monday activities in order to dote on my poor ailing family by cooking homemade chicken soup, brewing special healthy teas, distributing tissues and trash cans around the house, filling up water glasses and handing out meds.

However, I ~~decided~~ suddenly came down with a stomach ache. Man, I was so looking forward to spending my day in the kitchen, cleaning up after everyone, picking up the used, wet tissues from all over the house.

Instead I had to lay on the sofa,~~playing~~ working on my computer while catching up on some of the important movies I had saved and occasionally holding my stomach.

Then, my husband woke me up in the middle of the night (okay it was 6 am, but it seemed like the middle of the night) with his sore throat noises and his frail voice complaining, 'I can't sleep, my throat hurts.'

Finally, after I realized I wasn't going to get back to sleep with all those noises, I offered to make him a cup of tea. Then comes the whiny, 'ok.'

He's the one who can't sleep - I could sleep fine, but I have to get up out of my oh-so-comfy bed and make him a cup of tea. While he lays there doing nothing - wide awake!

When it's all done and I'm snuggled back in the covers, he wakes me up again. Spoken in a frail and whiny voice, "Can you take the tea bag out for me?"

Me: "What?!?!! Why can't you remove your own tea bag?"

Him: "It hurts to move."

I won't go into the - God was smart when he gave the childbirth thing to women. You guys would never make it through the first cramp! I won't go into what babies men are when they get a little sick and how the mommy always has to still 'do stuff' whether or not she's sick. I won't get into any of that. I'll take the high road here.

I'll just give up. I'll just forget about my 'tummy ache' and be the nurse.

Late for church - again

2009-01-11T22:52:00.003-05:00

This morning my daughter wanted to get to church early to show off her outfit. Being the devout parents that we are, we allowed her the opportunity to turn her church experience into a social opportunity.

Since we were there, we signed our son into his class early. We weren't in the mood to sit around waiting for our service to start, so we walked back to our car.

We sat in the car and looked at the clock.

17 minutes to waste.

Me: Wanna make out?

Him: Where should we go?

Me: Why not here in our car in the church parking lot?

Him: Everyone will be walking right by our car to get in.

Me: So?

So . . .

More than 17 minutes later, we walked into our service after it had begun. Everyone turned around and looked at us as we smoothed down our hair and straightened our shirts.

I know they were all jealous but trying not to be because of the whole 'thou shall not covet' thing.

Klink-a-dink

2009-01-10T00:27:00.003-05:00

Today I went for a massage and went over to my friend's house for lunch.

I then decided to stop at Whole Foods for a quick grocery shopping. I happened upon a good friend there, klink-a-dink - so we took our time through the aisles. We were savoring the rare moments we both had to shop without our progeny tugging and begging.

I realized I had forgotten the lettuce so ran back to get it. I then found my mom in the produce section. Another klink-a-dink, so we had a nice chat next to the prickly pears.

On my drive home, a good friend I haven't spoken with in a while called. She's been hanging out with the Real Housewives of Atlanta. So she had to fill me in on the scoop!

It was a klink-a-dink day.

For once, I escaped the offspring and found some fun! Above you see the kids having fun too and making a little money while I did my important bidness.

Censored?

2009-01-08T14:00:00.006-05:00

Have you ever heard that song, Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo?

Have you heard that song, Sex in the Kitchen?

Did you know that that Gwen Stefani 'Bananas' song is really full of sh*t?

I hadn't heard any of these here in the U.S. I heard all of these in English over in Germany.

It's a little uncomfortable when I'm riding in a car with my kids and the profanity starts rolling out on the radio, but we have learned to use it while we're over there. We just replace the German word we don't know with a curse word - they don't seem to mind.

But, that Sex in the Kitchen song came on while my husband and I were shopping in a jeans store.

I found myself looking at the clothing while uncomfortably trying to pretend I didn't understand the words pounding out through the speakers above.

Censorship exists here, thank goodness?

Clueless

2009-01-06T12:50:00.003-05:00

I admit it. I'm a new blogger, and I'm completely inept and clueless.

I nosed around on the internet to try to figure out how to make a button for my entrecard, but I cannot figure it out.

Most of my 'readers' find me through google because of the picture above from my post on 'White boots in Berlin'.

Hey, I just realized I could probably expand my readership by putting this picture in every post!

Maybe I'm on to something here. If you steal my idea, I may have to . . .

wait, you won't steal my idea because you are simply a poor prostitute trying to find a place to buy footwear.

Sorry, I guess I shouldn't be calling my most loyal readers names. Are you offended by the whole 'prostitute' thing since that's much better than other names you could be called? Or should I refer to you as a professional man-pleaser? Let me know the politically correct title, and I'm happy to use it for all future references to you, my dear reader.

I apologize if I've offended. I'll try to find some new pictures of things you might appreciate, how's that?

Are we good, now?

Is that really your son, ma'am?

2009-01-04T19:11:00.008-05:00

For no apparent reason - a notsogood picture of an elephant kicking me in the butt!

We have been traveling to Europe since before my children were born, so they are used to the drill. We like to think that our family is savvy at getting through the airports.

We all prepare ahead and my kids know that they are only allowed one suitcase each, which cannot exceed 50 lbs. We set out our scale for everyone to weigh their suitcases, switching out heavy important stuff with light important stuff. Everybody gets their ipods loaded and charged. Winter coats go into the checked luggage, so we aren't schlepping them through the airport. We make sure we have the chargers for the laptops, cameras, ipods, phones, etc.

We expect our children to be pros at getting through security. We even have a family competition to see who can make it through security the quickest.

When we arrive at the baggage check-in, the agent asks the routine questions, "did you pack your bags yourself?"

Husband: yes

Son: No - my mom packed for me.

Agent now pointedly directed at my husband: Were the suitcases ever out of your eysight?

Husband: no

Son: Yes they were - when you were looking for which way to go, you weren't looking at the suitcases!

Annoying? of course. Harmful? not really - he was just the annoying kid at this point.

But then she gets to the other questions -

Agent: Do you have any weapons in your baggage or anything that could be used as a weapon?

To a nine year old boy who bites his sandwiches into the shape of a gun, everything can be used as a weapon!

Soooooo . . . when we get to the first passport checkpoint.

For some reason this is where my son always freezes. The little boy so eager to talk and tell the truth, has become mute. For some reason, the officers always pick him to question. They never expect that we are kidnapping my daughter or that my husband has kidnapped me.

They begin their questions after looking at the passports. It usually starts with, "what's your name young man?"

My son looks off into the distance, tapping his chin and acting like he's trying to remember what name these people told him to use so he can get some candy!!!

Then they ask him where he's going.

Again with the stare into the distance and the chin tap, as we nudge him and say with teeth clenched, "grandma's, remember?"

Not suspicious at all, right? Somehow, we always make it onto the plane, but we just have to go through the whole thing again on the return trip.

What's brown and sticky?

2009-01-03T16:22:00.005-05:00

The stick that Susan from Art Spark Theater sent me a while ago has finally been placed.

I originally planned to place the stick at the Nuremberg Christmas market.

However, the stars did not align . . .

Sooooo, together with my family we decided on this spot in Erlangen, Germany.

This is a bench holding flower boxes on an artsy street in the university town. It was placed on New Year's Eve around 5:00 p.m. All the small, quaint restaurants on the street were busy setting their tables for the big night ahead.

Thank you, Susan for sending me the stick and letting me take part in your guerrilla art project.

Oh yeah . . . 'a stick'.

Burning down the house

2008-12-30T07:08:00.004-05:00

At home my son is used to sleeping with the closet light on in his room (in lieu of a night light.)

When we travel to my mother-in-law’s home in Germany, there are no closets, meaning no closet light, meaning my son will not go to sleep alone in the room, and we don’t plan well enough to buy a night light for our stay.

Soooo, my husband had the brilliant idea of turning on a lamp in the room where my son slept and then putting a book over the lamp so that it wouldn’t be too bright.

