MotherHoot...Moaning, Groaning & Laughing About Family Life

I'm moving...

2010-05-12T11:28:00.000-05:00

I've moved the blog over to the Motherhoot website. So please, follow!

www.motherhoot.com

See you there!

Mission Monkey Minute

2010-05-10T12:05:00.000-05:00

This week I am participating in The Daily Dose of Reality's Monday Minute. I want to show my support for Momma Pixie's Monkey. Visit The Daily Dose and Momma Pixie and play along. Let's all support this family right now!

The rules are simple. Copy the questions, answer them in your blog post, and link back to The Daily Dose.

1 - How old do you act?
I feel like I've been stuck in my twenties for a long long time. Maybe not my early twenties, but definitely mid to late.

2 - As far back as you can remember, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I've wanted to be a writer for eons. That's been a constant in the ever-changing dreams of what I want to be when I grow up. Although, I'm still not quite sure...

3 - If you were to write a book based on your life, what would the title be?
My Life with Boys. I've been writing it in my head ever since I saw the first hula hoop strung up in the tree many years ago.

4 - What's something that you do that's considered "childish" by most?
I'm addicted to my Ipod games. Bejeweled can make me lost track of time most nights. But I just read a study where the experts concluded that playing Tetris strengthened brains. So I'll throw in a few games of Tetris into the mix. Oh, and some might not think this is entirely childish. You would if you knew how competitive I get when I see my score dropping in the rankings!

5 - The last question isn't a question. Write a story of a time of when you or someone you know overcame great adversity.
I don't think I know anyone who hasn't gotten through some great adversity. Seems like you live long enough, it's your turn for some heart ache and pain. Eventually you come out the other side and everything's fine. There's the day you realize the pain hasn't been constant, that you actually had some pain free moments. Soon the good moments out number the bad moments and you're moving on. You just didn't know it.

Happy Mother's Day...Let's Make An Instrument

2010-05-09T17:53:00.000-05:00

My Mother's Day has been lovely. (The preceding sentence was not sarcasm.) Don't get me wrong. I slept late. Got great presents and even better cards.

But...

Friday I got a call from Aaron's music teacher that he did not complete his music project. It was due last Tuesday. They worked on it in class. She provided materials. I knew nothing about it.

I was so happy that I would be spending time this weekend making a musical instrument and composing a song. (The preceding sentence was sarcasm.) Because that was the whole assignment. And the finished instrument cannot look like the base material. For example, coffee cans have to be decorated.

I was so excited that I got to make music this weekend. Not.

I checkout the teacher's website and read the directions. I studied the how to make a drum page and thought I might have some ideas. But I wanted Aaron to do it on his own.

When Aaron got home from school, I interrogated him about his failure to complete the assignment. And like a lot of 11 year old boys (my twins were very much like this) he had no answer or explanation. Just a deer-in-the headlights-expression that I took as a major clue that his brain had stopped working. He had no ideas. None. He might have even forgotten his name. Apparently, he has started adolescence.

This time around I am not terrified by this revelation. Because I know it will pass in about four years--a very long four years.

Saturday Jim came home from running and announced he had solved the instrument mystery and got out an old milk jug. Aaron helped him cut it apart and throw on some rubber bands. The project included using a drill and tape. Except it didn't work.

I threw an empty shoe box at Aaron and told him to wrap some rubber bands around it after his dad cut off the cover. And we were all happy that an instrument had been born, (Note: my project did not require power tools. I'm just saying...)

And because that was so exhausting, we all took to our beds/television/xbox and let the subsequent steps of the project gel in our brains until today. Mother's Day.

Since the shoe box could not look like a shoe box, we started discussing disguises. Aaron suggested coloring it. Sounded really messy to me. He suggested stickers. Sounded like a trip to Michael's for me and I hadn't taken a shower yet. I suggested using the Sunday comics. Thus the box was decorated with a few strips of tape.

Aaron started writing his song, but he wrote on the bottom right hand side of the paper so I made him re-do it. He got another sheet of paper. He scribbled the numbers down that correlated with the rubber bands and I suggested he write more neatly. He got another sheet of paper. He copied down his first line. When he played it on his shoebox/rubber band instrument it didn't sound half bad. Then he added the second line and started writing it half-way down the page in the middle. I began to suggest he start over (perhaps with a piece of paper with lines) and decided I was stifling his creativity.

Now I'm wondering if Mozart's mother went through this with him as a child.

"Amadeus! Your treble cleft is all messy, re-write it!"

"Amadeus, that symphony would sound so much better if your posture improved!"

Aaron has written his first piece of music on Mother's Day 2010. And he's probably scarred beyond anything and will never again look at music in the same way. Another Mother of the Year moment.

Being a mom is so hard...

Let's Get Naked

2010-05-07T15:42:00.002-05:00

At the gym, I came out of my shower in time to see a woman who usually attends water aerobics with me. I said hi as I carefully adjusted my towel so that no offending body parts were visible. Which means most of them because I learned at an early age that unless you are bone thin you keep everything covered.

The other woman, I'll call her "Eve," hung up her towel and began an intense 15 minute conversation with me about the new training program she is trying. The entire time, she is stark naked. And she isn't bone thin. She's an overweight 40-ish woman who is standing there completely naked.

Buck.

Naked.

I'm polite and maintain incredible eye contact throughout the conversation. Because I don't want her to be uncomfortable.

Because I don't want her to know she's my new hero.

Yes, this woman is my hero. Why? Because she stood there in all her glory, holding a conversation, without ever appearing to be self-conscious about her nakedness. She didn't use her hands to cover up anything. She leaned against the wall, she moved around. She was into the conversation and didn't appear to be constantly thinking, "how do I look?"

I was programmed at an early age to hate my body. The message I received from my mother and certain female relatives was that unless I was thin, I was not worthy. You could have warts all over every surface of your face and be the meanest, nastiest woman ever, but if you were thin...wow, you were gorgeous!

As a young child, I remember having multiple conversations with these same women. They went something like this:

Them: If you don't lose weight no boy will ever ask you out. You'll never go to prom.

Me: (Since I was all of nine or 10, I wasn't as witty as I am now) Really?! (Even then I recognized the horror of not being worthy of a man's attention because it was so important to these women.)

Them: Yes, no one likes fat women. You need to do something about it now.

Or having my mother tell me how disgusted my father was with me because I was fat. "Dad's boss asked him if you were dating anyone and he told him 'she looks like a football player, who would ever date her?' " said my mother. Wow, that's a great way to boost your daughter's self esteem.

Or having the nickname "Suey" during high school. Of course, they didn't call it bullying then. And my mother wasn't sympathetic at all. Because she agreed with them.

