The Great Pool Shoe Saga

Last night, I went to the grocery. Do I need to remind you how very, very much I hate the grocery. Fine, here, here.

Last night, I took both kids to the grocery. Had I called my mom and asked her to keep one, she would have gladly agreed, but I was feeling guilty about all the time they've spent with her lately, so I decided I could handle it. The cookie people weren't there. Maren discovered that screams in the grocery echo. Brynna couldn't decide what kind of sunscreen to buy. We finally left. In one piece, but barely.

Out to the car we trek, talking about sunscreen and I mention that she's got to have it tomorrow (today) for Pool Day! Thinking, wrongly of course, that this will perk up her whiney little butt. Imagine my shock when she responded with cries of horror and misery.

After a few moments' interview about why she didn't want to go to the pool, she explained that the floor of the pool cuts her toes. Not only did I not know this was happening, but I was relatively unaware of the fact that the floor of a pool COULD cut your toes.

By this time, we were strapped in and heading for home. "Well, kiddo, you've got to go to the pool, we'll just come up with another solution." Then, I proceeded to rack my brain.

"Hm. What do the other kids do?"

"All the other kids have poooool shooooeees!" she wailed.

Okay, so when I read the literature on camp, it mentioned that pool shoes were acceptable, but not required. It mentioned that particularly small children may need them. I don't get pool shoes. I kinda assumed that they were invented solely for making moms schlep around one more thing. But, apparently, they are made for "scritchy" pool floors. Who knew? Possibly a mother who has been in a pool in the last decade, but not me.

I called The Husband. Who was still at work and couldn't answer the phone.

I hastily developed a plan. I would get the girls home, put away the groceries, cook dinner, eat dinner, get at least Maren bathed, get Brynna's bathing suit and beach towel in the laundry, get everyone to bed and then go back to town on a quest for pool shoes. It would cost me a lot of gas, mean that I would miss Doctor Who and keep me up later than I was originally hoping, but it was do-able. More or less.

I stopped at my mom's house to pick up a bag of clothes and I won't even get into that story. I was telling her the story and my mother, my sainted, perfect wonderful mother swooped in and saved the day.

"Why don't you just leave her here and we'll take her to get pool shoes," a sliver of light opened above my head.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. Now, what do pool shoes look like?"

A few minutes later I was back on the road. The rest of the night passed fairly normally, except for the part where my mother in law told my husband that we were going to the movies on Sunday and he needed to tell me that. And I promptly freaked because Sunday is the Fourth.

This morning, however, was one of those mornings where I wake up confused and it doesn't get better.

I packed Brynna's camp bag, realized that I forgot to refill her water bottle and put it in the fridge last night and got my stuff ready. I had more to do, but about that time Maren said, "Let's go!" and I went. I can't explain what I was thinking. I just said, "Okay," and followed her out the door.

When I got to my mom's, I saw Brynn sitting there in her pajamas and nearly had a heart attack. Clothes, I had forgotten clothes. Mom came to the rescue again with a new outfit. But then it didn't fit. We ended up in dirty clothes from earlier in the week. At least it wasn't unofficial pajama day. Then, I remembered that Brynna's brand new bottle of sunscreen was on the kitchen table.

"Well, we'll just stop and get some more," I proclaimed.

Halfway to town, I remembered that this was the last day to pay my car payment. I began digging in the car and came up with my payment book. So far, so good. Then I had a crystal clear image appear in my mind of my checkbook on my kitchen floor. Where it had fallen out of my purse. A little more digging convinced me that this was indeed true.

Seconds away from the bank, I remembered my "emergency check" and where it was stashed. I pulled in and made the payment.

Next up, the babysitter. We ran in, stripped off shoes, waved hastily and ran back out, minus one child. CVS is the closest store, so I ran in, barked some request about sunscreen to the twelve year olds working behind the counter and got pointed in the right direction. Brynna picked a new bottle and off we went.

We pulled into the parking lot of camp with an entire three minutes to spare before the doors are shut forever. I signed her in, filled her water bottle from the water fountain, gave her a big hug and headed out.

When I got to work (18 minutes late) my boss was here. She doesn't usually come in until a half hour after me, so, of course.

I walked in flustered and winded, but marginally calmer because I am now done. Nothing else could go wrong, I assured myself. The kiss of death.

About ten, I opened the window to write this post. The Great Pool Shoe Saga, I wrote in the Title line. Whereupon, a horrible weight sat upon my chest. When we got in the car at mom's this morning, I had handed the pool shoes to Brynna and put the bag beside her, instructing her to put the shoes in the bag. I was suddenly very, very sure that she hadn't. That the shoes, were in fact, in the minivan.

I debated with myself for a second, but one thing that I have learned is that those crushing weighty realizations are seldom wrong.

I locked up the now empty office and ran for the door. When I got to the car, I easily found the pool shoes right by her seat. I called camp, but got no answer.

The drive from my office to camp is exactly ten minutes. The drive, beleaguered by the knowledge that you are the worst mother ever and have forever ruined your child's life felt like hours.

I sped into the parking lot, tires squealing. There, in the lot sat the Bookmobile. "At least she's prepared for that," I thought. I slid into a parking spot and got out and ran to the door.

"Has Brynna gone swimming yet?" I asked holding up the shoes.

"No, not yet, " the camp director assured me.

"Can I just slip in and put these in her bag?" I asked.

"Sure," she smirked.

Relief was the wave crashing on the beach, but profound embarrassment was the undertow pulling me back out to sea.

A few dirty looks from teen aged counselors later and I was back on the road, headed back to work.

I figured I should work in a trip to McD's since I had forgotten my lunch, too and this would save me from leaving again. After giving my entire order, I was reminded it was still breakfast time.

"Damn. This day will never end."

Sandwich Weirdos

When I was in college at Bethel, our cafeteria gave you choices. Not many, but some. Basically, for every meal, you could choose the "main line" (no heroin). The main line had your average cafeteria food fare, or alternately, you could choose the "bar" (no alcohol). At supper, the bar changed. Sometimes there was a waffle bar, a taco bar, a pasta bar. But at lunch, there was always a sandwich bar. At supper, I weighed my options seriously; at lunch, I didn't even look to see what was in the main line.

Everyday, I carefully constructed a sandwich from the sandwich bar. You could choose between wheat and white bread. The wheat wasn't the nutty, uneven rough bread that I like, so I always went with white. On one slice, I slathered mayonnaise; on the other, mustard. On top of the mustard slice, I layered thin sliced turkey, two slices of Colby-jack cheese and a small handful of barbecue chips.

Smoosh and eat!

Many people looked at me strangely with the whole "chips on your sandwich" thing and I guess I can understand that. I came to the conclusion, though, that this world is made up of two kinds of people: people who "get it," who understand chips on the sandwich and can commiserate with the fact that the chips have to go on the mayonnaise bread and not the mustard bread - and those who don't. That's the way of the world.

Through the years, I have come to accept that there is a certain subtle art to the sandwich. I will never understand why some people are willing to ruin a perfectly good bacon and tomato sandwich with lettuce. Sometimes, simpler is better.

Other times, however, there is nothing quite so pleasing as turkey on brie, garnished with cranberry-pomegranate spread on sourdough.

I am particular about a few things. For instance: never put pickles and banana peppers on the same sandwich, as it provides too much salt. Strong cheeses should be accompanied by bland meats and vice versa.

But no matter how refined my sandwich palate becomes, I am still a fan of turkey and barbecue Lays. It's just how I roll.

So, tonight, when my daughter decided to get creative with the amenable-to-everyone-but-still-minimizing-my-time-in-front-of-the-hot-stove sandwich bar, I decided to let her. Where would I be, I asked myself, if my mother had told me that chips on a sandwich was inappropriate?

Her creation, though (bacon, tomato, apricot, peanut butter and jelly on white, don't hold the mayo) almost turned me off my dinner. As it was a very casual dinner, she had behaved especially well in church this morning and we were only three-fourths of a full family meal, I allowed her to eat in front of the TV. It didn't hurt her case that I would rather eat my own arm than watch that mess be consumed.