You already know what’s going to happen, but I’ll continue anyway.

The adults in the house were sitting downstairs enjoying some champagne and adult time after putting my son to bed.

There were candles lit all around the room, and the Christmas tree was lit with real candles. Really, that’s the way they do it in Germany - real candles.

So when we first smelled smoke, we assumed it was the candles or the tree catching fire.

Eventually, I knew it wasn’t candle smell. I followed the smoke to my son’s bedroom and discovered the book. It now had a hole all the way through the entire center of the book.

It actually looks pretty cool!

Bragging about our planning skills . . .

2008-12-29T18:17:00.011-05:00

Get yourself a nice warm drink, sit down and put your feet up by the fire.

It's late, I'm exhausted from our little venture . . . so excuse the post.

We are still in Germany visiting family and decided to go to Austria skiing on a whim. We got into our rental car with the kids and headed out.

We tried to book a room online before we left but everything was booked out - none to be had in the entire valley of Zillertal! Hey, no problem - we'll find something. We are golden like that.

We arrive in the first village and begin to stop at the first of the 1,000,002 hotels in the area. After asking at ~ a dozen of them, we realize that there are none to be had. That's okay though because it is so beautiful here in the mountains with the snow. We all love taking pictures, as well. Until - my camera battery gives out, and I realized I left the charger back at the in-law's house.

By the way, we have no skis, no equipment and no proper skiing attire. Some of us have never skied before. So we stop at a cafe to have a hot drink and a cake while watching the skiers out the window.

Then we decide to drive to Innsbruck where there are bound to be rooms free. We arrive there around 7:00 pm and amazingly are able to get 2 rooms (1 for us and 1 for the kids) - but only for one night.

We walk though the old town of Innsbruck, which is quaint and beautiful. In the pedestrian zone we scarcely avoid getting droplets of bile on our shoes as a girl lost her stomach right at our feet. That was the perfect appetizer before we went to dinner at a typical Austrian restaurant.

We tried to get up early the next day, but are only able to find our way to breakfast around 10 am. After breakfast we have to go back to the hotel, pack up and check out.

We packed the car and then drive to the surrounding area to check out the snow activities. We find the perfect sport equipment rental place.

However, it just closed for lunch at 12:00. It doesn't open again until 3:00pm. In this area of the world it starts to get dark ~4:30. We're screwed for snow activities - even sledding is out at this point.

So, we decide to drive to Italy. Why not have some pizza and a cappuccino in Italy, right?

We drive to the nearest little town in Italy, and it is ~ 2:40pm at this point. All the restaurants stop serving warm food at 2:00!!!!

Since we are so good at planning these sort of trips we are considering opening a travel agency -
what with all our good planning skills and such . . .

Wayne's World party

2008-12-21T07:31:00.003-05:00

Last night I was hosting a Christmas party.

I had written an article about the absurdity of celebrity culture, which some of the fringes of my church had really latched onto. One of these fringees was lurking outside and protesting my party because he said he saw some photos with me online with Mike Meyers. He was calling me a hypocrite among other things.

What?! I had to go out and talk to him to convince him I had never met Mike Meyers.

Throughout the party I was being courted by a Jeff Goldblum-ish guy and was admittedly somewhat flirtatious back . . . at least when my husband wasn't looking.

Unbelievably, of all people to show up to my party uninvited - it was none other than Mike Meyers and Dana Garvy who came knocking on the door! Cool! Only they seemed younger - like when they did Wayne's World. How cool is that to have Wayne's World at your very own party. They were totally cool and pretty 'regular'. We were just hanging out and chatting - having a great time, but . . .

How can I explain this to the church fringee? He'll never believe me now.

Later in the evening, at a climatic point the Jeff Goldblum-ish guy steps in for a romantic kiss. It was all slow motion as I tried to decide whether to turn my head for a cheek peck and stay true to my man or give in to the carnal desires brewing. Just as I was leaning in, my husband appeared and stepped in between us saying, "she's with me. we're together!"

What a way to ruin a beautiful moment. Thanks honey.

Then I woke up and kissed him on the cheek as he slept soundly next to me.

Hey, he does have a little of that Jeff Goldblum quality - ish.

Night of the Proms

2008-12-19T03:37:00.003-05:00

My husband's boss invited us to some concert while we were in Germany. The name of the concert was 'Night of the Proms'. All I knew about it was that Robin Gibb would be performing.

Between the title of the concert and who would be performing, I was preparing myself for a cheese fest in the first degree!

Before the concert began, it was explained to us that 'Night of the Proms' refers to a night of all prominent performers - nothing to do with the (classy?) dance in American high schools that seems to be the result of much trauma and drama and the climax of many teenage movies.

However, I have since done some research and found that this actually may be a 'spin off' of the British Proms, which is a classical music concert.

At any rate, it was quite a concert. It included an orchestra, a gospel choir from Harlem (NY), a comic duo who used a violin and piano, a rock band and the 'prommys' or prominent singers, though it was not without its cheesy moments.

Highlights:

1. Robin Gibb's live performance of How Deep is Your Love, backed by the 10cc singer (who was obviously a much better singer). Okay it did venture toward cheese, but if you were alive when Saturday Night Fever came out, then it's hard not to feel something stirring from those years ago.

2. 10cc singing 'I'm not in Love' - again the memories (wasn't it a slow dance in 7th grade?)

3. Tears for Fears singing 'Shout' - that was awesome!!!

Cheesy Moments:

1. The Harlem gospel choir doing the robot while Dennis de Young (Styx) sang 'Mr. Roboto'

2. A coliseum full of middle-aged Germans singing 'We're the kids in America' to Kim Wilde's song.

3. Robin Gibb coming out at the end as the 'headliner'. This is after the lead singer of Styx and Tears for Fears (not to mention Kim Wilde and 10cc - which actually sang Gibb's song for him!) I think Robin Gibb has a solo career touring in Germany now. Perhaps with David Hasselhof?

I must admit that I went in hoping it would be over quickly, but was surprised when 4 hours had passed without once looking at my watch!

Okay . . . after I tried to find photos, I realized how cheesy it actually was, but surprisingly palatable.

Time for 'Sticky' to travel

2008-12-15T18:55:00.006-05:00

I received this piece of art which I call 'Sticky' from Susan at this blog:

Art Spark Theater

You see Sticky above resting peacefully on a shelf in my studio with other 'like-minded' pieces.

Sticky is participating in a guerrilla art project where he will be placed in a location where he may be admired by passers-by or picked up by an appreciative onlooker.

Below you see Sticky in my suitcase resting up for the trip to Germany.

Stay tuned to this blog to find out what happens to Sticky. Though, at some point Sticky will become independent, and I will lose contact with him *tear*.

But that's okay, because Sticky was meant to be on his own, not tethered to a mother figure, such as I.

I'm juist sayin'

2008-12-14T23:29:00.004-05:00

There's this one blogger who is expecting and just found out she's having a girl. She has two boys and all the comments are like:

Congrats! you're going to have so much pink and frilly fun!

and

you're going to paint your nails and go shopping . . .

and some day a boy will call your house and ask to speak to her - it will be so cute and
la di da . . .

Well, I hate to rain on anyone's parade. The dressing up like a doll is fun . . . and painting your nails is fun, but . . .

welcome to the technology age, because once they turn 13, you will buy her a cell phone.

No matter what you think now, you will.

Do you think any boy will call her on your home phone? Do you think any of her friends will have her home phone number. Do you think any of her friends will call and actually speak to her on her cell phone when they can silently and sneakily text each other who-knows-what stuff?

to be continued . . .

Meeting my personal challenge

2008-12-10T23:21:00.003-05:00

i have been challenging myself to do something creative every day

notice my creative lack of punctuation here

since I finished a painting the other day i decided to get a 2fer out of it by now using it in a creative blogging post

so there you go i met my personal creativity challenge for today

Is that one of those attacking animals?

