Perspective

I've always been one of those people for whom face-to-face verbal exchanges are nothing short of excruciatingly painful.  Plainly put:  I hate to talk.  Nuance, undercurrent, irony and body language are lost on me and I'm left with a vague sense of unease...much like a rider who's left standing at the stop in an unsavory part of town watching the safe haven of the bus as it rumbles down the road.  Things are, to my way of thinking, so much better in print.  Unfortunately, life doesn't work like that and fortunately, I'm smart enough to appreciate that fact.

I'm a 'muller', a think it out to its conclusion type of person.  Not to be confused with a mullet, that awful hairstyle made famous by Billy Ray Cyrus, bless his hick heart.  My Dad recently referenced a childhood habit of mine where I'd chew the same mouthful of food for what seemed like an eternity.  To him, this only made the morsel bigger.  For me, it was a matter of making it smaller and easier to tolerate on the way down.

You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to.  Each of us is our own microcosm of idiosyncrasies.  It's what makes us interesting...or irritating...or intolerable.

I've been thinking a great deal lately about WHY I'm overweight.  It would be simple (and as it turns out, wrong) to say it's too much food and not enough exercise.  It's far harder to type it out and say it's because I allowed it to happen.  I couldn't stop the unkind words that pelted me day in and day out for four hellish years.  I hated getting up in the morning, knowing the snide comments that were in store and dreading if I ever got caught alone.  I remember my parents showing up on campus in an attempt to fix things...my Dad's frustration and anger and my Mom's upset.  Did it help?  Not particularly, but it somehow made the whole experience 'okay' because they'd made a stand on my behalf and it gave me just a teensy bit of confidence to make a stand for myself.  At the end of those four years, I was outta there, through, never to return.  And I haven't gone back, not once, not even to drive past. 

Not physically anyway.

Mentally, I packed it all up and made a decision to carry it forward into what is now my present life.  I didn't even have the mental foresight to pack it in wheeled suitcases, for Pete's sake!  Oh no, no,no...not me.  I found the sturdiest, stoutest set of mental luggage possible, the kind that bangs into your ankles with every step.  In-de-struc-tible.

I've carried it with me for twenty-two years and used it to build a wall around myself where no one gets in unless I let them.  Like the Great Wall of China, only shorter and squishier.  Somehow, by making myself bigger physically, I thought I'd insulate my feelings, but of course that doesn't fly now does it?  But, as it turns out, I'm a fairly funny fat girl. 

I hate her.  I hate that I let it go on this long.  I hate that as smart as I am, I've repeatedly and with exceptional enthusiasm, made stupid choices because it hurt too much to give a good long hard look at what was really bothering me.  It's not the unkind words or food that's made me this way.  It's me.

Dear Hubby, after almost twenty years together, has learned with a fair degree of accuracy, how to read my moods and can gauge his response accordingly.  Am I sporting that bug-eyed, teeth-bared look?  Then it's time for him to give the wide-eyed holy shit look and slowly back out of the room.  More often than not, it's a pat here, a forehead kiss there, a hug while I snivel and an occasional "Did I do it?" thrown in for good measure.  I've married myself a good man, y'all.  He knows when I say "I'm working something out" to just let it be.  It's not something he can or should fix even though it goes against every male instinct to fix the problem and move on to something more interesting.  Like NASCAR or nooky.

I've been giving myself some swift kicks and decided while I can't change Then, I can change Now.  It's sufficient for me to say I am enough.  Whether someone else believes I am or not, isn't my concern.

I.
Am.
Enough.

Finally!

I wish I'd had my new (bifocal) glasses for quilt retreat so I'd be a little more used to them.  Who knew it took that long to craft new lenses?  At first, I couldn't tell much difference but I've discovered going up and down stairs is a bit of a crapshoot right now.  People were probably wondering what I was on...hey, I'm high on life, okay!!  And turning my head from side to side is a HUGE no-no...I'm really gonna have to learn to slow down.  Who knew you could get nauseous just standing still?  The tech at the optometrist's optimistically said everything would even out in about a week.  I think she lied, but she told me they looked nice on me so...

What do you think?  Meh...I'm not sure.  #2 told me she missed my old glasses already and #1 has yet to notice.  We'll see how long it takes DH to notice them.  I've often said the only way to get his attention is to lay naked across the hood of his '68 Roadrunner but he'd only notice to tell me not to scratch the paint.

Maybe they'll grow on me.