"Mmmm... So good. I am a cultinary genius!" she proclaimed after the first bite.

Ten minutes later, it was a different story. "Mommy, can I make a plain peanut butter and jelly?"

"Sure, honey. How far did you get?"

"Far enough, Mommy. Far enough."

She actually got farther than I would have, eating nearly everything that was on the sandwich, with the exception of the bread, most of the apricot and the tomato. She hates tomatoes.

I feel that we are well on our way, however. She may have failed in this experiment, but I have no worries that she, like her mother before her, will grow to be a sandwich weirdo.

Five Things on Friday - Summer Lovin' Edition

Five Things on Friday is a weekly list of five things. Subject to be determined by me, but feel free to make suggestions in the comments. I will list my five things and then open the comments up to you, my loyal followers, readers, fans, groupies, what have you. Please respond. Or else, I'll feel all alone in the Earth. It'll be bad. Really.

So, my friend Tess is new to blogging, but she's already learning the first rule of blogging. Don't talk about blogging. Um, sorry, no, the first rule of blogging is that if people like something you did, they will steal it. I'm stealing her Summer Lovin' list.

Actually, when I first read her list, I thought, "There is no way I could come up with ten reasons I love summer, since I hate summer." Then my mom posted her Summer Lovin' list and I realized that maybe I had a few reasons to love summer.

And, since I've got this Friday Five thing going on, I don't have to come up with ten. Instead, I decided to do five reasons to love summer and five reasons to hate summer. Because I can't let ya'll think that I'm actually happy in June. That would be horrible.

Five Things I Love About Summer:
1. No School - I really didn't think this affected me much until Mom pointed out that it meant my kids could stay over whenever they wanted, instead of waiting until the weekend. And yep. Love that. For one thing, it's nice to be able to arrange things according to my schedule, but also, it's a relief to once again give in to the whining. "Please, mommy, please, please, please. Can I stay the the night with NiNi and Papaw?" "Um, yeah, ask NiNi." Wow. How much better that feels.

2. My Grandma's Yard - I could just sit out there all day. And really, even when it's so Hell meltingly hot, there's so much shade and breeze there that it's hardly ever unbearable.

3. The Kids' Clothes - I don't know why, but there is something so magical to me about sundresses and tank tops. Tiny toes tucked in flip-flops. Halter tops. Bathing suits. Shorts. I spend three seasons looking at kids' clothes and marvelling at who would let their kid wear this "slutty" stuff and then buy them dresses that have less fabric than hankies in the summer. I can't explain this madness I have. But, oh my, is that a backless sundress! We must have it!

4. Sandals - Have I mentioned here that I like shoes? Well, I particularly like sandals. High heeled ones, flat ones, flip flops, wedges, espadrilles, skimmers. I broke one of my favorite pairs of flip flops and made a joke about being down to four pairs of flip flops. I went home, later and counted. Nope, I still have five. I'm an addict, but they are so cute and so cheap.

5. Music - I love summer music. You know what I mean, the songs that make you want to crank up the radio and roll down the windows. I should do five summer songs next week. Help me remember, kay?

Five Things I Hate About Summer:
1. Heat - I'm just not built for this. Heat indexes over 100 and humidity in the 90's. Uh-uh. No thank you. You can have it. Bring on the snow, baby.

2. Schedule - It seems like the only time more hectic than summer for us is Christmas. This week, we've had VBS, the fair, 2 doctor's appointments and a baseball game and I am almost positive that there is something I should be doing tonight that I have forgotten.

3. My Clothes - Since I have too little self-esteem and too much self-awareness to walk around in hankie dresses and tank tops, I struggle with summer clothes. It's hard to not be miserable hot when you feel that you absolutely MUST cover every inch of skin. I only own one pair of shorts. I'm serious. And tank tops are reserved for wearing under things. I long for sweater weather. Anyone can look cute in a nice pair of slacks and a pretty sweater.

4. Sand - Okay, so this probably isn't fair since I haven't bee to the beach in at least a decade, but I hate sand. I hate how it gets everywhere and how it seems to make everything hotter. I see pictures from other peoples' beach vacations and I get all jealous and then I remember that I (1) hate to swim where living things, um, live and (2) hate the sand. What's there for me, really. Oh, I'll go again eventually, basically because I think there becomes a point where it's a shame for a kid to have to say they've never been to the beach. But that's the only reason.

5. Bugs - Bugs, bugs, bugs. Fleas come into our basement every stinkin' summer. I can't even figure out why. There's no one down there to eat. Mosquitoes, bees, spiders, moths. It's like they come out of the woodwork. (Well, the bees are wood bees, so maybe they do.) I am not a girly girl who can't stand the sight of an insect, but still, there comes a point where I can just do without them, thank you very much.

So, what about you. I understand that I am in the vast minority preferring winter, but sure I'm not completely alone. What do you love about summer and what do you hate about summer. Be balanced, fair, or not. Just chime in. You know how I get.

Little Cathy

Remember Mama Kat and her workshop? Well, this week I chose Prompt 3.) What does your child do that reminds you most of yourself? How does it make you feel? Except that I can't follow directions and wandered aimlessly around. Here you go:

When I was a little girl, people always stopped to tell me how much I looked like my mother. When I was in college, one of her old high school friends mistook me for her. As an adult, people often mistake us for sisters. And when I was in high school, one of her students spent my entire freshman year calling me Little Cathy.

I found this annoying, highly annoying, because just like every other kid in the universe, I spent my high school years trying desperately to figure out how I different from everyone else, so there was no appeal in being a miniature version of my mother. On the other hand, I was secretly very, very pleased.

I have mostly regarded my mother with a kind of awe and respect. She is an incredibly strong, stubborn, fierce woman. The kind of woman who invented the concept of Mama Bear. She is also pretty cool, all things considered. She lives in jeans, likes cool cars, listens to some good music (although living through the 70's and having not a single Led Zepplin album to show is a little sad). She's a gypsy soul, smart, sassy, romantic and a little crazy. She knows everything you do before you do it. And she will always, always rescue you. But not until you are ready to be rescued.

Being compared to her is a little like being compared to Mother Theresa. You're pleased and also a little pissed, because how could you ever possibly live up.

My mother and I share more than our inky hair and Howard nose, though. I got my temper from her, my love of books (although our tastes in books is wildly disparate), my intollerance of stupidity, my love of purple, my passion for broomstick skirts, my panic attacks.

We're close, my mom and I. Closer than most mother/daughter duos that I know. I see her nearly every day, eat with her at minimum once a week, hang out at her house, borrow her shoes (when in utter desperation) and hers is the shoulder I always want to cry on.

I can't help but think that our closeness comes, at least in part, from our similarities. I can't help but think that if we weren't related, we'd still be friends, because we're just so similar. And okay, we couldn't ever agree on shoes or a movie, but we could easily agree on salsa and a margarita.

One of the first things anyone ever said to me about Brynna was, "She looks just like her dad." And it's gone on and on. People love to tell me how Brynna has her dad's eyes or mouth. She definitely has his hair and his build (stupid people are nothing but torso - do you know how hard it is to get a dress to fit someone who is tall for her age, but has tiny short legs?). She has his temper, not mine.

We have so little in common, my pigeon and me. The little things we share, like the oft lauded Doctor Who seem like something to write in the sky. She doesn't like the same books as I do, the same movies, the same activities, the same cookies. Whereas I'm a planner, obsessively working through every detail of a day, she is impulsive, changing everything at the last minute.

Frankly, I enjoy the differences as much as the similarities. I love the way she is hell-or-high-water her own person. I love her impish grin, her individuality, her will. Even the things that annoy me (her pink obsession, her inability to clean up after herself, her willingness to live in a room carpeted by stuff) amuse me because they point me toward the woman I see her moving toward.

But, I'm a worrier and I worry. And in this case, I worry that we'll never be as close as my mom and I are. That we'll never love the same things, never watch the Oscars together miles apart on the phone, never be the first number the other one calls.