2008-12-04T23:13:00.005-05:00

Husband (in his German accent): There's an animal sitting on the fence that's causing the dog to bark. What should I do?

Me: What kind of animal are we talking about?

Him: One of those wild animals.

Me: Is it a racoon?

Him: Yes.

Me: Is it an opossum?

Him: Yes.

a few minutes later

Him: I know, I'll try to knock it off the fence with a tennis ball from the balcony!

side note - his athletic skills are on par with his wildlife skills.
Him: It didn't work. I missed

Me: I'm getting a snack.

Him: Can you do something about the animal?

Me: Why don't you take a shovel and push it off the fence?

In comes the title ---

Him: Is that one of those attacking animals?

Me: I'm getting the video camera.

He went into the garage and brought out an 8ft. 1 x 4 and headed to the back yard. I grabbed a flashlight and the video camera.

He proceeded to oops, slide down the hill on his butt while holding the long stick. I thought I was ready with the light and the camera.

And . . . it was anticlimactic when he actually pushed the opossum off the top of the fence. It just fell into the leaves on the other side, plumph. It was then that I actually looked at the camera to see that the memory card was missing. Hence, no video here.

I did some research on the internet and found out what to do next time we encounter an animal. I'll have to keep the milk, cereal and turnip greens stocked, just in case . . .

Typical day

2008-12-03T13:31:00.009-05:00

It's a typical day only better because today I don't have to drive anywhere. I did some productive stuff like I did take a shower and I did brush my teeth. I did some laundry, and . . .

okay, I might have checked my email. I had to check it just in case there were some important notification, like the one I found . . . I actually have some long lost dead relative from Nigeria - COOL !!!! Now, as soon as I send the small transfer fee . . . I'm rich !!!

My next important task for the day is to figure out how I'm going to spend all my newfound money!

So, I started researching . . . stuff.

While I do my important work on the internet, both kids are supposedly doing their schoolwork. I stumble upon a website that says children become more successful if you praise their effort as opposed to their finished work. Since I'm so good at homeschooling and stuff . . .

Me: "Son, you're good at doing your work."

Then, I saw a picture of a man almost getting bit by an alligator, then I saw some awesome pictures of graffiti.

This is stuff that takes tremendous concentration. I have to get through this stuff before I continue with the important task of spending my enormous wealth - perhaps some designer duds!

One more important duty - I have to see this video of a panda sneezing, then I will continue my work.

However, I am rudely interrupted in my thought process on special important stuff when my son starts.

"Wah, wah, wah, I need help with my math."

It reminds me of the poor mama panda in the video - eating, minding her own business, completely lost in thoughts of how hot she will look in her new designer duds . . . when BAM, the little one totally interrupts her zen.

Me: "Just a minute," and I continue my important research.

15 minutes later

Son: "When are you going to help me?"

Me: "Try to do it again and make sure you write all the steps, then look up the answer on your computer."

I TRY to continue my important work when he interrupts again . . .

Son: "Uh Oh! It's the blue screen of death!"

Me: "Don't worry, we're rich now, so I'll buy you a new one!" Then I add buy computer to my list of important things I need to do today.

Please don't mention . . .

2008-11-28T17:30:00.008-05:00

It's the day after Thanksgiving and with the food hangover and the late night of playing cards with Republicans and all - please don't try to talk to me about things that don't interest me.

Things that don't interest me:

Traditional furniture and decor

Crafting

Scrapbooking

Football

Someone else's children's sport activities

Best Game Ever from ImprovEverywhere on Vimeo.

Holiday decorating tips

Republicans (even though most of my friends are of the elephant persuasion)

Christmas sweaters

Meat

Opera

Nascar

Mommy and me groups

Semi home-made food

Chemicals that are sold as food

Fast food joints (other types of joints are interesting!)

Pharmaceutical reps (some pharmaceuticals can be interesting, but the reps . . . not so much)

The Neighbors

2008-11-22T22:11:00.003-05:00

We live on a little private lake. I haven't met the people who live across the lake from us.

Supposedly, there is a pastor living in one of the houses across from us. There are also a couple of teenage boys who hang out in a row boat on the lake rolling something with their fingers, and then smoking. Since they smoke pot, they must be the pastor's sons. . . come on . . . you know I'm right!

In the house directly across the lake from ours, live another family. Our bedroom is on the lake side of the house. When we first moved in it took a while for me to find the right curtains. It shouldn't have been an issue because our windows face the lake. One night when things got a little heated in our bedroom, we were startled by a bright light shining through the window. When we looked for the source, we found it was coming from a car which happened to be parked in the driveway across the lake. We giggled at the coincidence of the timing of the car's lights coming on.

The next time things got frisky, again the light beamed into our bedroom. There was no way to block it out, as we still didn't have curtains. This time our eyebrows raised as we looked at each other with the question . . . could this be something other than a coincidence? And then we shrugged it off with a, "naaaahhhh" followed by hysterical laughter as we thought about why anyone would be interested in us.

Well, after the same scenario happened with the light at least 287 times, we started feeling creepy about the perv across the lake. One time when I was trying on dresses for an event, again with the light. Now, we know our pet perv also likes pretty dresses. That's where we drew the line. We decided it was time for curtains.

So, we have to ask ourselves how does he know when is the right time to turn on the lights? Is he looking across the lake through the windows with binoculars? How can he see when it's dark? Does he have some sort of infrared binoculars? A dress loving perv with spy gear????

Every now and then when things heat up in the bedroom, and we least suspect it . . . BOOM, we're in the spotlight again! But . . . we have our secret weapon for the dress-loving, spy gear perv . . . it's the highly technical spy gear deterrent known as . . . curtains!!!

So you think you can dance, really?

2008-11-14T11:58:00.007-05:00

I'm so sorry to all you reader out there who were anxiously awaiting the next part in the terrible cocktail party stories series that has hit the internet like a really slow and lonely turtle.

I just had to write about what we did not do last night.

Background - I used to be a dancer. Not one of those tippy toe dancers, but a real dancer at a performing arts school. I even had a teacher who used to dance with Debbie Allen. That's how close to the big time I was. I'm talking BIG TIME. I'm talking touring on an old school bus through rural Pennsylvania's school gyms circuit hugenormous BIG TIME!!!

So, when I discovered a little TV show called So You Think You Can Dance, I had to check it out. After all, Debbie Allen was on it, and she might want my opinion as a big time dancer. I have to be prepared for these things and take the responsibilities of a big time dancer seriously.

Here's what I did not do.

I did not buy tickets to the lame live tour they did around the country. I did not wait anxiously with a special software counting down the hours on my computer until the live show. I absolutely did not drive all the way over to the lame-o arena to see the show with my husband and kids, and I certainly did not watch the entire show while screaming at the top of my lungs. I would have had to stop screaming when security was called over to carry me out of the arena, which did not happen.

I did not wait for an hour and a half after the show behind the barricades with hundreds of screaming girls for the cast to come out and sign autographs. That would be too uncool for a former dancer in the B-i-g T-i-m-e!

I also did not get autographs by pushing through the waiting throngs of girls - that would have been a bad example for my kids, and I did not take pictures of those small time dancers with my cell phone. I mean, they aren't big-time celebrities, so what's the big deal, anyway? Just to set the record straight, I did not drool or drip any saliva on Will.

And Will, that was NOT me casually practicing my petit jetes, and grand pirouettes and then falling on the pavement as you passed by, hoping you would notice what an awesome dancer I am. Because, just so we're clear, I usually don't fall!! Really!!!

Terrible cocktail party stories, part 3

2008-11-12T16:28:00.003-05:00

The third story I shouldn't share in public but do anyway

#3

This one goes back before the 'fruitful story' period of European travel. This one takes us back to that most favorite time in our lives - high school!