Even after moving away from home and coming to ChiBurbia where I lived with one of these same women and her husband, the "little talks" continued. Too fat. Not pretty enough. Not date-able. I was 20 years old and being berated about my weight. By people who didn't even really know me!

This is why Eve is my hero. Because those voices, those snippets of conversation, apparently aren't running through her head. I would love to ask her how she got to this wonderful place. But I am afraid doing that will make her self-conscious.

Instead, when I see Eve in the locker room, walking around naked, I will mentally throw up my fist and cheer, "You Go Girl!"

Review...Dream in Color

2010-05-06T08:00:00.002-05:00

I "met" Sarah J. Bradley through my demand that Rick Springfield will follow me (which he hasn't, and I'm getting a little annoyed with him! Could someone mention that to him?!). Some Rick Springfield fans friended me and followed me; Sarah was one of them. When she told me she had written a book about Rick, I was all over it.

Dream In Color is a romantic adventure about Ramona, a thirty-something woman in a rut. When she gets the news that her beloved Jesse Alexander is coming out of retirement for a summer tour, she jumps at the chance to change her life.

I loved Ramona! She's surrounded by naysayers, but marches on to fulfill her dreams of meeting Jesse Alexander. I cheered for her when her witchy boss gives her hell. I wanted to hug her when he mother gives her a hard time. Mostly, I wanted her to meet Jesse and have him meet the real Ramona.

Sarah does a great job of describing the process of song writing. Ramona is lovable. Jesse is not a Rick Springfield clone. (Unless Rick really does drink root beer and...)

It's been a long time since I read a romance. Usually I stick with thrillers, suspense, and mystery. This was a welcome treat. I found myself reading most of the book in one evening, only stopping because I couldn't read any longer because I was so tired.

I wanted Ramona to win! I wanted her dreams to come true! I wanted Jesse to appreciate Ramona for her true self!

Do yourself a favor and take the time to read Dream In Color. You won't be sorry!

Wordless Wednesday

2010-05-05T14:24:00.003-05:00

The Microwave...Part Two

2010-05-04T13:44:00.004-05:00

So we went to the store...

Have more frightening words ever been uttered?! Battling the weekend crowds. Looking for the best deal. Agreeing on a microwave.

I was frightened. Seriously, horribly, utterly frightened.

See, early in our marriage Jim and I had a bad shopping experience. We were new home owners in need of a lawn mower. I assumed one just bought a lawn mower. Jim looked upon purchasing a lawn mower as some medieval crusade. The lawn must be conquered by the biggest, the best, the cheapest lawn mower ever.

Five or six hours after we began The Hunt for the Perfect Lawnmower, we were back at the first store getting the first one we looked at. Why? Because no one had a bigger, better, cheaper lawnmower in all of ChiBurbia! (Obviously, I am still having issues with this and will work on finally forgiving Jim for this event.)

Please understand that this is what I was picturing. Another quest, only this time for the Holy Microwave.

I offered to go alone. Whip in and out of WalMart and pick up whatever I could find. Jim says he will go along. He tells me it's to help carry it. I am weak and he knows this, so it wasn't a completely unappreciated offer. I tell him someone from the store will put the microwave into the turbo minivan and he can bring it inside when he gets home from work. Nope, he's going shopping with me!

At dinner the evening before The Microwave Quest is scheduled, Jim says something about the impending shopping trip.

I don't even let him finish speaking before I snarl, "I'm not going to a million stores! Pick one and we're getting the microwave there." (Yes, sometimes I get testy.)

He doesn't really react. Just rolls his eyes (just a little because he knows that drives me nuts) and points out that all of our appliances are purchased at BestBuy because they seem to have the best prices. He agrees that BestBuy will be the place to buy a microwave.

(I've never loved him more.)

Saturday afternoon we go to BestBuy. It's not very busy. Jim goes to look at CDs. (He's really old fashioned and gets his music at the store on CDs rather than on Itunes!) I go to look at netbooks. I have an inkling I want one and want to check them out.

The netbooks are cool. I poke and play. Go to find Jim. He's still flipping through CDs.

I go to look at microwaves. There really isn't a big selection. There's cheap, middle range, and more expensive. Seriously, the cost of microwaves has come down a lot since we last shopped for one. See a few promising ones. Go back to Jim.

Then I make Jim go talk to the cell phone people so I can drool over the Iphones. The cell phone person tells me the Iphone is cool, sure. But Droids are better. Then she shows me some droids. We all agree the Droids are cool.

I say, "Maybe I should just get a basic phone and a netbook." She gets really really excited and asks me why I need a netbook. I tell her, without stuttering, fainting or anything, that I am a writer and want it to write with.

We go back to the netbooks. Play and drool over them. They make us a take it or lose it offer. I pass because I can't really justify a netbook. Sure the laptop battery sucks and lasts about 15 minutes. That limits my away from home writing. I just got the Sony ereader. Why must all of my toys cost so much more than Jim's?!

I drag myself away and we go to the microwave department. Ten minutes later, we have our microwave and are on our way home.

And that's why we decided to go microwave-less, changed our minds, went shopping, and now I need a netbook and an Iphone. Maybe an Ipad...

I'm gonna go eat some cereal. I bought some new boxes this morning...no one's been home to wipe them out.

Photo courtesy of www.ndevil.com

The Microwave...Part One

2010-05-03T13:26:00.000-05:00

Our microwave broke last week. Who knows why. Actually, I'm guessing one of three young male family members knows why. But they're not talking.

Immediately, I declared that we would not buy another one. Frankly, I am both in awe and terrified of the microwave. Seriously, how in the hell does the metal and plastic box cook food from the inside out?! It's frightening!

I worry about standing too close to it. When I cook, I tend to move clear across the kitchen. I cringe when I see the boys peering inside as it cooks. What is it doing to their brains?! I nearly hyperventilate when they stand in front of it. I do want grandchildren some day.

So I was quite pleased that I was taking a healthy stand for my family. We will be healthier without one! We will not live in fear of the micro waves cooking our insides! We will no longer glow in the dark! (OK, we really don't glow in the dark and that actually might be kinda cool...)

I felt so eco friendly. So other worldly. I was rising above those of you who need your microwaves. Hey, I can be petty that way.

The first few days were easy. I ate out. Jim had evening plans. The microwave sat, ignored, in the kitchen in the exact spot in which it died. Occasionally, I would pass by and wonder what I could do with it. Diorama? Planter?

Then, I was home for lunch. All I had was a SmartOnes. And no freakin' microwave. There was no way I was going to put it into the oven for eight hours until it was done cooking. I did have some LeanPockets, but again, the microwave was broken.