When I look at my mother and my little girl, I see their shared traits, their artistic talent that will forever elude me, their strength, their ferocity. I feel so small compared to the two of them. And I can't help but wonder if maybe I have those things, too, but can't see them for seeing myself, my weaknesses.

Maybe that boy was right all those years ago, maybe I am a little Cathy. A miniature version of my mom in all the best ways. And I hope that if that is true, then Brynna will someday be a Little Jessi. Although, in my heart of hearts I know, she will never be anyone but herself.

I Suck at Bookclub, Too

Image courtesy of Ian Kahn FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I currently can't find my list of 2010 books for Bookclub, but I'm thinking I may have read half. I had the finest intentions this month and was about halfway through the book when I realized I was reading the wrong month. (This month's book appears to be only attainable online and also, abysmal.) I will hopefully finish the second half of next month's book by the meeting. Maybe I can really get it together for the second half of the year. Seriously, I am not reading All the King's Men again and you can't make me.

The problem with sucking at bookclub is that I am in a bit of a reading rut. I am currently working my way through the Aunt Dimity series, which is fun, if a bit silly. I think of these books as a palate cleanser. There isn't much there, but they are a good read after you've been embedded in something heavy for a while.

I also have been eating up Neil Gaiman. (Not in that way, ewww!) For a long time, I thought I didn't like him much, because of Good Omens. See, I love Terry Pratchet and hated Good Omens, so I must hate Neil, right? Or not. Because then I read American Gods and Anansi Boys and I liked them both quite a bit. Later, I got around to reading Neverwhere, which was a book club book like a year and a half ago. (See, I'll read all this crap eventually.) And I loved it.

Someone I worked for had mentioned The Graveyard Book to me, so I picked it up and have been making the great Neil Gaiman YA Fiction tour ever since.

I paused in these endeavors to read the newest Stephen King (well, until Blockade Billy came out, which I will read - eventually) and the newest Joe Hill. Otherwise, I've read a couple of short story books and well... that's been it for a while.

So, here is your mission, should you choose to accept it: I want book recommendations. I want book recommendations coming out my ears. I'll probably never get around to half of them, because I'm very laid back about when I read stuff. But, I've worked through the better part of my "Must Read" list and now, I don't know, I'm floating.

I like:

• Science Fiction - hard or soft, but I especially love SciFi with religion in it. I'm weird like that.
• YA Fiction - I'm not going to say that I only like really great stuff, but I don't have any interest in reading bad YA fiction.
  
• Horror - But here, I am super picky. I loooove good horror, stay up all night, can't put it down, creepy down in your bones horror. I hate badly done, ho hum horror.
• Non-horror stories with horror elements - I'm thinking vampires, werewolves, witches, etc. that aren't precisely scary stories. Almost anything supernatural has an automatic "in" for me.
  
• Books that change your life - like Wally Lamb. These are especially hard for me to find on my own, because they tend to not be the kind of thing I gravitate towards. For the record, I hated Middlesex.

I hate:

• Fantasy - This is complex, because I love Harry Potter, which many consider fantasy. What I mean is really that dragons and damsels type of fantasy. Stereotypical fantasy. Happens in another world that is oddly similar to feudal Europe fantasy. Yuck.
• Mystery - Again, complicated. I read the Dresden books and Aunt Dimity is a mystery series. But, please keep your counting books, and private detective cats to yourself.
• "Christian" Lit - Now, understand, I love a good book that asks hard questions about faith (which is precisely why I like a little religion in my science (fiction that is). If a book you love comes from a faith-based point of view or explores issues of faith, feel free, but it comes from the Christian Lit section of the bookstore and it's designed to keep people from reading those dangerous secular books, then I really don't need it.
• Chick Lit - I have nothing to say about this except that I find it deeply insulting that some people believe women should have "different" literature than men. We've always had different tastes. Show me a man who loves Pride and Predjudice and I'll show you... Well, a minority. That's life. But the idea that we should paint books pink and make them primarily about shoe shopping is downright insulting. Enough said. End soapbox rant.

So, watcha got? Give me a list. Brynna currently has more books on her summer reading list than I do. This will not stand!

Conversations with Kids of All Ages Attending VBS

I was going to save this until the end of the week, but if last night was any indication, we'll have enough for a week's worth:

Me: So, do you all want to sing one more song before we go?
Children: (in unison and loudly) NO!
Me: Let me rephrase, We're gonna sing another song before we go!!! Yaaaayyyy!!!
Children: Hoooorraaaaayyyyy!!!!
_______________________

Me: Where are we, right now?
Six Year Old Boy: The cemetery!
Me: Close! The santuary!
_______________________

Me: Hitting, strangling, kicking and smothering are not good church manners and I'm shocked that I even have to tell you that.
Ten Year Old Boy: Yes, mam.
_______________________

Me: What did Peter, do for a living? Taylor*?
Taylor: (shocked and unprepared) Bartholomew!
Me: What was Peter's job?
Taylor: Pies?
Me: Aaaanyone else?
_______________________

Me: What happens to the stuff we throw away?
Eight year old girl: It gets recycled?
I just had to throw that one in because I think we are not quite teaching kids about ecology correctly.
_______________________

Me: Did you have a good time at VBS tonight?
Brynna: No. It was boring.
Me: What did you like?
Brynna: Well, the craft was awesome, and the snack was yummy and the games were fun and the story was good.
Me: So basically, the only thing you didn't like was the music?
Brynna: Oh, yeah, the music was fun, too.
Me: So, um... That's all of it. What was boring?
Brynna: Being there.
What does that even mean!!!
_________________________

*Name changed to protect the totally guilty of ignoring me when I was talking, yet still innocent by virtue of being a ten year old boy.

Think of me tonight, as you are doing whatever nice, calm, relaxing thing you are doing and I am once again putting my dignity on the line for a bunch of rugrats. I love 'em, though.

Summer Crochet

Okay, so who else who does fiber work (knit, crochet, whatever) has seasonal issues?

I don't like crochet as much in the summer. Part of that is because it gets hot sitting around with half a blanket in your lap all the time. The flip side to that is that I have all kinds of projects in queue that don't ever get to blanket size. And yet, here I am, for the fourth or fifth week in a row, with nothing new to post.

I am STILL working on my mom's birthday present (worst daughter ever), I am still working on a blanket for a baby shower that I missed. The baby has been born and whatever, you never stop needing blankets. I am still working on that sweater I started last summer. I have yarn and projects and I just downloaded a new pattern today, but I have almost zero desire to do any of this.

I worked for about four hours this entire weekend on crochet projects. Four hours. In a typical weekend, I can fit in about ten.

In addition to the temperature reason, I think part of it is that I have sooo much going on all the time in the summer. I don't know that I had a lot of time that could have been devoted to crochet that wasn't this weekend. Or last week.

I will probably work another four hours on that birthday present next weekend and still think I have about four hours to do.

Another problem I'm having is that I hate this pattern. The birthday present pattern. I don't want to give away my whole finished post on it, but it's soooo repetitive. I don't really want to work on it, but I need to work on it, so I can't bring myself to work on anything else.

This is a rambly and useless post, but I've got to stop pretending that Monday's don't exist.

What stymies you? Is it business or boredom? A time of the year? Save me from myself here.

Five Things on Friday - TV Edition

Five Things on Friday is a weekly list of five things. Subject to be determined by me, but feel free to make suggestions in the comments. I will list my five things and then open the comments up to you, my loyal followers, readers, fans, groupies, what have you. Please respond. Or else, I'll feel all alone in the Earth. It'll be bad. Really.

This week, we'll be discussing television. When I was in high school, I had a button (remember those, man I had a LOT of buttons) that said "Theater is life, cinema is art, television is furniture." I more or less believed that. I mean, I liked TV. I watched TV. I watched SNL and cartoons and My So-Called Life. I loved that show. That was probably my first brush with must-see-TV, but since it only lasted about 14 episodes, it didn't really catch.

When I was in college, I became addicted to The X-Files. I had actually watched that show in high school, too, but in college, I got really sucked in. I would have "parties" where everybody I knew piled into my tiny dorm room and clustered around my tiny TV. That, my friends, was the beginning.