My high school had a tradition for the senior football players at homecoming. Each senior player would be presented a plaque on the field at half-time. Each player would ask a female to 'sponsor' him, and she would be the one who handed him the plaque on the field. They would also have a picture taken for the yearbook. Generally, the football player would ask his homecoming date to be his sponsor.

My senior year I had this sort of 'pet' guy who followed me around and always asked me out, and I always told him I just wanted to be friends. He asked me to Homecoming, and I had been taught that you graciously said yes to the first person who asked, so I was going to Homecoming with him whether I liked it or not. He was also the class president but not a football player.

One day before homecoming I was sitting in my Advanced Comp class, minding my own business, reading Audrey Rose under my desk when the vice principal/head football coach came to the door of our classroom and called me out. When I stepped out in the hall, he immediately let me know 'we' had a problem.

He proceeded to tell me that Barry (Obama) was planning to ask me to be his sponsor. Uhhhh . . . okay, I stammered. I felt flattered and embarrassed and confused. We often send a friend to ask for us in high school or to see if someone likes us, but not a teacher or a coach or especially an awkward vice principal coach. He continued with, "You have to say no!"

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, he's black and you're white," he said seriously, as if revealing a secret.

"I noticed that," I said, "so what's the problem? I already have a date for homecoming."

"He already has a date, too. He is just asking you to hand him the plaque at the game and have your picture taken together for the yearbook. But, this is a problem. Our school is not ready for this. You have to promise me you will say no when he asks you."

"I can't make any such promise," I said, feeling the butterflies in my tummy as I imagined Barry asking me himself.

"You have to say no. You go home and tell your parents. They won't let you do this. Are you ready to get bricks through your windows and see a riot here at our school?" he asked with the true concern of a man who had seen violence.

"My parents are not prejudice. They would be proud of me. This is not about a relationship. It's me standing with him on the football field," I defended.

I went back to my seat with the feeling I had done something wrong and the butterflies still floating around with a secret I now held. I waited anxiously for Barry to ask me. I tried to walk close to the football players' locker room to give him an opportunity. It never happened. I never knew what happened, but someone else stood on the field with him at homecoming, and her skin was the same color as his.

Okay, it wasn't really Barack, it was Johnny Greene. But, it could have been him if only . . . I had gone to school in Hawaii, and if he had played football instead of basketball and . . . if I were a couple of years older and if only . . . we had been friends.

Johnny, I so wish for a chance to talk to you without the awkwardness of the coach in between, so I could find out what really happened on your side. . .

Terrible cocktail party stories, part 2

2008-11-11T10:38:00.006-05:00

Another story I shouldn't share with others -
#2
How pathetic is it that most of my stories come from a 2 month period in my life when I was in my early 20's?

While me and my girls were touring the European side of life, we happened upon Salzburg, which is one of my all-time fav-o-rite cities that I have visited ever. One of those people on the trains told us to check out the salt mines in Salzburg (which means salt mountain, by the way).

So, we waited for the train that would take us on the hour ride to the little village where the salt mine was. We rode on the train for an hour, then finally made it to the salt mine. We donned the white suit customary for these occasions. The mine itself was anticlimactic, the suits were funny and the slide at the end was fun.

Worth the trouble and time to get there? Not sure.

When we left the mine, we were really hungry, we were faint from hunger and a bit thirsty. We knew we still had a walk back to the train station and then a wait and then another hour back to Salzburg before we could find food. So, we dragged ourselves through the streets of the tiny village, sniffing around for any trace of sustenance, but smelt none.

We walked past a non-descript building and heard loud music pouring all around. There was no sign indicating it was a restaurant, but we were so hungry we didn't care. We tentatively walked to the door, unsure what we were doing when a young guy greeted us on his way in. He asked if he could help us, quickly establishing that we were English speakers. We asked if this building happened to be a restaurant. He told us that this was a town meeting hall, and that the music we heard was the celebration of the village after a 'futbol' (soccer for us folks) game between the town musicians and the town fire brigade. He then said, "come on in and join us!"

So, we followed him through the building onto the back lawn where there were tables full of drunk Austrians and and musicians playing folk music with accordians and whatever other instruments they use. The tables were covered with large glass beer steins filled with beer and plates piled with some sort of meat - roasted pig? roasted horse? roasted American tourists?

Somehow, the word spread that we were Americans, word travels fast in small towns. We were given our own plates of meat and large beer. Then, a young girl came over with a small wooden barrel attached around her neck. She slammed three shot glasses full of liquid down in front of us. What is it? "Schnapps," she shouted above the oompa pa's.

Hey, I love peppermint schnapps, peach schnapps, any schnapps except melon (another story I shouldn't tell) is cool. A free drink to go with the beer and the mystery meat, which I was trying to not eat without suspicions arising. "Why not!"

"Prost" klink of glasses with the young guys now sitting around us and "Aieghhhhhhhhggggghhhh!" That is no peppermint schnapps. That stuff is like what the frat boys used to pour into the punch in the bathtub - everclear . . . moonshine - wicked stuff that burns a whole in your insides. A few minutes later she came back, bringing us another round.

"No thank you," I whispered politely over the accordian music. "Oh you have to take it - it's been paid for and it is not polite to refuse in our culture." This is a scene that would continue throughout the night. I tried to fill up on the small slice of bread accompanying the meat, in order to soak up some of the alcohol that was now being forced on me.

Then, the mayor (burgermeister) of the village stood to make a speech. He spoke of the game that was played, blah, blah, blah and someone kindly translated in my ear. Then, he spoke of the honored guests that have come this evening. These honored guests have come such a long way, they have come from across the ocean . . . in America. . . It's us!!!

Then he asks the musicians to play a song in honor of the honored guests.

The band strikes up a song we all know, and we are asked to stand and sing along with the band, When the Saints Go Marching In, as if it's our favorite song ever. The band continues playing while marching and circling the gathering. We are escorted behind the procession so that everyone is watching us and clapping for this honor they have bestowed on us.

Is this the part when they lead us to a fire pit for roasting?

Terrible cocktail party stories

2008-11-10T12:33:00.005-05:00

Stories I tell that I probably shouldn't because they're not that good:

#1
When I was a young spring chick fresh out of college, I took a trip to Europe with two girlfriends. We had a flight into London, a flight out of Amsterdam and a Eurail pass for in between. We also had a book called, Europe on $25 a day. The exchange rate was awesome that summer.

We met many young people on the trains doing the same thing we were doing. We always asked the people we met on the train, where they had been, what they had done, what they recommend we do, and of course if they wanted to buy us a drink. Several of the people we met recommended that we go to Baden Baden to the roman baths while we were in Germany.

So we did.

We spoke absolutely no German at this point (other than guten tag and ich mochte ein bier). We found our way to the roman baths and paid the few dollars it cost to go through. We started in a locker room on the ladies side and stripped down, then moved on to the first room which was some sort of salt pool, then on to the sauna, then another plunge pool, then a soap massage by a massive german lady, then to the steam room and then to a mineral bath. While my one girlfriend and I lounged in the mineral bath, our other girlfriend was still in the steam room.

Suddenly, a partition next to the pool opened and in ran many naked men. We had no idea, but at a specific time, the bath became coed. We scrunched down so that the water was up close to our necks. We crossed our arms tightly over our chests, since, as you may know, water is clear. The worst part was that our other friend was still in the steam room and had no idea that she would be opening the door in all her glory to a pool full of ogling men. A fellow with an Australian accent approached us and tried to start a conversation with, "have you ever been in a mixing pool before?" We were mortified, but not as mortified as our friend when she opened the door to the pool and saw the splashing and roughhousing that only a group of boys can bring to a pool. She elegantly walked the length of the pool with her head held high and nothing but a grim smile.

This story is okay for Americans, but europeans generally just nod politely as if waiting for the punch line. They don't get the absolute horror rendered on a young girl who was taught all her life that it is not appropriate to show certain parts of your anatomy in public and then to suddenly show those parts to perfect strangers (actually, these strangers were far from perfect).