I chose the easiest solution and picked up some cereal. I could have cold cereal for lunch. How much caloric damage can be done with rice and corn chex? I was pumped, yet again, at how my wonderful mind works.

Then came the evening we all ate together. Some of you might not know that Jim is, basically, a vegetarian. Our dinner table looks like two completely different meals are being consumed. The boys and I eat meat, starch, vegetable. Jim eats vegetables. Carrots. Salad. Jim is a stick. The twins and I are not. Aaron only wants to eat PopTarts. He might have rickets.

I told Jim he could boil the bags of veggies on the stove top. I remember my mom doing that before we had a microwave. I am not merely eco friendly, but also retro friendly. Taking a step back in time, to a simpler, happier place.

No one bothered to read the directions for the boil in bag vegetables before dinner. Otherwise, I would have known that they have to boil for 25 minutes. Seriously, cheese ice needs almost a half hour to defrost/cook?!

That night, Jim ate carrots. He was not in the mood for a cauliflower in cheese sauce Popsicle. I can't remember what the rest of us ate, but it was better than plain carrots.

The next day I went to get lunch, only to discover that the boys had eaten all my cereal. See, I thought cereal was a safe food (i.e., would not be consumed by boys) because they had never shown an interest in cereal before. If I buy cereal and tell them it's theirs, it sits, untouched for eons. If I brought home cereal and commanded them to eat it, they would snarl and growl at me. I would be afraid they would eat me.

But I bring home cereal and point out it's for me. It's corn and rice chex, unsweetened and must be safe. Instead, I find the ravished boxes sitting nearly empty on the counter top.

Now I am lunch-less and microwave-less. Jim is wasting away because he cannot subsist on carrots alone. Plus, I don't want him od-ing on Vitamin A and turning orange. Again, possibly cool, but maybe a little too Oompa Loompa like.

It has become clear that we need a microwave. Yes, need it. To hell with being eco and retro friendly! To hell with not glowing in the dark!
So we went to the store...

(to be continued)

Yesterday I Modeled My New Tiara

2010-05-02T15:13:00.006-05:00

I pranced (ok, limped) into the garage where Jim was preparing to battle weeds with the electric weed eater in the rain. (Yes, this just might require an entire post of its own. I had no idea he was suicidal...)

I said, "Does this tiara make you want me even more?"

(I might mention that I was in pretty bad shape as I had some kind of autoimmune disease relapse for a few days and was barely mobile. I probably wanted to re-think approaching Jim under these circumstances.)

I have to give him credit, he didn't look alarmed or roll his eyes. He stopped futzing with the weed whacker long enough to look, then shook his head. "Naw, tiaras do nothing for me." Then he paused, took another look, "Save it for Rick Springfield. I hear he likes that sort of thing."

Nice, Jim. Real nice.

I Passed My Test...

2010-04-30T09:35:00.002-05:00

My Pap Smear/Test, that is. I even got a report card in the mail telling me I passed!

Have you taken yours?!

Seriously, girls, you need to see your gynecologist or internist and have this done. At least every few years.

We can't see these parts and we don't know when something goes awry.

Get to the doctor, put your feet in the stirrups, and think of something much more pleasant. Some of my doctors' offices have nice flourecent lights with pleasant outdoor scenes on them. It's so much better to have your pap smeared in the middle of a field with white-flowered trees floating overhead!

My doctor told me once that if getting a pap smear is the worst thing that happens to you in a day, then you're pretty darn lucky. Sounds like wonderful words of wisdom to me!

Go on. Pick up that phone. Make that appointment.

Do it for your husband and kids. Do it for all the people who love you. Do it for me. Just do it!

The Creation of a Care Package

2010-04-29T12:33:00.015-05:00

Recently, I put together a care package for my Cousin Cindy in England. That's in Europe.

It turned into a family affair when Aaron spotted the PopTarts. He declared them his, which is why we're at war over them.

Jeremy helped me get them back.

But, Aaron pulled his old trick of yelling "look, a bird!" and pointing. Jeremy fell for it, even though it's been years since a bird got into our house. I had to take matters into my own hands, tackling him to get the PopTarts back. Our dog Nikki was near at hand in case I needed assistance. Or maybe he was just trying to get some PopTarts.

Then Jim got into the swing of things and started suggesting items we might want to add to the package.

I said, "Jesus, Jim no one wants to get a care package with fruits and vegetables. Unless it's the pear gift from Harry & David's." Jim got a little belligerent and started lecturing Aaron on the benefits of eating healthy.

Aaron doesn't fall for it. He thinks eating healthy just makes you grumpy! So Jim tried to sneak in the stuff anyway.

Luckily, I caught it in time and was able to replace the vegetables and fruit with Peeps and other Easter candy!

We sure hope Cindy loves her Care Package!

Wordless Wednesday

2010-04-28T18:37:00.000-05:00

Dating Standards...Why Mini Vans are Out

2010-04-27T16:26:00.008-05:00

I am in a fairly foul mood today and have been struggling with today's post. Do I whine? Do I whine enough so I get some sympathy? Nothing's really "wrong"; it's just a day when I'm whining "why, why, why" in my head. Yes, exactly like Jan Brady whining "Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!"

Instead, I will explain how Jim was able to date and eventually--lucky guy!--marry a cool woman like me. I mean, I wasn't wearing the tiara back then, but I was still so cool.

On Sunday we went to WalMart. For Jim this is a mentally tortuous expedition. It's crowded. The parking lot sucks because half of it has disappeared because the store is under construction. I like to make him go though because I want him to know what I face while he works (minus the crowds and bad parking). It's not all sunshine and light here, buddy! It's not all lunching and blogging. (Oops, that was some whining. I think I got it out of my system.)

I saw a guy wearing the grossest sandals known to man. I pointed out to Jim that had he ever worn sandals of any kind in the early days of our relationship, that he would have been kicked to the curb. And forget about ever getting laid. Lucky for Jim he has a nice collection of gym shoes. (That's a +)

I have, on numerous times, pointed out why driving a mini van or any type of van would have been the instantaneous death of our budding relationship. He had considered the mini van, but settled on a truck. Because single men who drive mini vans/vans are serial killers.

(Except for my brother Tommy. Who I am pretty sure isn't a serial killer. Go check out his blog and you can decide for yourself.)
Sure, they might not actually have started actual killing yet. But there's scientific proof that when men drive mini vans/vans, they want to kill. OK, the science is a little obscure, but when I read the book Mind Hunter, that's how I interpreted it.

(OK, it's more like serial killers like mini vans/vans because they can black out the windows, throw their victim inside, and then do whatever it is that serial killers do. Well, we all know they kill...)