Since then I have had many all-out television addictions, ranging from the sublime to the trite to the train-wreck-can't-look-away. I have come to understand that television, when done well, is art, too. And, that at seventeen, I was a pretentious twit. Seriously, I don't know how any of you tolerated me.

Here, for your perusing pleasure are five of my TV addictions. I'm not calling them my top five, because I frankly couldn't decide. This is just a random sampling. (And by random, I mean, the first ones that popped into my pretty little skull.) Let me know if you share any of these, or what your rush-home shows are. I won't mock. I promise. Unless it's really cheesey.

1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Obvs. I became obsessed with Buffy long after it had started. I think it was in the fifth or sixth season. I didn't get WB, so it was whenever they started doing re-runs on FX. I watched and I loved and then I watched and I bought and I watched and I borrowed and I obsessed and by the time it went off the air, I was in need of detox. I still haven't really detoxed. Here's what I love about the Scoobies: witty dialog, lovable characters, real conflict, intelligent banter, Spike. Here's what I hate about the Scoobies: nothing.

2. Firefly - Also from Joss Whedon, the star in my sky. I watched this rabidly for the nine or ten weeks it was on Fox. I hate Fox, though, because they are cancel-happy. Then, I watched them on SciFi (back when it's name was respectable). Finally, I saw Serenity in the theater and bought the DVD's. There's only like 14 episodes plus the 2-hour movie, but this is the best TV ever made. I feel perfectly fine making that declaration. Here's what I love about the Serenity Crew: witty dialog, amazing characters, compelling backstory, the whole space-western feel, River-freaking-Tam. Here's what I hate about the Serenity Crew: there's not enough. I can watch the whole catalog in one sick day if I really work at it.

3. Doctor Who - So, I came late to the party. Waaay late to the party. I had never even heard of The Doctor until I spent a month in the UK and even then, I just had some vague notion that it was a TV show with a blue box. When the series started up again, I had no idea. I didn't really start watching until we got satellite and I got BBCA. David Tennant is forever my doctor, but I like the new guy okay. He's growing on me. Here's what I love about The Doctor: the history - I could start watching now and watch for three or four years before I'd see it all, the one-liners, the total seriousness of the show mixed with the total cheesiness of some of the aliens. Some of them are as creepy as the twins in The Shining and some of them are... well... Daleks. Here's what I hate about The Doctor: Since it's on BBCA, I can't seem to get streaming episodes on the web, because they are all only available to those in the UK, it appears. So, I have to watch the back episodes on YouTube in 9 minute increments.

4. Supernatural - This show is really well-made goodness of stress and edge of your seatness and laughing your way right out of your seatness. I've recently gone back and watched the first season, though, and I'm not sure what hooked me in the first place. I'm telling you this, because maybe, if you are new to it and thinking, "Wow, I like funny horror and that Jensen Ackles is a cutie pie," then maybe you should start on the second season. Which is better than the first. Here's what I love about the Winchester brothers - they don't take themselves too seriously. Watch this. Really, watch it. I'll wait.

The music, the car, the brothers - I am obviously on team Dean, but Sam isn't exactly hard to look at and even Cas is nice enough. Also, I want to take Bobby home. I am in love with him, the way I used to be in love with Sean Connery. I recognize it's highly inappropriate, but ahhh. Here's what I hate about the Winchester brothers - cliffhangers. This show is all about some cliffhangers. I seriously think my head might explode before fall.

5. M*A*S*H* - I have seen every episode probably three times and I will still turn it on at least once a week. Alan Alda is so not my type and then he waxes all poetic about non-violence and the evils of war, and I swoon. It's sad. I'll probably never outgrow it. Here's what I love about the 4077 - it never gets old. The stories here are eternal. War has always been and will always be a system of breaking thing (and people) while a dedicated few try to put them back together again. That is not a political statement, just the way I see it. Also, Klinger. Really shouldn't be funny still after what 20 years? But is. Here's what I hate about the 4077 - Frank Burns. I can't think of a single episode that wouldn't be better without him.

Okay, you're turn. Whatcha like, huh, huh?

Reunited, and it Feels so Right

Mama Kat runs a workshop. Sort of. She issues these writing prompts once a week and you participate and then put yourself on her little linky widget. It's fun, I promise. I did it a couple of weeks ago with the vampire post and the link didn't come through. I don't know what I did, but it's at the bottom of this post and seems to be behaving. This week, I chose prompt 5.) Describe a happy reunion.

A week at home, alone with my children is guaranteed to do a few things.

First of all, we're all going to get miserably off schedule. I am not capable of managing a schedule on my own, it seems. I need a babysitter/school/workplace to make me stay on task. I like to think it's not that I can't do it, but that I tend toward a stay up late, sleep late, nap whenever, eat lunch at 2 kind of schedule.

Secondly, I'm going to get addicted to some new television show. Just because that's how it is when I'm home all day. Brynna will roll her eyes as I beg her to watch Ashes to Ashes with me. The Husband will get annoyed when I can't get off the computer when he gets home because I'm watching the episodes I've missed in 9 minute increments on YouTube. It's pathetic, really, but that's just who I am.

Thirdly, most of my plans will fall through. Last week I had planned for us to go to the park, the movies, the Explorium in Lexington, the library, and Cincinnati. We went to Cincinnati and the movies. Brynna and I went to the library in a total rush on Sunday afternoon. It wasn't even fun.

And finally, we will all three be reminded why we usually don't hang together 24-7. For my part, it's about the juggling. I always think that in a week I can get my house spotless, catch up on laundry, take the kids on fun adventures, bake cookies and bread, re-organize my kitchen, make gourmet meals and do some serious reading and crocheting. In a week, what I manage to do is keep my kids from killing each other, wipe noses, clean up spills, keep milk cups full and collapse on the couch when the youngest finally takes a nap. I love my kids and really, I love spending time with them. It's not them I'm fleeing from when I run to work Monday morning after a vacation with a huge smile on my face, it's the untouched to do list. I couldn't be a stay at home mom, not because of them, but because of my living room floor, which is currently covered in dirty laundry, pillows and toys. I don't even understand why there is dirty laundry in the living room.

Brynna gets bored. Bored of me and the TV and the computer, bored of our yard and the walk up to the cemetery. Bored of her bike and her scooter and the one tree she can climb (that she is not allowed to climb). She is ready for the adventure.

Maren appears all week, however, to be giddy with happiness. She loves me, she loves her sister, she loves her pink sippy cup, she loves her baby doll and the ladybug car, she seems to be in bliss.

Then, Monday morning arrives. We all oversleep. I throw on clothes, drag Brynna up and get her dressed, change Maren's diaper and gather together whatever we each need for our solo journey into the world. As Brynna gets out of the car, I can often see a glimmer of doubt in her eyes. The same glimmer that I'm sure is showing in mine. We are happy to be back, you see, happy that we can get back to the rut we've been wearing in different floors. But we are also unsure about going back into the world without each other, afraid that these few days of being tethered at the hip has altered us forever, made us incapable of traveling alone. Brynna will take a deep breath, a big step and launch into her world. Where she will thrive, because that's what Brynna does. She's a weed of a child, thriving in any conditions you give her.

Maren, who still doesn't recognize landmarks, or understand always where we are going when we climb in the car, who hasn't yet put together that being in her jammies in the carseat means back to the babysitter, sits, happily smiling and sucking on the paci (she doesn't travel well without it) and watching the world pass out the window. She doesn't seem sad or upset or anything particular at all.

We arrive at the babysitter's house. She lets me pull her out of the car and set her feet firmly on the ground. She walks the well-traveled way up the drive, down the sidewalk and waits while I open the front door. She seems content, but not giddy. Almost as if there never were a vacation. It's just another day. She isn't upset that she'll be leaving me, but isn't in love with being back.