Then again, so does fungus.

A New Habit

No, I'm not entering a convent.  As Blanche Devereaux from the TV show Golden Girls once famously said about becoming a nun, "There's that word 'none'".  I'm talking about healthy habits that involve things I hate like leafy greens, spandex and sweat.  Blech! 

I've always liked this quote attributed to Joan Rivers:
I don't workout.  If God had intended for me to bend over, He would've put diamonds on the floor.

But, as a co-worker earnestly stated during a discussion of healthy living and exercising, babies need their mama.  Too true.  Mind you, I'm one of those folks that jumps right into any new endeavor, makes a go of it for about a week and then quits because I get burned out, bored or hurt.

I'm forcing myself to go slow (and I don't like it, not one little bit) and have successfully managed to walk a mile a day since the beginning of April.  I know it's only been fourteen days, smart aleck.  If I wanted sarcasm, I'd talk to the kids!!

Where was I?  Oh, yes...

So, fourteen miles in fourteen days with that same voice whispering for me to skip it just this once which leaves me to snark back Doom on you, devil and I walk anyway.  Did you feel the Earth shake this afternoon?  Yep, I RAN...not the country, I mean the exercise.  Yeah, that was me, running a whole 4/10ths of a mile...whoop-dee-do!  I just kept asking Jesus for a little more wind beneath my wings.  Frankly, I think He put His hands on my back and gave a good shove.  Whatever works, right?

I'm trying not to think ahead and plot plan my next healthy habit, which is really tough since I like lists and planning and being organized.  I've got another couple weeks to hustle onward before the month is through.  I've already lost three pounds and I'm trying not to think of all the ones I still have to lose.  Ugh!  I really hate to sweat and look absolutely wretched all red-faced.

If you made a 30 day effort to forge a new habit, what would it be?  Feel free to share in my misery.

Stickin' It To The QP

I've heard of the Quilt Police but haven't ever actually met one of their rank...or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.  This might also explain why I'm not currently wearing neon and living behind bars.

Charming lass, isn't she?  Looks like she could bite the head off a 16-penny nail. 

She's intended to be a hanging of some sort, but I thought she looked better like this...

I debated between rice and crushed walnut shells...if she starts sprouting we'll know I didn't choose wisely.  As she is now suits my mood just fine and it's been very cathartic stabbing her with my butterfly-head pins.  Scary, ain't it?

Even though she's a whipped WIP, I do believe I'll link up to WiP Wednesday at freshly pieced. 

Happy quilting, y'all and if you run into me, beware...I still got a lotta pins left ;)

The Week Thus Far

I know, I know it's only Monday but if this is what the rest of the week's gonna be like I'll have to break out the Xanax...again.

Paige and I dropped in on a new church yesterday.  I am a terrible mother.  We read Bible stories, we have long discussions about what Jesus would want us to do, but we don't go to church and I often ask myself if God's everywhere why go to church.  Well, duh you heathen (I'm saying this to myself, mind you) it's about community...everyone's slogging through the same slime and in a church family you've got someone to lean on that's been there, done that.  It was a lovely sermon, the people welcoming and the music very nice.  And I got to have Communion which I haven't in ages.  I guess I should be grateful the place didn't cave in on me.  In addition to the scripture lesson, I learned something else...call it a life-lesson if you will.  Hugs from church ladies are like contractions: they gather in frequency, are inevitable and you best just roll with 'em.  I got my fair share yesterday, from total strangers...and it was nice :)

I'm guessing that yesterday was the slow build-up to the absolutely craptastic day I had today.  I'm sorry folks, but it sucked monkey nuts!  I'm standing there in my little corner of hell when the phone rings and the voice intones Mrs. Bowen.  This is it, the-just-lay-it-on-me-and-finish-me-off to what had been nothing but a series of sucky events.

I started crying.  Yes, I am a sissy.  A smart-aleck, but a sissy nonetheless.

As it turns out, it was (brace yourselves) GOOD NEWS!  An anonymous donor had paid half the kids school tuition for the next month.  O. M. Golly-gee!  Didn't I get the note he wanted to know.  Why, no, I didn't because it's probably in the bottom of #1's backpack but I'll take it anyway...WHOHOO!!

So, after we hung up I proceeded to really bawl like a baby.  Sissy.

In my mailbox this afternoon was a lovely bundle of fabric happiness from my blogging buddy Miss Betty in Louisiana.