The picture below is more like the public baths we were used to - notice the overt use of a bathing suit!

Voting

2008-11-04T10:55:00.004-05:00

When we arrived home from the trip abroad (without any luggage), I discovered 3821 messages on my answering machine from crazy politicians. One call was even from Newt Gingrich!!! EEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwWWWWWWWW - how did he get my phone number? Now I have to change my number so Newt, the stalker can't find me.

I know the old saying, but somehow I just discovered in the last 8 years that it's really better not to discuss politics with newly acquired 'friends'. Especially if you live in the south and especially if you are in the homeschooling community and especially if you are not leaning to the extreme far right! I also discovered the hard way that you can't convince extreme right leaning homeschool parents who tell your kids that the dinosaurs lived with Adam and Eve that there might be other, different political options.

I am actually a registered independent, but have voted against Bush in the last two elections. I didn't care if Micky Mouse ran against him. How ironic that he made the 'evil doer' label so well known. What would an evil doer do? Start a war where thousands of innocents die? Destroy a country's standing in the world? Run up huge debts? Crash the economy? In a conversation with friends from Germany, they compared our government to the old East German stasi - spying on all their citizens comings and goings.

My husband voted first today. Only he can get away with calling me from the voting booth to ask me what these propositions mean that we are voting on. Oh, honey, it can't be THAT bad. Just read the words and put them together - you can do it!

When I go and look at the screen, I am suddenly eating my words. I don't know if I say 'yes' to the proposition - am I voting to spend take money from the school system to build roads or to pay $90 million for a park?

Then I notice that 80% of the positions I am voting on have these two options:

1) John Doe, republican

2) Write in

That's the beauty of living in the south. You get unlimited choices - you just have to write them yourself!

There was a cute kid in front of me getting ready to vote for the first time. Perhaps I'm not the only one here leaning away from the right. Youngsters are supposed to be pro Obama - right? Then I watch him leave the building, put on his trucker cap and climb into his big pickup truck with the gun rack, confederate flag and 'W' sticker.

Oh well . . .

Paris' Revenge

2008-11-01T13:14:00.009-04:00

Paris got revenge for the cloud I left (see Warning, Stinky fog . . .) .

When we flew back from Nuremburg to Atlanta, we flew through Paris once again. However, our flight from Nuremburg to Paris was delayed, and we had to run the Charles de Gaulle maze to barely catch our flight back to Atlanta.

Of course, none of our lazy bags (checked in Nuremburg) were willing to make the mad dash. So, we arrived in Atlanta with no luggage.

I deserve it, Paris. Now we're even. I am here in Atlanta without my toothbrush OR my deodorant.

I'm prepared to take the high road . . .

Paris, the stinky fog was my fault. I'm sorry. It won't happen again.

Can I have my suitcase back now?

Have some spooky chicken with your happy package

2008-10-27T07:33:00.014-04:00

This sign was advertising a chicken special in a German restaurant . . . hmmmm . . . no thanks.

This is a mural in East Berlin left over from when east and west were separate. It shows how happy we should be to all do our duty like collecting hay from the fields by hand.

I did not find beer bongs and bathing suits in Prague as I had hoped (see Contest Entry post). But, I did find some other stuff . . .

This sign is offering mulled vine. . . hmmmm

My husband was most interested in this offer . . . Happy Package!!!!!

If your shoes or bike are looking old, try painting them!

Wear white boots in Berlin

2008-10-27T06:55:00.006-04:00

Our trip continues as we travel from Nuremburg to Hannover (unremarkable) and then on to Berlin.

My husband is driving us through Berlin to find a specific cafe he remembers. Why can't we stop at that nice, new looking cafe, I ask him. Why can't we stop at that one that looks like it was brought here from Paris? As he drives by a dozen or so cafes that all look nice and warm.

Oh no, he remembers this very special one. I'm cold and hungry, and I am dreaming of a nice cup of hot chocolate in a warm, cozy seat. We drive down a dead end street, we drive to China, and he is still determined to go to that specific, special cafe he remembers.

On one street, every meter (this is Europe - think metric) or so stands a lovely young lady. Each lady is wearing high-heeled white boots that reach all the way to her thigh. I realize they must be selling something. They must be advertising those fancy white boots. They all have very short skirts on, presumably to show off those boots. A couple of the ladies are not even wearing skirts. They are wearing leotards with their boots. Perhaps they just came from a dance class?

There were several men stopping to talk to the white boot ladies. The men must have been buying boots for their wives - how sweet!!!

Even though my husband grew up in Berlin, he kept getting lost, and we kept driving down that same street where the ladies were selling the boots. I asked him to stop so I could get a pair, but he refused. Perhaps he wants to surprise me with a pair for Christmas.

If you travel to Berlin, and you are female - just remember that white boots are all the rage right now. Definitely get a pair and parade them on the street - you will fit in like a local!

We haven't been to Berlin in over 12 years, so when we finally found the 'special cafe', I felt as though I was transported back in time. Back to a time when food didn't have to be good, tables didn't have to be clean and cafes could be cold and drafty.

Lovely

More trouble

2008-10-20T11:39:00.003-04:00

When we arrived in Nuremburg, I wasn't surprised to not find my suitcase on the conveyer belt which was shuttling belongings through a trap door. How could my suitcase find its way through the labyrinth of the Charles de Gaulle airport when we barely made it to our connecting flight by running and crawling and following the trail of signs.

My first thought upon realizing that no more new pieces were appearing was - lost luggage = the perfect excuse for an 'out of control' shopping spree. With a great excuse, I was able to finagle a detour to the shops. We started in a lovely boutique. I frequent this shop when in Germany and usually have to censor myself to keep from buying more than will fit in my suitcase. However, I don't know if it's the 'breath fumes (see previous post)' or the lack of sleep, but I cannot make a decision and am having trouble even looking at the clothing.

I realize that I have to refocus. What is most urgent at this point? Underwear. I can rewear jeans, even after travelling in them for days and breathing on them with dragon breath. I can borrow a shirt from hubby, and I can sleep in one of his t-shirts, but I cannot re-wear my underwear, not even inside out, and his underwear has a wierd pooch in the front that I have no use for.

So, we head off to the underwear store. Bear in mind, that we are in Germany, and I can speak German just well enough to get around, but it takes a little time for the words to come, especially when I haven't slept.

We find the lingerie store, and there are beautiful European designer pieces that would look fabulous on any self-respecting anorexic model. I begin to walk through the racks and soon realize that a woman is following very closely behind me. I hear her speaking to me, but I ignore her hoping she will go away, because I simply cannot think of the translation for %$&* off! She lags far enough that I don't have to run and duck between the racks any more. Then, another woman is following me and asking me in German if she can help me find something. She spoke too loudly for me to pretend I didn't hear, but I do anyway. Soon, three women are gathered behind me, following every dodge and zag. This is now gang violence in the lingerie store. They are taunting me, speaking German among themselves and laughing . . . at me.

I turn towards them and try out a few of the Tae Kwon Do moves I have seen my son practicing, so they will know they can't mess with me. Then I leave the store with dignity and my head held high, knowing the only underwear I had was the pair I was wearing. Who needs their brand new, clean, non-stinking panties, anyway . . . besides me. We leave the shopping district empty-handed, and I know I wasted my best ever excuse for shopping, thanks to the 'panty gang'.

Finally, we landed in our hotel room approximately 24 hours after leaving the wedding - on virtually no sleep. I brushed my teeth, scrubbing and scraping for 218 minutes continuously. I took a shower for at least 3 hours and put on a nice clean t-shirt of hubby's. I tucked into the clean sheets, knowing I would need to find a good use for that pooch in his underwear tomorrow, because I would be wearing them.