I open the door and she walks in, looks around. She takes in the toys and the nap couches. She watches me as I take off her shoes and put them by the door, sign her in and put her bag of clothes for the week by the table. MiMi (as the kids call the sitter, not to be confused with NiNi as the kids call my mom) walks around the corner, emerging from the kitchen. Maren runs, full tilt boogie, disregarding personal safety completely. MiMi reaches down and scoops her up.

"I missed you too," she mutters into Maren's curly head. Maren throws her arms over MiMi's shoulders, buries her face in her neck. There is no one else on Earth. I wait. Patient. These things used to bother me. When Brynna did this with her babysitter, I cried. Swore I was going to find a way to quit my job. My child loved the sitter more than me and that was wrong.

I now know that it was I who was wrong. Maren doesn't (and Brynna didn't) love the sitter more than me. She loves the sitter different. She loves MiMi entirely and completely, but I know that when I walk through that door at five, she'll run full-tilt toward me, too. It doesn't hurt me anymore. In fact, it makes me happy. I am happy to be leaving my child with a woman who is so obviously loved and so obviously loves my girl in return.

After a few minutes, the hug still has not broken. MiMi laughs about it and I say I have to go. "Can I have a good bye hug and kiss?" I ask.

"Bye-Bye!" Maren calls over her shoulder, not looking up, not budging.

"Okay," I laugh. "I'll settle for a Hello hug and kiss in a few hours."

Later, I'll walk into my office, take in the smell, the clean room, the pictures and the cheerful desk decorations. I will start up my computer, say Hi to my boss, pour my water cup in the nice, clean kitchen. I will sigh in relief. I will be happy to be back. But not as happy as Maren. I will wonder, walking around getting ready for the day to begin, if she has broken that hug yet. Probably, I think. But maybe not.



I should state, to be fair and perfectly transparent, that this reunion actually took place on Tuesday, this vacation. On Monday, I forgot that the babysitter wasn't open and walked up her walk at 7:30 on a day when she was sleeping peacefully past the wee hours. Then I panicked. Alas, the truth hurts. But is funnier.

A Few Notes about Movies

Last Friday, Brynna and I went to see Shrek: Forever After. It was delightful. No really! I'm serious! Here are a few reflections on the movie watching experience:

Movie:
I'm not going to do a big movie review here, but I will say that I think this movie is truly made for parents. In case you live under a rock and haven't heard all about the premise 10 million times, I'll share. Shrek is living the dream, house full of kids, playdates with the donkey-dragons, oohed and ahhed at by tour wagons. And he starts to feel a little wistful for the old days. The days when people were scared of him, when he could do anything he wanted, when he was free.

If you are a parent and you can't sympathize with this to some degree, you are probably a psychopath. Or possibly a liar.

Anyway, I get it. And so he makes a wish and yadda, yadda. Be careful what you wish for.

Except that wasn't the part that got me. The part that got me was Fiona. See, since she wasn't rescued by Shrek: SPOILERS AHEAD: she rescued her damn self. She is now a warrior ogre, leading a resistance of beaten down and abused ogres.

And that. Stopped me. Of course, I know that I am the result of my history, the product of my past. If things had gone differently for me, I'd be different. If I hadn't married The Husband, had my girls, where would I be? Would I be some warrior goddess, hair streaming in the wind, fighting for justice and truth?

I don't know, really. I can't know. And I'm okay with that. I may complain about my life a lot. I may feel like I lost my way, career wise. I may be working toward changing all that. But I don't for a second regret any of it.

For the record, neither did Fiona.

I am in love with my children. In awe of them. I cannot begin to imagine being without them. Yeah, I want me-time every once in a while. I would love to go to the grocery store with neither one of them in tow. I like a little peace and quiet and the hour or so after bedtime is one of my favorite times of day.

But... My other favorite time of day is riding around in the car with them, watching TV with them, sitting down to dinner with them. These are my girls, my life and I can't imagine it being any different.

But I do wonder if the warrior me does exist somewhere, on another plane, another dimension. If she is fighting the good fight, breaking down walls and changing the world.

I don't regret who I am or where I am, but sometimes, I envy her just the same.
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Previews:

I love the previews. They are sometimes my favorite part. But I am so tired of three words: "In eyepopping 3D!" In the first place, after you have seen your first 3D extravaganza, it's not that eyepopping. In the second place, OH MY HEAVENS, HOLLYWOOD, BUY A FREAKIN' THESAURUS!!! Sorry. Just a thing I have.
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Tickets:

Why is seeing a movie in 3D so much more expensive? Here's my suggestion. I think theaters should charge the same amount as for regular movies and NOT give you the glasses. That's right, don't hand 'em out. Instead, SELL the glasses. Make them a wee bit nicer than the ones they have now and let you buy a pair. Then, you bring them back with you.

This is assuming the increase in cost is to cover the glasses. If it's equipment, then that should really not cost $2.50 per person, per movie for the rest of time. In fact, I don't think it should cost anything, because that is the cost of doing business, maintaining and updating equipment. Of course, those costs are incorporated into what you charge your customers, but there is no reason to go overboard with it.

If it's just because people will pay it to see a movie in 3D, then, well, you're probably right. But I won't. I'm eventually going to get bored and only want to see the biggest, loudest action movies IN EYE POPPING 3D and I'll see everything else like Goldwyn and Mayer intended, in eye flattening 2D.
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Popcorn:

Can someone please tell me when we stopped buttering popcorn and giving it a toss halfway through. This is the correct way to serve buttered movie theater popcorn. 1 scoop in the bucket, followed by a couple of pumps of butter, a little toss and shake, the rest of the bucket, a couple more pumps of butter. No toss at the end because for $5, that bucket better be brimming.

The last couple times I've been to the theater, my popcorn on top has been soggy with butter and then an inch into it, no butter. Evil. Evil. Evil, lazy teenagers employed by butter-hording conglomerates.

Five Things on Friday - Lonliness Edition

Five Things on Friday is a weekly list of five things. Subject to be determined by me, but feel free to make suggestions in the comments. I will list my five things and then open the comments up to you, my loyal followers, readers, fans, groupies, what have you. Please respond. Or else, I'll feel all alone in the Earth. It'll be bad. Really.

For the most part, I don't mind not being like everyone else. You know, a little different. A little outside the box. I am okay with being my own person, marching to my own drum, that stuff.

But sometimes, I feel like the only person in the world. So, here are five things that make me feel all alone.

1. Bacon - Am I the only human on Earth who doesn't like bacon? There are even exceptions. I love a good BLT, or even just bacon and tomato sandwiches (my grandma's specialty). And, if there's no sausage, I can handle bacon with my waffles. But there seems to be this prevailing attitude in the world, that everything is better with bacon. I don't get it. In the first place, bacon on top of meat is not an appropriate topping. In the second place, bacon is not for dessert. I just don't get it.

2. George Clooney/Robert Redford - These two are pretty interchangeable in my mind except for a few years. They are the pretty boys that everyone loves (except me) and they are kinda... well... skeezey. Don't they seem a little slimy, a little too perfect for anyone else.

3. Miley - Sometimes I feel like the only adult in the world who doesn't have a hate-on for little Miley Cyrus. Frankly, I think you all (and feel free to exempt yourself from this) are holding her to a little too high a standard. Okay, she's not a kid anymore and she doesn't act like one. Is that somehow a crime? I'm not digging every decision she's made (the stripper pole was particularly disturbing) but at the end of the day, she's a teenager who's experimenting with her own image and her own tastes. Just like every other teenager in the world. What she hasn't done is show up pregnant, drug addicted, alcohol addicted or anything else addicted. She hasn't committed any crimes, run down any kids in her giant SUV or flashed her lady bits getting out of a limo. So, let's all cut her some slack, okay?

4. Roses/Diamonds - I am not a rose girl, okay? I know it's weird, but just accept it. They are the stereotypical flower and I'm not into them. And diamonds? They're clear. What's the appeal?

5. Eyebrows - I don't get the obsession. Waxing, threading, coloring, etc. Some people have really weird eyebrows that need help, but for most people, just leave them alone. Making them look all groomed just draws attention to them.