In those days I was going to be a great profiler. I wanted to know what made the human mind tick. Then I got my graduate degree in clinical psychology, started working with regular people, got so damned scared that I had to stop. You are scary, people! (That's not whining, that's abject terror!)

So, the rules so far are 1) no sandals and 2) no mini vans. Well, those are pretty much the rules and Jim passed both of them and got to marry me--the best prize of all! (There are also the no-loafers-without-socks and the no-members-only-jackets rules. And the don't-bring-your-own-hard-liquor-on-a-date-and-fall-into-my-building-and-get-a-big-gash-on-your-face rule. Oh, and the don't-tell-me-how-much-in-debt-you-are rule. One of my favorites: the don't-expect-me-to-find-dates-for-your-best-friend-who-sounds-and-kinda-looks-like-a-vampire rule. Seriously, none of my girlfriends wanted to date a vampire...)

I guess my point today is that you ladies have to have standards! You need to know what your hot buttons are. Stick to them and you, too, can be married to a wonderful man like my Jim. No, not actually Jim, he's mine. I'm not into sharing! Get your own!

PS Before spell check I spelled it "sandles" and thought it looked funny. I kinda like it though...

Tardy Moment...How I spent $$ and Wasted Time

2010-04-26T09:17:00.004-05:00

I posted on Facebook that I had done something so dumb and daft, that I couldn't even confess what it was. And I even spelled dumb wrong just to emphasize my tardy-ness. My post garnered many responses. And confessions. And pleadings that I confess to my dumbness. (Why do people want to see the worst?!)

So...here it is...

I heard about an auction site called QuiBids. (My experience was so bad that I am not even providing the link. Google it if you must.)

Jim wants a new Weber gas grill. Ours was broken (by an irate kid in this house of bliss) last summer. So we have been burger- and steak-less for months. And months. And months. I decided that I would try to win one on QuiBids.

Where else could I get a $700 Weber grill for a mere $10?! I would be the hero of the house. My men would pay homage! They wouldn't snicker if I wore my tiara outside for the first grilling of the new season. They would (once and for all) recognize the pure awesomeness that is mine and mine alone.

Instead...I failed. Completely and utterly failed.

I go to QuiBids and read the directions. I read the post on why people fail. I snort and laugh at the people who fail. I search for a grill. I am so pleased and smug that I found one. It is big. It is Weber. Jim will love me even more than before when I present him with this grill.

And the best thing of all...the auction is over in a mere 7 minutes! How could I get so lucky?

And anyone who's anyone knows that the real action on QuiBids comes in the last few seconds. Unlike ebay or other auction sites, the bidding goes on and on and on until everyone but the most prolific bidder (aka the one with no life) survives. Every time a new bid is made, the price goes up the set amount and the clock has another 10 seconds added on.

QuiBid auctions are penny auctions. Here's how I understand they work. You purchase bids. You use these bids to bid on auction items. Every time a bid is made, you see the clock go up another 10 seconds and the price go up (usually a penny, sometimes two).

I purchased my bids. First, I pick up a 45 bid pack. I should have had a clue because it is called the Baby Bid Pack. Then I bid on (and win! this is easy!) another bid pack. Just to practice the bidding. In total, I have 70 bids to place. Of course, some of these bids were used on bidding on the bid pack and a few random bids on a laptop and an Ipad. I got distracted.

I mean, those seven minutes were going by really really really sssllllloooooowwwwwwwwllllllyyyyyy. We're talking cold honey coming out of the bear's head slow.

Slow. Slower. Slowest.

After 45 minutes I started thinking, "what the fuck is going on?" I suspected there were bids sneaking in while I wasn't looking. Nope, there's only one bid. Nothing's changing.

So I stared at the countdown clock. And that's when I realized it wasn't 7 minutes. It was seven HOURS. Yes, hours.

In my quest to buy the grill in seven minutes I had wasted nearly an hour waiting. You can't get nothin' past me!

And there is my tardy moment. I cannot read a clock. Nor am I aware of the passing of time. I have transcended all means of time and space.

I was, however, still set on winning my man that grill. It would be mine! He would be Grill King of the Neighborhood. People would come from blocks around to watch him flip burgers!

I pulled out the laptop, crawled into bed, and was poised and ready when the auction was really ending. I had sixty bids and I knew how to use them.

We got to the final seconds...and more people began bidding. Every time the clock got down to just a few seconds, someone else would bid. The clock would raise. So would my blood pressure.

I clicked. I waited. I clicked. I didn't click when several people were bidding at once. I was saving my bids.

Suddenly, my sixty bids were gone. I was annoyed. The auction might be continuing to this day. I don't know because I haven't gone back to check.

Now I don't care if we ever get a fucking Weber. I don't care if we never grill again!

This is my totally daft moment, and how I spent $30 and three hours trying to win a $700 Weber grill. My fingers are sore from clicking the mouse to place bids. My pride is stung because I cannot tell time, nor do I have the patience or stamina to wait out my fellow bidders.

PS Everything I did was covered, I believe, in the QuiBids section on things not to do. (Well, not the losing track of and the inability to tell time.) They were upfront about it all.

PPS You can't get something for nothing!

I Am Obsessed with Nuns

2010-04-24T17:12:00.005-05:00

Yes, you read that right. I. am. obsessed. with. nuns. The brides of Christ. The sisters of the cloth.

Having attended Catholic school for many years, you would think I would have had my fill of nuns. But I just can't get enough. (Even though I still break out in a cold sweat when I have to do two-number division because Sr. Mathilda smacked the crap out of me when I didn't get it right away. I had marks! A big chalk hand print on my royal blue jumper. I am mentally scarred, apparently.)

I even wanted to be a nun for about five seconds in high school. I remember a missionary nun came to talk to us and I was so impressed. Do you know the only thing that kept the ants out of the food was Tupperware!? Tupperware! Not jars. (I wonder if we had zip lock bags back in 1980?)

Then I found beer and boys. It's been downhill ever since.

Although I do feel quite nun-like. I'm a modern missionary. I am raising children and keeping house. My foreign land is the Land of Boys. And I have plenty of Tupperware to keep the ants out of the food. Actually, it's mostly Rubbermaid. Because we are a missionary family and can't afford Tupperware. Oh, and I pray. A lot.

I tried collecting nun things. But no one took the bait. Cats, yes. Lord, did I get a lot of cat things for awhile. I mean, I like cats. But, living ones! There's a lesson here: get a cat and expect to get cat paraphernalia.

Mention in passing as many times as possible that you like nuns and no one hears you.