The bulk of it is already cut into strips and I'm plotting a Christmas-y jelly roll type quilt already...heehee!  Thank you, Betty!

I firmly believe there is a God (that's a capital G, by the way) and that He speaks to me.  For some reason, I've always waited for a big, booming voice and a Gibbs from NCIS-style head smack when all the while, He's whispering and tapping me on the shoulder.  The events of the week so far prove that He's all about the little things...no big fireworks display for Him and that I need to pay closer attention.  So, I'll start my week by saying thanks to Him for sending blessings our way everyday even when I'm too thick-headed to notice and to our family's anonymous benefactor and to Miss Betty for her well-timed care package.

Please remember in prayer my Quilting Corner friends who've lost a special friend, Renee B and remember too that it really is the little things that make a big difference whether you think so at the time or not. 

Your friendship means the world to me, you guys.  Thanks.

What a Concept

It's official:  motherhood bites.

Sure, there're those rare instances when the diaper's full and it's Dad's turn for KP duty, but eventually Lady Luck packs her bags and hightails it south where breezes carry the scent of tropical blooms, not Lysol spray.  Such is life.  I choose to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

So, here's the deal: Co-Def 1, in an unfortunate moment of unfiltered tween one-upsmanship, informed a group of classmates that he'd had sex.  Yep, you read that right.  Thankfully, it's not true, therefore he's still alive and I'm not sporting a jumpsuit of some ghastly shade of neon orange. 

Notified by phone, betwixt the curb-side convo with Co-Def 2's teacher regarding sorely lacking self-control and canine, indoor (on the carpet, of course) Montezuma's revenge, I barely restrained my Oh, shit! and opted instead for my quasi-Japanese AIYAA!

I love going to the Principal's office.  It feels so cozy, familiar...you know, like home.  And nothing, absolutely noth-ING, beats running into one of those kids' moms on the way inside.  After offering the sincerest of apologies to her, she asked What. Has. He. Been. Watching?

Back up the Blame Bandwagon, DramaMama.  What's he been watching?!?  Well, hmm, let's see, uh National Geographic because we had to cancel the Playboy Channel on account of the bad economy and all.  WHAT'S! HE! BEEN! WATCHING?!?

I've always been honest with my kids about all things body and sex related.  They ask and I'll give an age-appropriate answer.  At age 5, Babies come from God was sufficient.  Yesterday, I wasn't too certain where the little shits came from, but I bet dollars to donuts it's probably got a fairly hot climate. 

I'm also a stickler for proper names or terms.

• It's penis, not tallywacker.
• They're testicles, not tenders or nuggets.  Ten bucks says you snicker the next time you're in the Golden Arches drive-thru...and no, anabolic steroids don't shrink them until they disappear--this isn't vanishing deductible from Geico.
• Hasta la vista, hooha and coochie.  Hola, vagina.

As sex-crazed as American society is, you'd think parents would pull that stick out of their collective posterior and get down to brass tacks.  You think I'm joking about 13 year-olds giving birth or 15 year-olds with chlamydia?  Go ahead, call my bluff.

I firmly believe God created sex specifically for a married couple, couple in this instance meaning one man and one woman, to enjoy together until they drop dead of unbridled exhiliration or old age.  Fine, great.  But, you're not off the hook by simply saying It's sacred and special and we'll talk about it when you're older.  Wake the hell up, already!  You want to believe Sex, what's THAT? go ahead and knock yourself out.  I hope the view up your behind is divine.  But, fair warning here:  Christians get STDs and they can, oopsies, get pregnant, too.

Part of my parenting job is the privilege (no, I'm not joking) of making myself available to answer those questions that make me long for the day when the only thing coming from that kid's mouth was slobber.  At age 12, there's no glossing it over and if it's as special and sacred as God intends it to be, then my answers had better be just as thoughtful and thorough.  I just wonder why Dear Hubby's never around for these teachable moments.

My only regret, is that another parent's privilege to introduce their child to such a sensitive topic was preempted by my child's thoughtless comment.  Not okay.

So, what's he been watching?

RIO, that movie about a blue macaw on the loose in Brazil who, I'd like to point out, was sent there by his owner for the express purpose of procreating.  If you let your kids watch this movie, congratulations, you're a bad parent just like me.  Welcome to the dark side.

Where'd my son learn about sex?

At home.

From his PARENTS.