So, there you have it. Sound off and let me know that's I'm not alone, or at least that you're alone with me.

Miscellany

Yesterday, I probably walked more than I normally do in a week, around the various museums and while normally, I am always up for an abnormal amount of walking, I totally did it in the wrong shoes yesterday, plus, afterwards, I spent a long time in a car, so... My legs hurt. A lot. I can't seem to make the comfortable. They are sore sitting down and sore propped up, sore laying in bed and sore walking some more.
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Despite that I went to Big Box Retailer of Doom today and walked around on their hard, hard floors and bought kids' clothes. We stocked up and are officially ready for summer camps. Three bathing suits, three beach towels, ten short and t-shirt outfits, 2 pair of tennies and 2 pairs of flip flops. (We didn't buy all that today, just what we still needed.)

Plus Maren got some new sandals.

Plus, toilet bowl cleaner and some caffeine for mama. And my legs still hurt.
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Tomorrow, the HVAC guy is coming to give us central air. I could not be more thrilled. I can't even imagine how wonderful it will be for our house to be filled with cool air AND be able to hear the TV. Hopefully, the new furnace and upgrade to central air will also raise the value of the house.

As a result of this, I spent most of my morning cleaning my basement. Not that it's actually clean now, but there is a nice wide path of clean that goes everywhere they might need to walk. There is still, however, a giant pile of garbage FROM MY MOVE HERE. THREE YEARS AGO. Do you remember the Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock? Yeah, it's like that. Only, it's primarily boxes and stuff that got broken in the move. So, it's not quite that gross.

Also, there's a big pile of toys down there that need to be done something with. The plan is eventually to finish the basement and have a nice family room/play area for the kids, but that's going to be years down the line. In the meantime, it's a hell-hole of doom.

Now, they are going to have to come upstairs to do something to the thermostat, so I need the upstairs clean too. So, I should finish up my cleaning about midnight. And he's going to be here at 6:30 a.m. Argh.
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I am finally caught up on my blog reading. I took a four day vacation and it's taken me most of the day to get caught up. I'm glad that I did it, but boy, it was exhausting.
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I hope everyone has a good night. Tomorrow, I'm going to try another one of Mama Kat's Writing Workshop posts.

Stay tuned.

A Day at the Museum

This is my vacation week, and like last year's vacation week, it is consisting mostly of staying at home. My babysitter takes a week every summer, which she more than deserves and trying to find a spot for both girls to hang for a week is easier said than done, so I just take it off and hang with them.

Which sucks, because I'd rather be on a cruise ship to Alaska or exploring the Magic Kingdom. But rocks, because I hardly ever get to just hang with my girls. And because we tend to do stuff we don't get to do often. My go-to is the Cincinnati Zoo (which is super awesome) and the Newport Aquarium, but we've been there, done that.

This year, we tried something new. I've been wanting to take Brynna to the art museum ever since we had a long conversation about Degas and ballerinas, so I started looking into the Cincinnati museum scene. We ended up not being within three miles of an art museum, but we rocked the museum scene just the same.

We visited the Cincinnati Museum Center, which I didn't even know existed. If you've ever driven through Cincinnati and thought, "Look, the Hall of Justice. I didn't know The Justice League took place in Cincy," then you've seen it. Actually, the Hall of Justice was modeled after Union Station, so you're not crazy.

I've seen it a bunch of times and wanted to go in (because I'm sort of obsessed with Art Deco architecture) but I had no idea what was there. Turns out, it used to be Union Station, Cincy's primary train station. Now, it houses the Natural History Museum, the Cincinnati History Museum, the Cincinnati Children's Museum, an IMAX theater and an actual Amtrak station. (Although, ironically, not the Railway Museum of Greater Cincinnati, which isn't even in Cincinnati.)

We pretty much had a blast. We started in the Natural History Museum, because Brynna was totally sucked in by the mastodon skeleton right inside the front door. There, we watched a presentation on bats, explored the largest man-made cave in the US, learned all about Darwin, and saw dinosaurs. It was a blast. There's actually a great deal more to the museum, but we hadn't budgeted enough time (not counting on Brynna wanting to go through the cave five times. I'm not kidding. Literally, five times) and we had IMAX tickets for 1:00.

We had a quick lunch in the wide open lobby area. While the kids focused on pizza slices bigger than their heads, I took some time to take in all the decor. From the HUGE tile mural to the gorgeous domed ceiling, from the perfect art deco lettering to the intricate coverings on the old ticket windows, it was like art deco heaven.

After lunch we headed to the IMAX to be amazed by "Under the Sea." I planned this part for right after lunch because I figured Maren might sleep. Of course, if she didn't sleep, she'd scream like a banshee and try to climb my head. Luckily, she opted for sleeping.

We finished up the day in the Children's Museum. Which was awesome. Filled to brimming with interactive, hands-on activities, many focused around building, the kids were both more than happy to run rampant and were more than a little hard to keep up with.

I'm still a little sad that Brynna and I didn't get to an art museum. But, really, I can't imagine a better day. Everyone was happy more or less all day. And we discovered a brand new treasure. Well, brand new to us.

Also, I finally know what's inside the Hall of Justice.

*I should note that this post was not sponsored by the Cincinnati Museum Center. The Cincinnati Museum Center has never heard of me and gave me nothing for free except for some turtle temporary tatoos. I assume that they give them to all the kids who walk in the front door and this should not be construed as a bribe or sponsorship. If it was a bribe, it would be a really pathetic one and I would have ripped them apart just for insulting me.

5 Things on Friday - Ruination Edition

Five Things on Friday will be a weekly list of five things. Subject to be determined by me, but feel free to make suggestions in the comments. I will list my five things and then open the comments up to you, my loyal followers, readers, fans, groupies, what have you. Please respond. Or else, I'll feel all alone in the Earth. It'll be bad. Really.

I am a simple girl. Really, I am. I used to have a friend who classed her friends in laundry terms. "Dry Clean Only" meant high end, high maintenance. "Machine wash cold, lay flat to dry," was your average woman, handle with care and she'll put up with you forever. I, in her terms, am "Machine wash warm, tumble dry, cool iron if needed." I require very little special attention.

There are many ways for me to have a perfect night. I love the theatre, but I am perfectly fine with dinner and a movie. I can gallery hop all night, but I can also sit at home and watch TV. I like laying in the grass and watching the stars, or laying in bed and watching Starz. You get the point. I'm not hard to please.

But there are a few small things that will ALWAYS ruin my night. Here they are:


1. The Foundation for a Better Life - Their commercials always make me cry. There's this one, with a kid whose mom is trying to help him find his sport and it turns out that he can sing and he sings her a thank you song. Appreciation, pass it on. Or the one with the prom queen with Down's. I bawl like a baby and then I spend the rest of the night wondering why real life isn't like those commercials.

2. High School Musical - I can quite happily watch most of the TV shows that Brynna likes. I will watch Wizards of Waverly Place, Good Luck Charlie, Zeke and Luther. Really, I can tolerate most anything. Except HSM. I don't know what it is, exactly. The overly catchy songs? The happy-schmappy not at all true portrayal of life in high school? The clothes? Sharpay? Or maybe it's just that I know musicals and this... this... has music... Sort of.

3. Ruby Tuesdays - I bring this up because I'll probably be dining there tomorrow evening. And I am dreading it. Don't get me wrong, their food is fine. Just like every other major chain restaurant in the world. It doesn't suck. Some of it is quite tasty. I'll never get over them ditching the Strawberry Tallcake from their menu, but since I craved their Pomegranate Lemonade my entire last pregnancy, it's a wash. It's the seating that bothers me. When you go to Ruby Tuesday, at least the one in my town, they seat you according to whether or not you have kids. Oh, no, they don't tell you this. They just do it. They seat all the people with kids in the big central area and everyone else in the areas around the perimeter. A couple of points about this:

• It's icky. If you're going to do something like that, be straightforward.
• The wait. I have had to wait for upwards of a hour while there were perfectly good tables open. They make up excuses for this, but then they seat me next to everyone else with kids and I know the truth.
• Backwards. If you are going to do this, seat the kids around the edges where parents have some control. Instead, you end up navigating a maze of tables and chairs, getting to and leaving the table (and going to the bathroom, twice per kid in my experience). Not to mention the noise. It seems like the biggest complaint I ever had about kids in restaurants before I had kids in restaurants (Note: I have no complaints now. If you are managing to not kill your kids with your butter knife, you're doing fine, sweetie, just fine.) was the noise. So, why, for the love of all that's good and holy, would you put the kids in the center area where everything echoes? Why?