Warning: Dense, stinky fog in Paris

2008-10-20T05:48:00.010-04:00

We've had such a busy October. I knew it would be so, and I tried to gear myself up for nonstop stuff I had to do. Every single weekend was taken up by skating competitions, piano recitals, weddings, etc. Then, my husband's mother got sick. She lives in Germany, and we live in southern part of the U.S. We had to add a trip to Germany into our already packed month.

So, we left from a wedding of our Polish friends, after munching on lobster ravioli and toasting the couple with champagne, we drove directly to the airport. We chose a flight that connected in Paris, since it was the latest flight out.

Once on the very full flight, I was sandwiched between my 6'4" husband who tries not to trip the flight attendants with his legs draped into the aisle and some other French man. We ate around the packaged meal which included a salmon salad that wasn't awful.

Around two hours into the flight, I felt that familiar feeling that always comes on the transatlantic flights. The inside of my legs began to jump like baby rabbits under the skin. It feels like I am trying to contain a zoo within my muscles while confined to a small square area with snoring men on either side of me. It is at this point that I see the worth of the $10,000 business class seats. But, the real trouble is yet to come.

At some point during the flight I do finally fall asleep somehow quieting the bunnies in my legs. When I awaken, I taste the foul, awful thick and noxious cloud that has formed around my nose. I mentally accuse the man next to me for the stinky breath I smell. He is French, after all.

We are served breakfast, so I eat some of the hard, crunchy melon that is supposed to pass as fresh fruit. I then realize it is not my neighbor's breath that's the problem. The fruit tastes like bad breath, and it is coming from my own mouth. Fruit is supposed to help freshen the breath. It doesn't. I realize that I forgot to keep a toothbrush in my purse as I usually do for these flights. The lobster ravioli and the salmon salad have returned as a nasty version of their former selves to haunt me. So, I take a peppermint out of my purse. I can't even taste it through the stinky fog in my mouth.

We leave the plane and begin the long, journey to another gate in order to catch our next flight. The first mile walking through the Charles de Gaulle airport dries my mouth out. I'm so thirsty at this point, I am on my knees begging for water, and the stinky breath fog grows around me. My husband makes me stand up and walk, and the fog extends 10 feet around me. I notice people ahead of me gagging as they walk towards me and then running past to try get away from the stinky breath fog. We then have to walk 18.6 more miles, get on a bus and ride for 34.8 miles, board a train and finally arrive at the next gate. I have now spread the stinky fog all throughout the airport.

Paris, I'm so sorry. Perhaps if you made your airport more efficient, I could have contained it more.

If you have planned a trip to Paris, I suggest you postpone it for a few months to allow the stinky breath fog time to clear. It should be fine by December.

The difference between a hockey mom and a skater mom

2008-10-14T00:32:00.014-04:00

I am a figure skater mom. We're pretty much the same as hockey moms . . . without the lipstick. My daughter has been skating with another girl for about five years. The other girl is cute, she's sweet, she's fine (monotone fine, as in ok, not as in fiiiine - hot fine).

Her mother is different. She has known me for five years. She doesn't know me at all. She talks at me all the time, but she has never listened to anything I've said or noticed anything about me. She is is cordial, and her fashion sense is a bit lacking. A person's style is generally not an issue with me, but stay tuned because hers will become relevant.

We recently both traveled to another state (separately) in order for our daughters to compete regionally. After competing, our daughters were equally apathetic about visiting the historic sites of this city, so we decided to tour it together in order to ease their pain, but to at least walk by the local sites.

At one point, she began to offer me advice for footwear. She asked me if I ever bought shoes from (I don't remember the name, but insert your grandmother's favorite sensible shoe brand), and continued to say how great those shoes were and that I should try them. I never tried those shoes - I prefer that my shoes don't embarrass me in public.

What you have to realize is that when she asked me this, she was wearing . . . . . fake fur-lined house slippers!!!!

No joke. She was seriously giving me shoe advice in her cheapo fake fur-lining on the inside, man-made uppers on the outside house shoes, that she wore specifically for site-seeing in the city!!!!

I sat there in my beautiful (and comfy) Cole Haan shoes and my snappy Diesel skinny (non-mom) jeans listening to her with my mouth agape. Did she notice that I had found the completely perfect city touring shoe that was comfortable, yet stylish and wouldn't make my feet too hot by surrounding them with polyester pile?

I try to keep an open mind and could care less what other people choose to wear, but if someone doesn't ask for your advice on footwear, personally, I think you should keep your advice to yourself or beware the open jaws coming for you, ready to lock down figure skating mom style.

What's Real

2008-10-13T23:36:00.003-04:00

I just returned from a trip to another state. I had trouble on this trip because I have a penchant for things that are real.

I knew I was in trouble when I checked into the hotel, and it was adorned with fake ivy. It was everywhere draped throughout the center of the lobby. It was high up. It was too high to touch, but it was not real. How is it that when someone has hair on their head that isn't real, it is completely apparent to everyone. Everyone except the fake hair wearing person. I think the fake hair is often made from real human hair, but if it's not really the wearer's, it's not real. That's how it was with the fake ivy. I knew instantly it wasn't real. This hotel was supposed to be a 4 star hotel. That hotel would never make it in Atlanta.

The next problem with 'real stuff' was in finding food. I like my food real. I don't like my tea made from a powder. I want it steeped - that's real tea. I don't like cheese from a can. I like my food to be recognizable and fresh. I don't like anything that is made in a lab to taste like something else. When we first got hungry on this trip, we went for pizza. The restaurant looked fine, and it looked like they were making the pizza fresh in the back. The drinks offered were in a cooler. We looked on every label of every drink in the case. Every single drink was sweetened with high fructose corn syrup. I try to avoid corn (see the King Corn movie) in my drinks, because hfcs is not real.

We ordered a cappucino at the rink. It was definitely not real. When a cappucino comes presweetened and excessively so - it's not real!!!

The ultimate in 'not real' would have to be prevalence of altered body parts. You know you spot cosmetic surgery from a mile away. When you look at someone and have that feeling that something is just not right. Get real, y'all!!!

Bad Day

2008-10-01T10:19:00.009-04:00

The other day I had a really bad day. My kids are homeschooled so that I have servants. I can't afford to hire servants, so I had to train them myself - 'homeschooling' !

My daughter had not warmed my tea to the proper temperature. My towels were not heated sufficiently for when I stepped out of the bath, and a vital ingredient had been left out of my morning orange juice - champagne. That was just in the first hour of the day. You can imagine how the day went from there.

My 9 year old son is still learning, so I can't be too upset when the laundry isn't folded perfectly or when he takes forever to iron the sheets for my bed, that's how I roll.
-Segue - since the closet in my room was waaay too small for any self-respecting woman who doesn't wear 'mom jeans' (that's for you Kirsten). I decided to turn my son's bedroom into a 'princess-style' closet. He can sleep on the sofa - he probably won't even notice the change. This is the perfect school project for a 9 year old.-
But, he forgot to use a level and hung the closet bar crooked so that all my clothes bunched up at one end and were completely wrinkled!

I became so frustrated that I decided to 'show them' and just leave without any warning or hint of where I was going. First, I had to finish my morning stretching, but then I would go. Well, I might as well eat lunch since they finished making it . . . then, I'm outa here!

Okay, I was still planning to take off. I needed to 'show them', but first I had to watch the latest episode of Cribs on tv - then . . . I would go. Well, at that point I needed to check my email, but then I would go, and they would be sorry!!! Oops, I got a bit caught up looking at 'stuff on my cat' and watching Sarah Palin have all her witches removed on you tube. I still had to get out of there before I got stuck at the dinner table with them.

So, finally, I walked out the door and got in my car, opened the garage door, slowly backed out of the garage . . . wait, why didn't they run out after me, begging me to stay? Maybe they didn't hear the door slam. I screeched out of the driveway just to be sure they knew. Still, I saw no one peeking out the doors or windows. My cell phone was eerily silent. I began to drive to nowhere - this would show them!!!