Tastes Like Chicken

Extensive scientific observation, which is to say, mothering, has taught me that children are a lot like politicians.  Most are charming, persuasive and, typically, as is the case with my kids, pretty darn good lookin', too.  The flip side is that they can be (and usually are) sneaky, underhanded and conniving.  Bill Clinton's got nothing on my kids 'cause they can shade the crummy truth 'til the finished product resembles a Rembrandt painting, ya'll.  If either of the Co-Defendants ever ran for public office, they'd win for sure.  Although unspoken, they're philosophy is 'What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine.'  See, what'd I tell you?  Politicians, for sure.

Things routinely go missing in our home, only to pop up in the oddest locations.  Scotch tape in the underwear drawer.  A mini-set of screwdrivers gettin' down with the Legos.  Glue?  Scissors?  Nail clippers?  Check the kids' rooms first...and get back to me when you find out where they've hidden my sanity.

So, yesterday afternoon, it should've come as no surprise that, when I needed one most, I couldn't find a band-aid to save my life.  For the record, I don't keep them in the bathroom where they belong.  No, no.  I hide them because the Co-Defendants consider them fashion accessories, not medical devices. 

I ranted, I raved; no one confessed.  Are you surprised? 

Two hours later, despite both kids' rooms being ransacked, no band-aids,  but, you could see carpet...at least, I think it's carpet, it's been so long.  AND they learned something new...trashcans are for....TRASH!  Who knew all that crap wasn't supposed to go UNDER THE BED?!

Exhausted and peeved, I sat while Dear Hubby made dinner.  If that's part of what it's like to be a man, sign me up 'cause I could sooo get used to someone else slingin' the hash...that and the being able to pee standing up thing they do.  Fifteen minutes into my Post-Rant rant, I got one of those feelings that can be summed up thusly: Oh, sh*t!  Trudging to the nearest cabinet, I found, cleverly ensconced in a dry-goods canister, my stash of band-aids.

Sorry, Hubby, I'm not gonna be hungry 'cause I'm havin' crow tonight....YUMMO!

Modern (In)Conveniences

I believe it was Greek philosopher, Plato, who said 'Necessity is the mother of invention' and he was right.  Wherever would we be without things like fire, the wheel, penicillin and HDTV?  And let us not forget 100% cotton fabric and a rotary cutter--oh, you're not a quilter?  How........odd.

Then, there are those things that, although lovely to gaze upon (Hugh Jackman, anyone?) or while away an hour or two (hellooo, Facebook), are really nothing more than time drains and just another item to be marked off the ever-lengthening list of things requiring my attention.

Which leads me to where I am at this moment.  Contrary to what some may believe based on actual, almost daily, face-to-face interaction, hurting feelings or just generally being irksome, isn't my goal.  Actually, my e-vile plan is simply to drive folks over the edge and around the bend..which is where I am.  I am not so vain as to believe that 'un-friending' people will alter irrevocably the surface of their social landscape or leave them curled in a fetal position whilst sucking a thumb.  But I'm too damn tired to message each individual friend (ones I've actually met in the flesh); virtual friend; passing acquaintance; co-worker; and yes, even family so this will just have to do.

No, I'm not closing it all down entirely.  I'm just doing some serious pruning of the Facebook vines.  If you choose to go that route and be offended, so be it, but that's on you.  I wish you well and, should we run into one another down the road (and for some of you, we definitely will), understand that it's not you, it's me.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu.

Moody Gardens

Of all the sights we saw in Galveston, I must say my hands-down favorite was Moody Gardens.  We spent over six hours there and STILL didn't get to do everything there was to do and the kids had so much fun, they forgot to argue the entire afternoon!  Now, that's what I call FUN!!  Although it was very humid and putting on makeup was beside the point 'cause it just slid off my face, we all enjoyed mid-80 to mid-90 degree weather.  Back home, it was a sweltering 108!

There were three pyramids: Aquarium, Rainforest and Discovery and each one had at least two floors. 

The Aquarium Pyramid was the kids' favorite...

...aww, don't they look like they just loooove one another?  Smile like you mean it!!

This tunnel was pretty cool, surrounded by sharks and rays.  It was about this time that Seth wondered out loud what would happen if the glass cracked that Mommy had to pause and pop a pill.  Nice goin', kiddo!

The ray, Paige's all-time favorite!

Mom and Dad's favorite...the shark cage!  Too bad there wasn't a lock ;)

The offspring and Daddyo!