4. Comedies - The Husband and I can never agree on a movie. Never. He likes comedies. The slapstickier, ridiculous, potty-humor-filled, the better. He is a fan of Dumb and Dumber. Need I say more? I prefer something a little more... I don't know. I actually am a fan of pretty much everything else. I like horror, action, suspense, drama, arthouse, foreign, animated, historical, fantasy. Pretty much anything, except his version of comedy. And it's not that I'm opposed to comedy. Monty Python, anyone? Now that is funny stuff. Just not his stuff. So, when a big comedy like that is in theaters, we argue and then we settle. For something blockbustery that I don't mind seeing. There's always something I'd rather watch. I still haven't seen The Reader. Heck, I still haven't seen Little Miss Sunshine. No, I'm not bitter.

5. Bad shoes - I love shoes. I'm a little bit of a shoe freak, but I have these feet, these size 10 and a half wide feet that have no arch whatsoever and I get really pretty shoes and then fifteen minutes later I'm howling in pain. I can't tell you how many dates The Husband and I have had to make a Target or Wal-Mart pit stop halfway through to buy me some flip flops. Because I can't handle the pain anymore. And then I feel guilty. Which, also, always ruins my night.

So, your turn! What will invariably ruin your night? Are you doing anything fun this weekend? Will your night be ruined by a paranoid babysitter? A wardrobe malfunction? Weak drinks? Share it all. I'll be editing the post to include links to those who choose to post on their own sites, so let me know in the comments or in email with the little contact me button up there.

Mrs. A at Glory Be's Version

Vampires Are Apparently Not Funny

Mama Kat's Weekly Writing Prompt: I sometimes laugh when I’m uncomfortable…or being yelled…or in church…or at a funeral. Write about a time when you laughed at an inappropriate time.

I didn't date much in high school. (That "much" should read "ever" really.) I can't really explain why. I wasn't asked much and I didn't have the nerve to ask. I had body image issues and thought of myself as the "fat girl." I wasn't really, but we're all a little skewed in high school. I was also wicked busy. Which is more an excuse than a reason, but most of the time, when my friends were frantically trying to fit everything in and keep their boyfriends from feeling abandoned, I was content with having one less ball in the air.

There were times, though, when I desperately wanted a date. Not a boyfriend, necessarily, just a date. See, all my friends and their significant others were friends. Sometimes, a bunch of us doing something turned into group date and no one bothered to tell me. I'd think that a whole bunch of people were going somewhere to hang out, get there, and discover that I was the only one not partnered up.

That is a tricky situation. If you sit by yourself quietly and alone, you'll seem like a party pooper, the one girl not having fun at the party, so to speak. If you cozy up to one of the couples and proceed to ignore the fact that they are there together, you'll look like you're trying to get between them. This led to a lot of trauma in my life.

There is one guy, in particular, a guy who really couldn't stand me, but who only seemed to date my friends, who I would like to apologize to. I cried at his house once and it was bad. Traumatic for everyone involved, I think. What can I say, I was young, lonely and didn't have my car, so I couldn't just leave. I don't think he ever forgave me. It doesn't keep me up at night, but you know. Sorry.

But that's not what I want to tell you all about.

In 1994, I was 16. I was a morbid kid, working my way through the complete works of Stephen King, writing depressing poetry and trying desperately to be different from anyone/everyone around me. Later that year, a group of us would burn a Barbie doll for a student movie and I would hang her charred head from my rearview mirror, in what I perceived to be a scathing critique of fashion and pop culture. Also, in 1994, Interview with a Vampire hit the big screens. You can imagine that for a morbid kid like me, this was a big deal. I was dying to see the movie. So, when one of my friends mentioned that a big group of my friends were all going on opening weekend, I jumped at the chance.

If you were to find yourself on one of these group dates masquerading as a non-date outing, movies were the best. There was no talking and plenty to occupy yourself with while someone held hands/made googly eyes/made out next you.

I was neither shocked nor appalled when I realized that this particular trip included 4 couples... and me. Disappointed, sure a little. But, vampire movie makes things better. When I ended up a group movie date by myself, I always tried to sit alone. Not across the theater alone, but on the end of the group, maybe a row in front of them if it was a big group. The idea was to not be surrounded. Strategic.

When we walked in the theater, the previews were already going and I hate nothing on Earth more than missing the previews. Everyone was whispering frantically, trying to work out who sat where, and not wanting to miss anything, I didn't pay attention and slid into the row and plopped down. Moments later I realized that I was not only between two couples and in the row behind two couples, but my girlfriends (who were always more sympathetic to my plight) were not next to me, their boyfriends were.

Vampire movie. Vampire movie. VAMPIRE MOVIE, I chanted in my head. This is going to be fine. Vampire movie.

The movie started and Christian Slater (man, I loved him) appeared and all thought of group dates and my life doomed to loneliness were forgotten in a sea of vampiric goodness.

I loved it. It was a wild ride and little, unknown Kirsten Dunst? Seriously? That kid could act! It was all going swimmingly.

Until...

Until someone got sliced in half. I have never minded a little of the old ultraviolence in my movies and blood and gore don't phase me in the least. But, I ask for one of two things: either the violence/blood/gore should be so fake as to be campy, so ridiculous as to be funny or it should look real. Period. Lukewarm violence need not apply.

Interview mostly went with the realistic option, and it was mostly fabulous. But there, in the background of one shot, is a guy getting sliced in half. (Now, I should note that no one seems to remember this part, but me. I can't find it in any "mistake lists" from the movie. It may not exist. That's okay. This is how I remember it.) The guy gets sliced in half, with a sword (which is already suspect) then the top half of his body falls to the floor, the bottom half remains standing and spurts blood.

So, I am not a doctor, but a heart (if a vampire even had a working heart) would be in the top half of the body, no? So, spurting blood should be the realm of the top half of the body. The bottom half should sort of ooze blood. Plus, I doubt a pair of corpse legs would maintain balance for very long.

I burst out laughing. I laughed really loud. It was funny! What? I am NOT warped. Well, maybe a little. Anyway, this was a packed theater, a horror movie and a pretty intense scene. And I, well, I laughed so loud that Brad Pitt probably turned toward Kentucky and wondered what the heck was going on.

Both of the boyfriends sitting next to me shot me twin looks of horrified repulsion and tried, in vain, to scoot as far as possible away from me. The two couples in front of me turned in their seats and stared, open-mouthed at me. The large group of total strangers surrounding our little group tried very hard not to stare.

The bad news is that for one of those guys, I will forever be "the girl who laughed at the vampire movie." The good news is that after that, people tended to think twice before they dragged me off on a group date without mentioning that everyone else would be coupled up.

And the double good news is that it crushed a crush I had on one of my friend's boyfriends. I'm sorry, but if you don't find that funny, well, you're better off without me.

A Summer of Nothing

I have been stressing this summer for Brynna. For lots of reasons, really. I've been worried about affording the massive amounts of camp I've got her scheduled to go to. Most of that affording is done, and now I'm short for regular bills because I've had to pay camp fees upfront. Note to self, start saving in August for summer camp.

I've been stressing what camps to send her to and how seriously to take this whole - "Don't miss camp, as weekly lessons progress and every day is necessary to learning," thing.

I've been stressing how many pairs of tennis shoes and how many swimsuits and do we have enough shorts that fit and I-don't-care-if-you-hate-them-you're-wearing-the-purple-shorts.

I've been stressing her ability to put sunscreen on herself, as the teachers and staff are not allowed to apply sunscreen.