Growing up, my dad's aunts, The Nuns would come to visit. I remember having to be on our best behavior because they were a) old and they were b) nuns. They wore the big habits. Hassocks? And had rosaries with them. And wimples.

Now those were nuns.

I saw a nun at the Mexican restaurant recently. I stared, in awe. She wore a brown jumper and a simple white veil. When she turned around I was relieved to see that she actually looked like a nun. You know what I'm talking about. They have a look.

I can't wait for the Roselle Farmer's Market later this summer. Because there's always a booth where nuns are selling pastries. Nothing like a gooey fruit tart from a nun if full regalia with a French accent! That's a double whammy treat!

Maybe instead of tiaras I should be investing in nun gear. Think there's a market niche there? Hell, full, retro nun gear can even be substituted for a burkha any day.

What do you think? Want to buy one?!

Oh yeah. Once we were driving into Chicago and passed a convertible with the top down and with a nun sitting in the back holding her veil on her head. That was a picture just begging to be taken. Could you imagine the poster it would have made?!

Snarky (and not so Snarky) Saturday

2010-04-23T16:54:00.015-05:00

Snarky
You can't show real boobs on TV. Or maybe just dancing boobs are allowed. And I ain't talking about Kate Gosselin.

As an aspiring writer I learned the wrong way to go about dealing with a rejection.

And, of course, found a little site that addresses this issue. Check out #16.

I haven't heard from Rick Springfield, yet. He's not following me nor has be friended me. What's up, Rick?!

Not so Snarky
Love this video (Incarnation being painted by Mark Ryden)and love the song with it (Dustin O'Halleran, Opus 28, Piano Solos No. 2). Amazing talent, even if the raw meat pictures made me slightly nauseous.

I love this! Now I really really want a walrus. Too bad we got rid of the pool...

If this ain't the picture of the week...

Pet Peeve Friday & Giveaway...Crooks

2010-04-23T13:58:00.008-05:00

Last week's drawing for the Pet Peeve Friday prize of Avon's Moisture Therapy Skin Bump Minimizer (full size) is Show Me Mama. AS soon as I get an address I will be mailing this to her! She's a fellow blogger and you can find her here.

This week's prize is a full-size Avon's soft & sensual gelled body oil. Tell your friends! All comments to this blog post are entered for the drawing!

Winner to be announced next Friday!

*******************

Today's pet peeve is crooks. People who are out to rip people off. Yes, we are on the Internet. That doesn't mean we expect to be robbed. Sure, you don't do it with a weapon or a threat. You just do it. Why? I'm guessing because you can.

Shame on you. Shame on you for trying to get something for free. Shame on you for wasting my time. Shame on you. Shame on you. Shame on you.

My first official contact with these crooks (I am not counting the endless number of emails I have received over the years asking me to help smuggle all the money out of some foreign country) has been as an Avon lady. Yes, as an Avon lady.

It's well-known throughout the Avon community that these emails are commonplace. I get an email from Avon telling me a customer is interested in contacting me. I do not know at the point that it is a scam, so I get a little excited and compose the nicest email that I can. I really like to use the subject line "Ding! Dong! Avon Calling!" (And not just because "dong" is such a fun word to say!)

Then I get the return email from the crook telling me they have their own shipping company and will send me a mail order...yada yada yada. I always send another response politely pointing out that my website is available for their orders.

This morning I was part of the scam on social networking site and through email. A person from your address book or a friend on Facebook will contact you and explain how they have been victims of a crime in a foreign country.

I knew this was fake the moment it began became the person chatting with me on Facebook had never done so before. Because I was a little bored, I played along and copied the whole thing so I could blog about it! This really did happen this morning and I copied the Facebook chat when we were done!

Margie
Hey Susie!!!!!!
10:45am

Me
Hi Marge! [I'm confused and just a little excited because Margie has never chatted with me before]
10:45am

Margie
How are you doing?

Not too good at the moment...Our trip to UK was messed up [social interaction means you wait for the inevitable "I'm good" before continuing your tale of woe]

Am presently stuck in cardiff,wales with my family as we speak and we need help in getting back home [Margie and I aren't the kind of "friends" who would ask each other for help. Plus, I've heard/read about this scam on yahoo groups. This is when I knew I could have some fun!]
10:46am

Me
oh, how terrible! [Do you hear the sincerity in my reply?]
10:47am

Margie
got mugged last night in cardiff at gun point..cash and ccs were stolen off me by the muggers

Am so worried and scared right now [I don't even know where in the hell cardiff is!]
10:47am

Me
that's awful! what can I do to help?! [Sensing the sincerity?]
10:48am

Margie
You there?
10:48am

Me
i am
10:49am

Margie
the authorities are not being 100% supportive but the good thing is that we still have our passports but don't have enough money to clear the hotel bill here
10:50am

Me
oh dear! what will you do?! [Maybe a little over the top. I never say "oh dear!"]
10:50am

Margie
wondering if you could loan me some $$
10:50am

Me
how would i get it to you?
10:50am

Margie
You can wire the cash to me via western union to my name

Do you know any western union outlet around you?
10:50am

Me
just your name? where to?

I have one nearby.
10:52am

Margie
Marge Xxxxxxxxx
3 The Balcony,
Castle Arcade,Cardiff,
United Kingdom

thats the details you'll need
10:52am

Me
OK, I can leave the house in a few minutes. How will you know it gets there? I wonder how long it takes?!
10:53am

Margie
I can receive it there within minutes right after you have wired the cash to my name
10:53am

Me
are you there?! [I am done playing and am afraid they've gotten scared off! I need more for a blog bit!]
10:53am

Margie
yes

I can receive it there within minutes right after you have wired the cash to my name

you'll have to email me the confirmation details such as MTCN Number
10:55am

Me
where would you like it emailed?
10:55am

Margie
you head

Your Head [If there was any doubt before that this was a scam...]
10:56am

Me
what?

Marge are you alright? [Thought maybe I could suck him in for a little longer!]
10:57am

Margie
fuck you

l know you're kidding me [This person is obviously new at this. Or already knows it will never work. He really should have continued. What if I had been a kindly old woman prepared to save her friend Marge with a MoneyGram?!]

idiot [I might be a lot of things...but I am no idiot! Plus, the nerve of the scammer to get irate at being scammed back! sheesh]
10:57am

Me
Marge! What's wrong! Is everything alright?! [I'm not done playing.]
10:57am

Margie
Are you kidding

If you're serious go and send the money now while l will be here waiting [Watch the grammar, Crooky!]
10:58am

Me
OK, fuck you back you imbecile. Did you really think I was going to fall for this shit?! Don't you have anything better to do than hack Facebook accounts? [Hmmm, I obviously don't have anything better to do than play with crooks...]