The Rainforest Pyramid had lots of gorgeous flowers and foliage which I will save for another post for all you folks with green thumbs (that would not include me, although I can dream).  This pyramid was MY favorite.

Please don't ask me to tell you what this was, but it was about two feet from my face...very cute, very furry...time to go!  Did I mention I'm not a nature-lover?

And finally, the Dino Alive exhibit, just outside the Discovery Pyramid, had life-sized animatronic dinosaurs that the kids just thought was AWESOME, MOM!!

For some reason, Randy Travis' song Diggin' Up Bones just comes to mind.  Sorry, I'm just weird that way!

We all watched (even Daddyo, who managed NOT to hurl...whohoo!) a 3D movie about prehistoric underwater life called Sea Rex.  Please don't ask for details because, yes I freely confess, I fell asleep!  But so did someone else's dad, so I don't feel so bad...nyah, nyah, nyah! 

And I managed to escape the waterpark without getting my photo snapped...go ME!!





 

That's Stupid With A Capital 'S'

Contrary to what my children believe and may even tell you given the right incentive, I am not a stupid woman.  Or, at least, I didn't used to think so, but now I'm not too sure.

I generally refrain from asking Dear Hubby any question regarding my appearance because, to be honest, his gaze rarely makes it past my boobs and if the issue in question isn't swinging from my bodacious rack, he couldn't give a fig.  Last evening, I lost what was left of my freakin' mind after my well-documented 'Bathroom Breakdown' and asked what I can only call one of my all-time stupidest questions ever.

Me to Dear Hubby: 'I don't get it.  Why the hell does everyone think Kim Kardashian is so hot because of her ginormous ass?  So's mine, so does this make me hot?'  (I can see you cringing.  Wait for it..it gets worse.)

Hubby to Me: 'Well, her butt goes like this...' (At this point, he holds his hands in front of him as if cupping the butt in question and moves them back toward himself demonstrating that her butt pooches straight out.)  'As opposed to this...' he continues (At this point, he again holds his hands in front of him and moves them apart as if demonstrating the polarizing properties of magnets.) 

As Professor I. Just Fubard continued with his Booty Lecture, he began to slump further into the recliner like a jellyfish washed in with the tide and by the end of it all, he was sporting an expression that fairly shouted Oh, shit, I hope she doesn't go all Lorena Bobbitt on me!   You remember Ms. Bobbitt, don't you?  I forget what her Dear Hubby's transgression was, but she whacked off Mini Hubby and flung it from her car window.  I wonder if she'd like a pen-pal.

Dear Family

A WORD OF CAUTION:
I'm about to embark on a full-out rant.  If  you subscribe to the theory that a mother and wife would never, publicly or privately, ass-chew her family or curse a blue streak, you'll want to skip this post.

Let me start by saying, in print, so that it may be recorded for posterity, that I wholeheartedly love my Dear Hubby and Sweet Offspring.  I would not be the person I am without them in my life.  'What I am' on any given day depends on my mood, the phase of the moon and what I like to term compliance with generally accepted standards of personal space.  I am either:

1) Endlessly and forever enamored of all things 'family'; their various bodily expulsions (You mean your children can't fart on command?  Oh, bless your heart!), and their ability to make me melt with a head tilt/eyelash flutter/sincerely delivered 'I love you, Mama' (I love you too, dear.  Now, tell me what you really want).

OR

2) I'm the lone passenger on Batshit-Crazy Airlines to Looneyland with a brief layover at Tranquilizertown.

I'll leave you to guess what today was for me.  No, smart-ass, I'm not talking Independence Day.

Dear Hubby and I have been married fourteen years; our eldest will turn twelve next month.  So, in fourteen friggin' years, I have not bathed, showered, peed or pooped without a big person, little person(s) or four-legged child crashing my party of one.  We live IN A TWO BATHROOM HOUSE ya'll!  Three out of five occupants pee outside because that's what pets do or, for the two-leggeds, just for shits and giggles.  What is it about my bathroom occupation that's such a crowd pleaser?  When the offspring were little, I was one of those lucky mommies who had her own Pep Squad... Yay, Mommy pee-peed in da potty!  Have I missed something?  Is this really the 50 yard line at Cowboys Stadium, Talladega or game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals?  And all along I thought it was my bathroom...silly Mommy!