I've also just sort of been stressing. Some intangible thing that I couldn't quantify. Until last night.

Last night, I was watching TV and a commercial came on. I wasn't really watching, just playing on the computer, but the lady said, "I just want my kids to grow up like I did." I felt this sudden sensation, like all the air being forced from my lungs and I realized that is what has been bothering me about camp.

Monday morning, I begged, bribed and cajoled, trying to get Brynna to play outside. Get out of my hair. Move. Turn off the TV. Quit whining about being bored. Just. Go. Outside. She finally gave in and went outside, where she played for 3 minutes and then came in and asked to get on the computer.

In the afternoon, we went to my mom's house and she never walked in the front door. Oh, she wandered in a couple of times looking for something to drink or a potty to use, but she stayed outside the whole day. She played with Papaw and got wet, rolled in the grass and ran and climbed. She dug up earthworms and built them a plastic cup home.

Why, I wondered. Why will she spend 5 hours outside at NiNi's and won't spend 5 minutes outside at home. Because. Because NiNi's outside is better. There's more room, more space, more trees, more shade, more life, more nature, more everything.

I'm actually the same way. I hate spending time outside at home. I will sometimes, on a very pretty day, sit on the deck and read or dig in my tiny, tiny flower bed. But, for the most part, I don't want anything to do with all that sun and heat and buggy grass. But, when I'm at mom's I will gladly sit in the shade on the swing or in one of the big Adirondack chairs for hours. There is a peace there, a freedom, a joy, that our out-of-doors just doesn't have.

And that's what I want for my child. The way I grew up there. I spent my summers sleeping until I woke up, throwing on whatever clothes were handy and clean and doing pretty much nothing. I caught bugs, I played games, I wrote endless songs, I read in the hammock and climbed the doghouses (because I wasn't allowed to climb trees). I explored the hayloft of the barn that had long been stripped of hay and served as a slanty-light storage area. I laid on the cellar door to soak up the cold and watched the rain roll in with my Granddaddy. I played with the feral cats and chased the dogs.

Okay, I watched TV, too. And begged for lemonade. And rode to Southern States with Granddaddy. It wasn't all nature-bonding goodness.

It's not necessarily that I want her to have my time on the farm, so much as my time. I didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn or get hauled to camp. I didn't have "learning" activities scheduled for every moment of my summer. I wasn't scheduled at all. Summer meant freedom.

For my daughter, summer doesn't mean freedom, it just means a new set of faces and a new schedule. For that, I am sad.

And yeah, I know I'm romanticizing. I know that I spent plenty of time whining about being bored and Grandmommie had to shoo me outside more than once. I know that there were days too hot to be outside and too still be inside. Days too rainy to do anything. Days when my grandparents plopped me in the car for two or three hours and I was miserable. It's wasn't all roses. I know that I watched The Parent Trap and longed for summer camp. That I would have given my eye teeth for the kind of never-a-dull-moment summer that Brynna is going to have.

But I would have been wrong. I would have been wrong to want that and I would have regretted getting it. I enjoyed my freedom. I was ready to go back to school when summer was over, because by then the freedom had become boring. And that was a good thing. I was refreshed, renewed by summers and ready to jump in with both feet to schedules and activities and education.

I fear that Brynna will never have that feeling. The free feeling on the very first day of summer vacation. The excited trepidation of the very first day back at school. The timeless feeling of laying down in grass over your head knowing you could just stay there for hours and no one would know where you were, but no one would be looking, either.

I'm stuck with what I've got this summer. She'll go to camp, and she'll likely love it. I may be stuck with this forever. I'll never be able to stay home and let her sleep, let her run. I'll probably never live on that much rolling magical land. Summers are never not going to be a time for me to worry about where she'll go and what she'll do. In a couple of short years, I'll add Maren to the fray and I'll be worrying about both of them. I don't know that I'll ever solve this.

But, between now and next June, I'm going to try.

What's In My Crochet Bag - The Gifts of May Edition

May brings many things to rural Kentucky. Spring some years and summer some years. The end of school some years. Flowers and green and lawn mowing and backyard barbecues. I love May. I know that I sometimes prattle on endlessly about my love for random things, like months, but May is truly my favorite (I think) month. I love the weather (unless it's a hot May) and I love the look of May, before the droughts kill all the grass and while the magnolias and peonies bloom.

I also love the holidays in May. I have a lot. More than your average bear. Almost as many as September and December, but unlike those hectic months, the May holidays have a casual, calm, relaxing feel to them. Ah. May.

May brings (this only sounds like two, but hear me out) Mother's Day and my fabulous mommy's birthday. Mother's Day hits us on five fronts. Of course, my children, directed by my husband, do something for me. Then my mom, my grandmommie, The Husband's mom and stepmom. There's a lot of Mother's Day to fool with, is what I'm saying.

This year, I had great intentions of crocheting up a veritable storm for Mother's Day. I had patterns and yarn for gifts for everyone. No store bought nonsense this year!

Ha. Oh, what? I was serious with that? Well, um... I'm sorry.

I ended up buying something for my mom, making a gift for my mother in law and my grandma, and because we don't get to see The Husbands's stepmom much, we back-burnered her gift until after I finish my mom's birthday present. That's right, three day weekend and it's still not done.

Spa Day - This is the gift for my mother in law. I'm going to have to ask you to ignore that precious little chubby hand. I know it's compelling, but we have to focus on the crochet. That you can barely see, because I ran out of time and finished this in the car and so had to take the picture in the car. I am nothing if not punctual and well-planned.

Remember the basket? Well, I was so proud of that basket and one of the reasons why I was sooo jazzed about that basket was that I thought I could do anything with the basic structure of that pattern. This is me trying to do anything with the basic structure of that pattern. I am still working on writing out a pattern for the basket, but the basic premise is this: crochet in the round, turn an edge, alternate front post and rear post crochet in chunks to get the basket weave texture. It's not all that difficult, although because of being in the round, it's a wee bit mathy.

So, I thought, "Okay, I want the same basic basket, but bigger around. And I think I don't want a handle. I want a handleless basket. So, this shouldn't be a big deal." Well... it was. The final product worked, but it wasn't ideal.

First of all, I thought that yarn would be cute. It wasn't. Color sucked and the flecks that I thought made it look way more natural than the label said ended up making it look kinda messy.

Secondly, the size was too big and the bottom became floppy. I should have seen this coming. What I did was cut a circle of carboard and put inside the basket to make it stiff enough to carry and frankly, when it's sitting somewhere holding decorative crap, it won't matter so much.

Thirdly, although I have plenty of handleless baskets in my house that are obviously baskets, they are made out of baskety materials. Taking away the handle made this look more like a bowl, which then begs the question, "Why the ugly yarn?"

So, lessons learned. On the bright side, I did three "spa" washcloths and tucked in there and they turned out lovely. Although I'm pretty sure my mother-in-law thinks they are dishcloths. Really, that's fine because they'll work for whatever and she'll probably use the dishcloths more than she would a "spa" quality washcloth.

I also made a eye mask, but it was so terrible I didn't even try to salvage the yarn by ripping it out, I just tossed the whole thing in the trash. Then I ran to the store and bought a real eye mask and a bottle of amazing smelling bath soap and called it a day.

So, things I want to try to salvage this basket idea:

• I've got to figure out a way to make them bigger without losing all shape in the bottom, so maybe two strands at once to make them thicker?
• Handles - always use them. Maybe work on a couple of different ways to do handles for when I don't want a traditional "Easter basket" style handle.
• Felting - I've never felted anything before, but I was thinking that if I could felt this, it would make it more solid. Ideas from felting experts on this? Would I lose too much shape? What about the basket-weave texture, would I lose that?

I'm not going to include details on anything. The basket pattern is still experimental and I started out with a pattern for the washcloths, but as I usually do with simple patterns like this, I only stuck to the very basics of it. The yarn of the basket was so freaking ugly I can't promote it and the yarn for the washcloths was basic Sugar and Cream cotton in some blue shades. There's just nothing fascinating here.

Sorry.