I drove around, certain that they were worried sick, but hadn't thought of trying to reach me on my cell phone. It seemed like an eternity, waiting for them to notice I was missing. I wanted to go home.

I waited for my husband to get home so I could make a grand entrance, they could all circle around and tell me how sorry they were and how much they missed me!

So, home I went, driving slowly to keep them in suspense. I eased down the driveway, opened the garage door and drove the car in. After parking and sitting in the car for a sufficient amount of time, pretending to finish listening to something on the radio, I slowly opened the door and made my entrance.

They glanced up at me from the floor they were scrubbing. In my heart I knew the furtive glances meant - we love you!!! we missed you!!! please don't leave us!!! we want to serve you!!!
I knew my husband was just pretending to celebrate that I had been gone. Inside he was completely torn up over my absence.

Fog Piles

Contest Entry

2008-09-27T00:12:00.004-04:00

I recently read about a contest where you can win a 4 - 6 month trip travelling around Europe. Woohoo!!! This could be a short term solution to my teenager management issue. She could stay here with my 9 year old. Meanwhile, my husband could film a reality show about how he handles being a housewife without getting fired from his real job.

To win the contest, you had to answer a question in 200 words. The question was - what country would you most like to visit and why. It's a good thing I'm so knowledgeable about European countries and stuff like that!!!

Here's my entry:

Win a Travel Writing Holiday in Europe

I have wanted to visit Prague for many years. I know very little about Prague, but I do know that it's old. I know that it has been called 'the most beautiful city in Europe'. I don't have any idea who said it, but I understand that it's a convenient way to get your point across without using a direct reference.

I also know that German students travel to Prague for vacation. Since I am from the southeastern United States, this calls to mind crowded beaches and partying kids. I'll be sure to pack my bathing suit and my beer bong! As a 45 year old mother, I don't know where to buy a beer bong or even what one is. Hopefully, they sell them in Prague. After partying there, I can say 'Prague has been called the party capital of Europe'.

I know one person from the Czech Republic, and she has a funny accent. I wonder if all people who live there speak with a funny accent? This question would qualify as an important research topic. I can research this using a funny accent scale devised by myself. Then I can say 'Prague has been called the European city where people speak with the funniest accents.'

These must be Europeans partying, because they are wearing speedos!!!

Fog Piles

WWUD

2008-09-25T12:25:00.006-04:00

Okay, I stopped to get gas around 11:30 am. I was blissfully in my own universe, oblivious to anything other than when my tank would be full so I could move on to my next adventure. I was rudely stirred out of my fog by calls of 'help me, help me'. Since I fancy myself as a sort of mild mannered superhero, I cannot ignore such calls.

I looked around to see a woman parked to the side of the lot in an suv with her windows rolled down. I began to walk towards her car when she said again, 'help me, I'm drunk!'

#@%&*. I'm already committed to help the poor sot because I walked halfway across the lot. I can't now turn around because she's drunk. So, I walk up to the open window and ask her what's going on.

First she tells me her hands are sticky, and she doesn't know what to do. I immediately tell her to crank up the car and get home. She should be at home or out in a night club, not in the gas station parking lot. She was wasting her good time! There are children around, for goodness sakes. She should be a good example for them by driving herself home!

Well, she didn't want to drive and just kept complaining about her sticky hands. I walked all the way back to my car to get her some wet wipes, hoping that was all she required from my superheroness. After giving her the wipes, she was surprised they were wet. Drunk people are so cute. Especially when they are over 60, overweight and haven't washed their hair in over a week. She still doesn't want to leave. Finally, I offer to buy her a cup of coffee. She agrees that she could use some coffee. After all she has a half bottle of bourbon left and needs something to mix it with!

I left her with the coffee and the bourbon, hoping she would finish it off and finally head home. Superhero duty done for the day - it's a tough job being a mild-mannered superhero!

Fog Piles

Oh Girl

2008-09-24T22:40:00.007-04:00

Okay, I have a 14 year old daughter. I always laughed with everyone else when anyone joked about their 'problems raising a teenager . . . blah blah blah'. I always thought it would be fun and funny to have a teenager.

In the last few weeks I discovered - this teenager stuff is crazy. I have no idea what to do with the alien that came in and took over my sweet angel's body.

Here are some strategies I have decided to climb my way through in order to survive:
1. Take away the toys (cell phone, wii, computer time, food, shelter, etc.)
2. Take away any social activities
3. Take away the teen's bedroom
4. Make teen sleep in tent outside
oops - that's how I got myself in loads of trouble as a teen

5. Give her extra chores
she never had time to do any because she spends hours and hours in the bathroom 'getting ready'
6. Log in on her facebook page and curse out all her friends
7. Let her do whatever she wants to do
8. Develop a close relationship with valium for the next four years

I'm just on #5 so far, but I'm soooo looking forward to #8

Yours,

Fog Piles

Funny

2008-09-21T22:48:00.007-04:00

It's funny how much I love comedy - watching it live, reading it, hearing it or just reading funny blogs. I just can't figure out how they do it!

I did discover a favorite new blog that totally cracks me up - soccer mom files:
momjeans blogger

In honor of soccer mom and her pimp name, I decided to post my Palin name.
If I was Sarah Palin's daughter, my name would be Fog Piles Palin.

You can find your Palin name here:
baby name generator

Yours,

Fog Piles

Still lonely

2008-09-20T22:02:00.003-04:00

He was supposed to be home on Thursday. His mother's situation didn't allow him to leave. He will now be home on Tuesday. I have 3 more nights alone(with the kids) waiting for him.

I feel like I am moving through pudding. I don't feel motivated. I hate to feel dependent on him.

His mother seems to be hiding behind her spiritual pursuits. Since we spent years doing the same, we can't really complain. Will the doctors in the hospital see through her excuses and strong exterior so that she can get real help? Will we be dealing with the mental illness for years to come?

When is a painting finished?

2008-09-17T23:16:00.003-04:00

Is it done? It's always an issue I struggle with - probably with every piece of art I do.

When I am painting a piece for someone else, it is doubly difficult because I have to give the piece over and can't bust out my paints and brushes if I happen to visit and notice something in the piece that bothers me.

Hmmmmm . . . is it done?

Tea party

2008-09-15T21:32:00.005-04:00

We're trying to get back into the 'school' mode. One of the schooling activities that brings us together and we all enjoy is the tea party. I discovered this idea from Julie Bogart's Bravewriter website, bravewriter.com. Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to make any baked goods today. That's a huge bummer because I love to bake. So, we pulled together some chocolate covered pistachios, some sweet crabapples from our csa, some smores left over from last night.

Julie posts adorable pictures of homeschool families having tea time. My kids wouldn't let me take their pictures, so I only got these.

We started our tea time by each picking a poem to share by reading aloud. Then, we continued our reading of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. I had read another mother's attempt at getting her son to read this book. She could not get him to read it - he thought it was boring and dated. When she started reading it aloud to him (and he was 12 - way too old to admit to being read to), he started asking for it. I had the same experience when trying to get both of my kids to read it.

I went to dailylit.com and signed up to receive Huckleberry Finn per email daily - and it's free!!! I saved the emails, so we could read them during tea time. Now, it is hard to move on with our day, because we all want to hear about Huck's next round of mischief.

What happened?

2008-09-13T00:42:00.005-04:00

I'm here. He's in Germany. I miss him. I can't sleep alone.

A part of me loves to stay up late and watch movies. Jerry Maguire happens to be on right now. It's such a great movie - one of the few I don't mind watching again. I'd rather be getting a good snuggly night sleep.

Enter cheesey line from Jerry Maguire - 'he completes me or show me the money or he had me at hello'

Only 3 more nights alone - after tonight!

Movie Week

2008-08-27T23:13:00.004-04:00

Since we haven't started our 'official' schooling yet, we decided to try a transition from summer freedom into 'official schooling' time.