Perhaps it's because, while seated or dripping wet, I am for all intents and purposes, a captive audience.  And don't get me started on the one time I had the balls to (gasp!) lock the bedroom door.  'What if you'd fallen', Hubby intoned in his best Darth Vader imitation.  Well, I could've hit my head or busted out some pearly whites, but guess what, they give you PAIN MEDS in the Emergency Department that make you very sleepy...it would've eventually been QUIET which is what I was going for in the first place!

I do not need, nor desire, anyone else's presence while I'm tending to my business.  Wife in the shower should never be equated with booty call.  I am not looking for sex covered in soap suds, shampoo dripping into my eyes, razor in hand.  I am dirty (not Christina Aguilera 'dirrrty'), tired and am looking for the only in-house source of peace and quiet.  I do not care that your sibling has accused you of ingesting nose goblins (don't lie--I've seen it in living color) or that you've been called a slang term for male genitalia (frankly, there are times when you ARE one.  Just sayin').  I do not care that the boo-boo you got two years ago doing something I told you specifically not to do and which has left a rather nice scar, inexplicably hurts and hell, no I won't kiss it and unless you're experiencing voluminous blood loss or the house is aflame, all I want is for you to GET OUT, GET OUT NOW!

I wasn't aware that every time I set foot inside the bathroom, I'm setting myself up for some kind of time trial: zero to flush in 60 seconds. 'Sorry, you've failed to qualify because that last pass was 0.02 seconds longer than last time'.  Also, please trust me when I say that my posterior largesse prevents me from falling in.  WTH!?!

Unless you want graphic details of my toileting or bathing exploits (and now's a good time to remember that I work in a hospital laboratory and our idea of 'cool' and 'good time' involves bodily secretions, excretions, parts and the occasional parasite and that I know any number of descriptive medical terms which will forever turn you off to eating peas, carrots and blue icing or from ever having carnal knowledge of anyone, ever) I'd suggest you just let the matter drop and let me enjoy a modicum of tranquility.

All my love,
Mom

Gold on the Inside

I wanted so desperately for him to win a ribbon at the UIL competition last week.  He'd picked spelling...an 800 word list to study, but hey, he's a VERY good speller.  'Please, Lord', I pleaded, 'let him win a ribbon.  Any ribbon, any color, any place...1st, 2nd, 6th I don't care.  Just let him have that, Lord.  He's trying so hard and it'd mean so much.'  So, the day of the competition arrived and I sent him off with a hug and a go-get-'em attitude and prayed again.  By late afternoon, they were finally ready for the awards ceremony and I sat there with my fingers crossed, still pleading silently for that ribbon.

He didn't win.

I felt a little deflated, but even worse was the thought of what was to come.  I just knew he'd be terribly upset, after all, I sat there watching him as he watched his fellow spelling competitors win various ribbons and he got a little less animated every time.  Why couldn't he have just one stupid ribbon?  Would that've been so hard?

I got him in the car and asked 'You okay, buddy?' 
'Fine', came his reply. 
'A little disappointed?' 
'Some', he said 'but it's okay.' 
I cringed inwardly, expecting the worst in reply to my next question: 'You gonna try again next year?' 
'Well, sure!' came his exuberant reply.  'It was alot of fun!'

They say the good Lord gives you what you need, not what you want.  I sure wanted that outward sign of his success so I could say 'See how well he's doing, how far he's come?'  God saw what Seth needed, that boost of inner confidence that maybe today wasn't his time, but he'd try again...and that makes him pure gold on the inside.


 

Texas Springtime

I can feel it coming...it's springtime and it's coming to Texas!  Paige is so excited about the blooms on the ornamental pear in our backyard...

loaded with blooms....and bees!

And here's a few more pictures from our morning outing to the zoo...

Redbud blooms

Although the temperatures aren't very springlike (it's supposed to reach the low 80s today), it's been typically windy for our area.  The remainder of our week is supposed to be in the mid to low 70s...let's just hope the wind dies down a bit!  Hope you're enjoying Spring wherever you may be.
 

Random stuff...

After feeling absolutely wretched the past day and a half, I think I'm on the mend.  I got another charity quilt completed earlier this month (yeah me!) but can't figure out why the image is sideways and am too lazy too figure out how to rotate it.  Sorry folks!

I'm never one that manages to come up with a really cool, cheap idea but...look what I discovered!  This is a plastic powered drink container, you know, the ones with individual packets inside.  It makes a great carrying case for your rotary cutter and is way cheaper than the $10 to $15 versions I've seen at the quilt shop.