I cannot wait to blog about this, you little freak! [Oops, I lost patience!]
10:58am

Margie
fuck u
10:58am

Me
Perfect ending...

That's why I hate crooks. They have no sense of humor.

Yesterday The Hoots Took Over Lou Malnati's

2010-04-22T14:09:00.012-05:00

Kelly, Jan and I went to Lou Malnati's for lunch. We needed to iron some things out about our communal blog. And, of course, we laughed. A lot. And, of course, ate a lot. (Have you seen Hyperbole and a Half's artistic rendition of alot?!) Let it be known that I suggested the individual pizzas...

Jamie, my sister, couldn't come to the lunch. Well, she does live in Arkansas and it's a land far far away. Plus, she recently (like on Tuesday!) had surgery (she can tell you for what). Now, if she taped any part of it or perhaps brought home a body part in a jar, I'll be happy to post any of those things!

Several things were decided at the lunch.

One, you cannot command people to be funny in front of the camera. Seriously, why is it so hard for some people to be funny on demand?!

If you keep telling people to be funny--whether in front of the camera or in writing--you get called names. Kelly has named me The Blog Nazi. I am taking this as a positive labelling. If you listen closely, you can hear me doing my best Nazi imitation. Is that tasteless?

We came across some boys and one of them was wearing a suspected piece of dirty clothing. Here "dirty" = sexual. I couldn't care less if his clothes were actually soiled. He's not my kid. I went to the bathroom and tried to read the t-shirt, but his arms were in the way. I tried to get Kelly to go to the bathroom so she could read it. (Again, Kelly refused to pee on demand for me. I'm re-thinking her best friend status!) Instead, she marched right over to the table and demanded to see the t-shirt. She even shook her finger at him! Just like a good, perturbed mother should!

Of course, I got the picture of the shirt. And I asked him if his mother knew he was wearing it. God, I sounded like June Cleaver. Or Carol Brady! I knew this shag wasn't a good idea just for that reason!

We're planning on making this a regular meeting. Of course, we need to map out a different location. Two restaurants in ChiBurbia down (i.e., they don't want us back)...several thousand to go.

Some of you might wonder where the video of me is. I did take one. It was horrific. I look really really bad on camera. So I deleted it. Hey, I'm the who's a Savvy Minx with the tech stuff (that's what Jan told me and I have it in writing!), so I can do whatever I want!

Wouldn't you like to come to a lunch with the Hoots? I'm telling you, we know how to have fun and can deal with the errant youth of America while we're at it!

And I promise to work on my video skills!

Wordless Wednesday

2010-04-21T10:15:00.002-05:00

I'd Rather Be a Vampire

2010-04-20T09:28:00.002-05:00

Last night I watched The Howling.

When Jim came to bed, I announced that I would never want to be a werewolf because they really are unattractive in their werewolf state. Plus, it really looks like it hurts to turn into a werewolf. Also, I have really really crappy fingernails, so my claws would be inferior and all the other girl werewolves would make fun of me.

He stared at me.

Then I told him I'd rather be a vampire. Vampires are sexier.

He turned away and folded something laundry-like.

I was afraid to even touch on zombies.

A Post with Two Goals: Rick Springfield Will Follow Me!

2010-04-19T08:53:00.000-05:00

Ha! Sounds like a football reference, no? It's not. I am not a fan of the sport.

However, I do have two goals here.

First, I want a famous person to follow me on Twitter and I have decided it shall be Rick Springfield. Anyone who knows me knows my feelings about the man. I cannot say I am his biggest fan. I mean, I don't travel to see him. I do have a husband and kids. Someone told me they have to come first and I cannot follow Rick Springfield around in the turbo mini van. I still choose to believe this.

So I make do with seeing him in concert. Making certain I get great seats. Hey, last December at The Hemmens, I almost touched him. Yes. Almost.

So the least he can do is follow me on Twitter. Maybe even Facebook. Seriously, I'm pretty funny. Even if my most-loved tweets and updates get no laughs at all. (I mean, did you guys see the one where I forgot my phone and did updates with paper and pen?! Offered to mail them?! Now that was funny!)

Second, a documentary is being made about Rick Springfield and his fans. Tentatively titled "Affair of the Heart," filming begins in May and continues through 2010. Read all about it here.

I'm assuming the documentary will be about the hardcore fans (i.e, those who follow Rick Springfield around the country) and the softcore fans (i.e., those of us who go to a concert and then go home to the kids; it also kinda sounds like something you'd see on Cinemax). Of course it will also feature Rick Springfield, the best looking 60 year old in the world!

Watch for Rick Springfield concerts in your neck of the woods. Watch for the documentary. Be in the documentary. Listen to a Rick Springfield playlist on your IPod. But, most of all, tell Rick Springfield to follow me on Twitter and friend me on Facebook (I'm on there as Susie Harkness Kline)!

It's Sunday Afternoon...

2010-04-18T16:39:00.005-05:00

the pork chops are in the oven, gardening has been done. I'm sitting in front of the computer reading blogs while chowing down on Meijer Real Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips. I'm a little frightened by that...I mean, are there actually faux semi-sweet chocolate chips?! Why does Meijer feel the need to declare their chocolate chips as "real." Does Tollhouse identify their chocolate chips as "real?" Not that I care enough to even google Tollhouse to see...*

I'm feeling a little sad today. Because I finished the last book in the Dennis Lehane series featuring Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro. I feel like dear friends have moved away and I know I won't be seeing them in a very long time. I'm going to miss them, but it's been oh so much fun knowing them.

I've now read everything Lehane has written except for the last two books and I've loved every one of them. Even if they make me question what is right or wrong and good or bad. He's made me think a lot of about the grey areas of life.

I think you should read something of his. If you're not up to a series, "Mystic River" is quite excellent. So is "Gone Baby Gone." And I'm still thinking about "Shutter Island."

Just read them all. Trust me on this.

*Of course I care! I google everything. By the way, I saw nothing on the Tollhouse website declaring any of their products as "real." Makes me wonder what's going on here. Who has the real chocolate chips?!

Pet Peeve Friday with Giveaway...Big Brothers

2010-04-16T14:11:00.008-05:00

Last week's drawing for the Pet Peeve Friday prize of Avon Oatmeal hand cream sample is Cindy Pfannenstiel. Cindy, keep an eye on the mail...

This week's prize is a full-size Avon's Moisture Therapy Skin Bump Minimizer. Tell your friends. All comments to this blog post are entered for the drawing!

Winner to be announced next Friday!