Typically, we have time restrictions on screen time. This means all screens including tv, computer and video games. You know, anything with a screen that will seek out a child's attention and then grab hold of their innocent souls, sucking on the purity and goodness until all that's left is the rotten core that demands more and more screens and more and more screen time!

If you homeschool and have figured out a way around restricting screen time while maintaining some intelligence in your kids, by all means - let us in on the secret.

Anyway, for our transition we chose to declare last week . . . movie week!!! It is a week where the kiddos get unlimited screen time - for movies only. Of course, it give me an excuse to watch tons of movies, as well. I tried to sprinkle in some with historical or literary significance, but any age appropriate movie would do.

My son decided to watch the Star Wars movies in order.

We also watched all sorts of movies including
The Mission, Amadeus, How to Eat Fried Worms, Romeo and Juliet, Dances With Wolves, To Catch a Thief, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, Facing the Giants, King Corn, Casablanca and more to be remembered.

A Teaching Moment

2008-08-25T01:51:00.003-04:00

Today I enjoyed the beauty of a 94 degree day by agreeing to sit outside with my 8yo son at a local restaurant for lunch. We sat for a few moments watching the adorable petite birds peck around outside, looking for crumbs. They were the only others brave enough to enjoy lunch outside on such a day.

Tias, my son, looked thoughtfully for a moment and then stated that if he were president, he would make McDonald's illegal, because it is unhealthy. He quickly followed with, "can the president make something like McDonald's illegal?"

Okay, I did not intend to villainize a fast food restaurant. I merely intended to bring up my children appreciating the sheer joy of eating fresh, tasteful and healthy food. Somehow, in an 8yo's mind if you don't eat somewhere that all your friends frequent, it must be vilified.

I took the question as the opportunity it was to explain the three branches of government, created to dissuade such actions as the president outlawing restaurants he doesn't like. I watched his eyes glaze over as I moved on to philosophy. "How would you feel if someone outlawed sugar because it isn't healthy?" I followed with the idea that it is quite difficult to balance keeping people safe and allowing us humans the freedoms promised by our forefathers. *glaze*

We returned our attention to the lovely birds flitting around us. By this time, the waitress had dropped off our bread basket and scurried back into the air conditioned restaurant. We began tearing off pieces of the bread and throwing crumbs to the lone bird brave enough to venture close to us. The crumbs attracted other birds, and we enjoyed watching their interactions.

One bird, Birdie, was watching us with interest, looking out for where more crumbs might fall. Standing very close to Birdie was another bird that was slightly bigger and very loud. No matter where Birdie went the obnoxious bird was inches away squawking and manically fluttering its wings. We both knew from all the nature shows we had seen together that this was the male's lame attempt at courting. So, I steered to the subject of health.

"What methods do human males use to make themselves attractive to human females?" I received an answer in the form of a shrug.

I started listing ways I could think of, hoping he would take the bait and chime in. Instead I got another shrug and a muted 'maybe' in agreement.

I then took the opportunity to steer the conversation to 'gentlemanly behavior'. I began saying how girls are attracted to boys who are kind and treat others with respect. *glaze*

So, I got in some U.S. government, animal behavior science, philosophy and sociology lessons. I'm sure these morsels will be treasured for years to come.

Spring Travel

2008-08-24T21:34:00.006-04:00

In May, I coaxed husband into taking myself, my 9 year old son, Matthias, my 14 year old daughter, Sydney, and her friend of the same age, Maddie, along on his business trip to Germany.

My son had been longing to see the Eiffel tower for months. My daughter's friend had never been to Europe or even travelled on an airplane before. So, we decided to take the opportunity for a stopover in Paris, in order to quench my son's craving and make Maddie's trip more memorable. Our flight would leave Atlanta ~8pm, arriving in Paris ~ 11am (Paris time). We would then have to catch a flight from Paris to Nuremburg at 8pm. We only had about seven hours, so we made it a quickie tour of Paris. . .

After landing in Charles de Gaulle airport with very little sleep, we took the train into Paris, stopping off at Notre Dame. We walked a bit until finding the Louvre. We then decided to stop in a cafe for some limonades and orangina before continuing our trek. We wisely chose to hail a cab to reach our main destination, since the kids had begun to lag behind. My husband asked the driver to take us down the Champs, by the Arc de Triomphe to Trocadero. Picture five of us sitting in the taxi with the windows down and arms jockeying for a position to take pictures as we yelled out, "look, Armani . . . Prada . . . Louis Vuitton, Fouquet's! That's the Arc de Triomphe!" as we drove along the wide tree-lined famous street.

The climax of our 7 hour tour was just around the corner when the driver jokingly told everyone to look to the left. The Eiffel Tower was actually on our right, and there was an audible gasp when the kids caught on and finally saw it.
We walked through the Trocadero with renewed energy, wading through the crowds, stopping only to gawk at the live statues and street performers. We saw hip hoppers dancing, Tai chiers tai chiing, rollerbladers skating, skate boarders boarding around Trocadero. Many others chose to get relief from the heat by splashing around in the fountain.

We finally made our way to the Tower and walked under it. Unfortunately the line just to buy tickets in order to go up was snaking forever. We knew we couldn't take a chance on our timing, so going up wasn't an option.

After leaving the Tower, we walked away from the crowds expecting to easily hail another taxi. Not so fast. We walked a while, waited a while and continued to a taxi stand. We stood next to another couple from the states who had been waiting a while. After several taxis passed the taxi stand, we decided to move on. A few blocks over we finally found a taxi that would stop and take us to our next destination, Mont Martre.

When we arrived at Mont Martre, several of us had to relieve ourselves from the limonade we drank earlier. We found a WC, conveniently located right where we were dropped off. I think this was a shocking experience for Maddie, as the 'men's ' room was located next to the women's, only separated by a partial, chest-high partition. A disturbing sight for me, but especially for a 14-year-old girl who has never out of the sterile confines of the United States.

The view, of course, was breathtaking, and there was a group singing right on the steps of Sacre Coeur, adding a poignant soundtrack to our final moments in Paris. The kids were really dragging at this point, so we started heading back to a train station. Luckily, we happened upon a crepe stand and used sugar as a boost to make it the last few blocks to the train. At this point, I considered that I might have to carry Sydney. She and Maddie had not slept at all on the flight, so she was reaching a state of beyond tired.

Once at the station, we had trouble with the ticket machine and ended up standing in the station for a while, waiting in line to buy tickets. When we finally sat down in the old vinyl seats on the dirty train. Our bodies were thanking us for the relief. Sydney was quickly lulled to sleep by the chugging of the train. We made it back to the airport but had to run through security and to our gate. We did cut it a little close, but the quickie tour was a success, and the kids will never forget the first time they saw Paris.

Summer Produce

2008-08-23T23:58:00.006-04:00

I can't believe my luck. I found an organic csa (community sponsored agriculture) about a mile away from my house! We pay an amount at the beginning of the season then show up once a week to pick up our share of whatever was harvested that week. The weekly bounty serves as great inspiration for new recipes. In addition, I just found a 'pick your own' blueberry farm just a half mile from our csa. We've lived in our house for 5 years and eaten organic for ~20 years. How did I not find these gems before? Did they just appear in my reality as God's answer to my prayers?

Pictured you see one such recipe. I simply tore up the leafy green kale, and put it in the bottom of the casserole dish with a bit of olive oil. I chopped up the colorful assortment of purple cauliflower, pearl onions and yellow squash. Then, I coated the vegetable mixture in olive oil and sprinkled on some freshly ground celtic salt and tossed in some basil and rosemary, freshly snipped from my herb garden. I completely covered the greens with the squash mixture to keep the kale from crisping and topped the entire assortment with a sprinkling of cheddar and parmesan cheeses.

I baked the casserole in a 400 F. oven for approximately 30 minutes.

Even my 9 year old son commented on the deliciousness!