 And last but not least...Susan from Quilting Corner shared her recipe for Spiced Pumpkin Bread on their blog recently.  At about the same time I spotted this book in a local store and thought of her...the pumpkin part, not the murder part!  At any rate, the bread it to die for!  I substituted walnuts for the raisins and it's yummy!!  Their link is listed on my blog...go check them out!  And thanks to Susan for sharing her wonderful recipe!

Happy quilting everyone!



Good Grief!

As a parent, there are things you expect to say: "STOP"..."wash your hands"..."keep your hands to yourself"; and things you never thought you'd say: "DON'T pick your nose"..."Get your hand out of your pants". Never in my wildest imaginings, would I have thought I'd need to say "Mommy and Daddy aren't getting divorced".

Our littlest darling in a fit of inspirational oratory, decided to tell her gym teacher that her bad behavior was a result of.....Mommy's upcoming remarriage and the siblings she was going to be burdened with as a result. Never let it be said that parent-teacher conferences are boring in our household...whohoo! As the kids attend a small, private school this news travelled rather quickly. I guess this counts as my 15 minutes of fame!

For the record, let me just say this: We aren't divorcing. With almost 20 years invested in the whole shebang, it just isn't going to happen. I couldn't get a better deal than I've got.

Unless, of course, he'd finally concede and let me convert the garage into my quilt studio.

Granola Girls

You'd think as a Mom to two of my own fairly nasty little urchins I could claim to have seen it all. After what I recently witnessed I can now proclaim "NOT!"

One evening I found myself (alone) at the local Barnes and Noble cafe sipping something warm, caffeinated and high in calories while perusing my newest purchase when in walked a gaggle of what I can only describe as "Earth Mothers". Surely you've seen at least one as they aren't an endangered species....long flowy skirts, Birkenstocks, organic cotton wafting in the breeze...you get the idea. A group of five, they plopped down two tables over and proceeded to wax rhapsodic about everything "kid" from pesticide-free veggies to vaccinations. One of these fine ladies was toting a tot in one of those slings that reminds me of a marsupial (I always wondered how the kid never fell out, but I'm too shallow to ask). After a bit, she retrieves said child, flops him onto her lap and proceeds to........CHANGE HIS DIAPER!!

AT THE TABLE!

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CAFE!!

NO, I'M NOT KIDDING!!!

There was nary a pause in the conversation, no sign that any of these women thought this was absolutely disgusting, not a single "OMG, are you serious?" By now, my solo evening is beginning to lose it's luster and I'm thinking surely one of these chicks is going to say something.

Thank goodness I didn't hold my breath. Earth Mom proceeded to finish diapering her boy (yep, full frontal shot thanks very much) which seemed to take forever as she wiped and wiped and wiped....why yes, a fully-loaded diaper....WHOHOO! She finally rolled the whole thing into a tidy little bundle and...wait for it, wait for it...plopped it on top of the table! Table conversation never faltered.

I was utterly aghast! Granted, everyone poops and babies certainly don't have a care as to when or where, however I don't need to be privy to anyone's (ahem) excretory adventures. I'd like to think I'm reasonably progressive, but next time take your kid to the can!

And make damn sure you wipe down your own table before you snack because one man's table is another's changing station!

SNARK!

I like sarcasm. When used effectively you can make your point without resorting to cursing or raising your voice. I think of it as the ultimate foreign language (and lots easier to learn than say, Spanish!)

I also like sharing: ideas, beliefs, opinions. Which probably explains my love of Facebook and blogging. Where else can you get quilting tips, see the latest photo of someone's kid or find out how so-and-so's date went Saturday night? I suppose it's because God made me female and supposedly we never run out of fodder for all our verbal vomit. Whatever!

Mind you, all that sharing isn't everyone's cup of tea when you factor in the Boogieman and national security. Fair enough. The thing that chaps my hide is the not so subtle vibe some people give off that says if what I believe doesn't mesh with what they believe then one of us is wrong, namely me.

Uuuuummmm....NO!

The stuff I talk about is everyday Mommy drivel, not ethical dilemma type stuff. It's in the trenches parenting and life crap that you either laugh about or take a pill over. Oh, wait, I laugh AND take a pill. Whooopsies!!

I'm all for engaging in what the media like to term "meaningful dialogue", but if your verbal fencing is going to be reduced to verbal backhanding or profanity, kindly count me out.