***

OK, back to big brothers. I have four of them and I haven't had them all that long. Believe me when I am say completely in love with all of them and this post is completely tongue in cheek!

But, I am suddenly getting teased. Via Facebook. By my big brothers!

You're supposed to be nice to the baby (I also have three wonderful older sisters). Not pick on her!

It all started earlier this week when I asked my brother Tommy if he was a "teabagger" after he announced that "Republicans suck." Here's how it went from there. I can't even begin to make this up...

PJ #8 before you call someone a teabagger you might want to find out what it means..... LMAO

April 8 at 10:41pm

TJ LOLLOLLOLLOL, P, I was thinking the same thing!!1

April 8 at 10:52pm

TJ I'm still laughing.

April 8 at 10:52pm

TJ That's the bestLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

April 8 at 10:52pm

TJ I think it should be lolrotfpub

April 8 at 10:53pm

TJ P, you piece of shit

April 8 at 10:53pm

TJ lolololololololol

April 8 at 10:53pm

ME ok...am I missing something here. Now I'm thinking "teabagger" means something dirty! Hey, stop picking on the baby!

April 9 at 8:10am

ME I found this site and found out everything I needed to know about teabagging. Including the sexual definition. And there was absolutely, positively no reason I ever needed to know anything about that. At all. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=teabagger

April 9 at 8:17am

[At this point I forwarded the link to Jim at work because I had absolutely positively NEVER heard the term "teabagger" used as anything but political identification. He couldn't open it; the company firewall blocked it.]

[Also, imagine my horror at learning a new sexual term at the age of 43. Where have I been? Under a rock? I thought I was hip! Wait, does anyone use "hip" any more?! Maybe we were sheltered in Western Kansas or wherever the hell Hays is located!]

TJ You poor thing, but it is Ps faullt, blame it on him.LOL

April 9 at 10:53am

CL Um...yeah....there are kids on here (like me) who read what the posts say between family members who obviously get curious and um.....yeah... I don't think I will click on another link that is posted! LOL

[CL is my poor scarred niece. I hope she recovers from this!]

Then something else starts today!

It started when I forwarded an article about my twins' track and field prowess last evening. The headline is Kline Eats Up the Competition at Fremd. (The article really is cool and there's an incredible picture of Jeremy mid throw.)

[My boys are big and they could eat you if they wanted to. Just so you know. But they're nice. So they won't.]

KJ I think sister susie's got busted for cannibalism. The story is newspaper and I only had time to read the headline. Keep her in your thoughts its gotta be a rough time - how do you face the neighbors

TJ you are bad!!lol

about an hour ago

ME My kids did not eat any human beings! lol They are getting accolades for Frisbee and cannon ball tossing! sheesh. This is how rumors get started! lol

15 minutes ago

KJ sorry that was not sister got busted but her kids... gotta keep the details straight not to defame the innocent
about an hour ago

KJ kids will probably need help with bail and attorney's. Donate into my paypal account and I'll see they get any help they need with this problem
about an hour ago

Identities have been hidden to avoid public humiliation when word gets out that my brothers tease people.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure any money going into KJ's paypal account will not go to my boys! Don't fall for it. Now, if you'd like to donate to the twins' college fund...

Pre-Recorded Messages or A Flip Chart

2010-04-15T16:50:00.006-05:00

I'm tired of repeating myself to my kids.

Honestly, how many times can I say:

"Clean your room."
"No candy for breakfast."
"Leave me alone."*
"Shut up."**
"Set the table."
"Get all the trash together."
"Get the dogs water."
"Put on deodorant."
"Brush your teeth."
"Take a shower."
"Do your homework."

And so on...because, as moms know, we spend a lot of our time telling people what to do.

I've tried asking. Even asking politely. That gets the same amount of reaction as just barking orders like a general with the troops. Why bother sugar-coating these requests with extra words and inflections that will just confuse the listenee and delay the completion of the request?

I'm thinking that a tiny tape recorder could help me. At least it would save my voice and maybe some of my sanity. The only problem with that would be keeping track of the recorded messages. I would hate to play "take the garbage out" when I really meant "brush your teeth." Kids are already so confused. Why add fuel to the fire?

I could get a flip-chart. I'm really big on visual aids since I am such a visual person. But, I might get paper cuts from flipping through the pages. Then I would just get even grumpier.

Oooo, I could get one of those scrolling signs! See, like this! It's small and I could just carry it around the house with me! At $39.99 it's a steal! (An added bonus would be to actually use it in my car, providing real-time commentary on the idiot drivers surrounding me!)

Anything would be better than the personal voice system I am using right now. No matter what I say, no one ever hears me nor are my orders followed through!

* I know there are moms who would never use this term. However, I reserve the right to use this when a) I am in the bathroom, b) I am in the shower, c) I am on the phone, d) I am doing taxes, etc.

**I know, I know, "good" moms don't use terms like this. But you tell me how long you can last without shrieking it when you are asked for the fiftieth time in five minutes "can I have some PopTarts?" If you can survive that without telling the child to "shut up" then you are a saint and surely have something better to do with your time than read my blog!

Hat Quest 2010

2010-04-14T13:11:00.003-05:00

I need a new hat since I can't be in the sun. Unfortunately, I forget how bad the sun really is for me until Spring is here.

So today was day one of Hat Quest 2010.

Shopping for hats alone is a miserable experience. Seriously, if you don't have someone to manically laugh with you over the absurd hats that are available, it's just not fun. Plus, the cell phone camera ensures that any really bad blunders can be digitally archived. And passed around. Posted on Facebook.

Sadly, a baseball cap isn't enough. I need more protection than that.

All the cute hats have narrow brims. Not enough protection.

Hats with a really wide brim made me look like a tourist. I don't know where...but I'm sure it's some place where tourists are horribly mocked for their choices in hats!

After Hat Quest, I am bring the Caftan Hunt. I need coverage for my entire body.

Such a pretty picture, eh?!

The Power of Positive Thinking & Why I Forgot All About It

2010-04-13T14:15:00.004-05:00

The past 24 hours have been pretty tense, especially the hours between 8:30 and noon.

Jim's company went through another round of lay-offs. It has been the most nerve-inducing event.

And I completely forgot my old mantra of, "don't worry until you actually need to!"

I did a pretty good job of being positive yesterday. I was soothing and calming. I would have even paid more attention to Jim if I wasn't in the middle of my Dennis Lehane love fest (aka reading his books--get your minds out of the gutter).

But this morning every positive thought and calming mantra I knew flew out the window. I called Jim for the regular morning check-in and the layoffs were happening. He had to hang up suddenly.

And the doubts and negative thoughts came flooding in. My stomach hurt. I had trouble breathing. I became--gasp!--bitchy!

I couldn't be my usual amusing self at bowling because I was too busy being worried about my future. Yes, mine! Selfishly, I am scared to death of losing our insurance.

Unlike many Americans, we do have incredible health insurance. And it doesn't cost us an arm and a leg. But I am tattooed with the big old PEC on my forehead.

You know...PEC=pre-existing condition. With my autoimmune disease, insurance could be hard to come by if something happened to what we have.

And I need my insurance. For the doctor visits. My meds. To monitor the problems they found because I went to a doctor. (These anomalies require CT Scans and MRIs to make sure they don't turn into full-fledged PROBLEMS!)

I just started feeling good and cannot imagine what I would do if we couldn't afford my meds. Or the blood tests to monitor my body on the meds.

Not that I wouldn't give them all up to feed, house, and clothe my family. It's just the thought of it happening that sends me into a tizzy!

But it seems Jim may have squeaked by yet again. And I can breathe. And the stomach ache has passed.

I'm just a little amazed how quickly I can fall into the pit of despair. It's not a place I like to visit very often.

I'd Like to Introduce You to MY God...

2010-04-12T15:07:00.003-05:00

I've avoided writing this post for awhile because I don't want to offend any of the few who read my blog. But I can't avoid it any longer. Because people are getting crazier and nuttier...all in the name of religion and doing things for God.

This article is what started today's rant. I'm not going to condemn these people or even point out their stupidity. Instead, I am going to send them all loving thoughts.

What I am going to do is introduce you to my God.

My God, whom I just call "God," is a kind and benevolent being. Really, all he asks of me is to be a good person and to treat the Earth and her residents (human AND animal) with the kindness and respect they deserve. He really does believe in The Golden Rule.

He wants me to greet each day with love and laughter. It is my job to spread the love. With a smile. A kind word. A kind gesture.

I have not been given any special powers that allow me to judge my fellow beings in any way. Any judging will be done in its own time and way. By God. I would never dare to compare myself to God or to even consider myself worthy of judgement.

I'm astute enough to know that The Bible was written by man and open to his many interpretations. Which is why there are several versions of The Bible. It's a nice piece of literature, but it doesn't hold the key to who or who isn't worthy.

Now I know people will be muttering Bible verses condemning just about everything you can think of. And I will simply say, "yes, there are those who even believe that segregation was right because it said so somewhere in The Bible." And then I will look you in the eye and say, "any book or religion that says my children are not deserving of respect or the rights of others is completely and absolutely wrong." Oops, I guess I judged you. But that was in my mother role. And a mother crossed is a powerful, powerful force. (By the way, I would also defend your children's right to fair treatment also! Don't think I'm just looking out for my boys!)

Plus, if The Bible was wrong on one thing...what else has it misinterpreted?

My God thrives in the beautiful. Every blade of grass and every flower petal. Every rainbow and thunderstorm. Every animal, whatever their shape. Every person, whether they are short or tall, black or white. Every sunset and sunset. Every piece of art: music, painting, writing.

All he asks of me is that I be good. But sometimes when I see things done in the name of God and religion, it makes me want to be really really bad. Mostly it makes me sad that people find themselves in the midst of such ugliness, in the name of a God who created such beauty.

Pet Peeve Friday: Slow Drivers

2010-04-09T14:38:00.006-05:00

Last week's drawing for the Pet Peeve Friday prize of Avon Oatmeal hand cream samples is Jamie Van Becelaere. Jamie, keep an eye on the mail...

This week's prize is another sample of the Oatmeal hand cream. Please comment and share today's pet peeve!

****

I actually thought I wouldn't even have a peeve today because I was so blissfully happy all morning. Then...I drove amongst the zombie drivers.

Yes, I'm talking to you!

Do you know how angry I get when you know there isn't another car behind me, but you insist on pulling out in front of me and not even driving the speed limit?

Do you know how many bad words I say (out loud, of course, because I am driving alone!) when you drive under the speed limit?! For goodness sake, this is Chiburbia* and we drive at least 7 miles over the speed limit at all times. Not under!

Plus, it's a nice sunny day, which means you just need to drive a little faster. It's the law...well, a mother nature law...well, a SusieLand** law.

So get with the program and don't get in the way of the ArtTrt (that's Art Tart because I am an artist with attitude) turbo mini van.

Don't drive in the left lane if you're driving slow.

Don't pay so much attention to the cell phone that you don't know what's happening to your speedometer.

I'm sure there are a lot of other don'ts. I am have a brain slowdown and can't remember them all. But you know what they are! You do!

* Chiburbia: I don't remember exactly where on Twitter I ran across this term. I am taking it to mean the suburbs of Chicago. I don't want to take credit for making it up. But I might have. See comment above about brain slowdown.

**SusieLand: the land where I exist that is gorgeous and peaceful. There are ducks, and bunnies, flowers and fluffy clouds. We do not talk about death, volcanoes, or any other topic of less than pleasant things. You are free to visit SusieLand at any time, but you must maintain a smile and a happy disposition at all times.

Family Rituals

2010-04-06T15:25:00.004-05:00

Aaron's teacher sent home a list of activities that would start family rituals. That got me thinking...do you have any? Because I'm not so sure we do here in KlineLand.

We eat dinner together every night. That's our big one and I know it's supposed to make my kids bigger and better than all the rest. Hey, I saw that on TV!

Other than that, we're pretty open to suggestions. Jim always coaches something. That's been a steady ritual since the twins got into organized sports.

I used to attend all sports events until it came to pass that the sun kills me. Literally, I get rashes and flu-like symptoms. One afternoon in the sun takes three days to recover. Not worth it, really. But I do attend night games.

We used to have our Saturday night poker game. But that's fallen to the wayside since the introduction of the XBox Live into our home. It was fun though and I think it's time to bring that back!

I'm reminded of an episode of The Middle where Frankie, the mom, wants more family rituals. Except they all just end up sitting on the couch watching TV. We don't even do that! I take to my bed early so I can read without the background noise of the cartoon channel.

Jim's mom and dad took the boys every Wednesday night for years and years. It was a little mid-week date night. That doesn't happen any more, so we don't even get a regular night out with just the two of us. We save that for the biggie--the Anniversary! Wow, once a year...

So I am in need of some suggestions for family rituals. Because I don't think yelling, "brush your teeth, go to the bathroom, and for god's sake put on some deodorant!" every night counts.

What Keeps Susie Kline Feeling Great?

2010-04-05T15:51:00.004-05:00

On the last page in Heath magazine, there have a piece where celebrities answer a series of questions. I started wondering if people really answer this honestly or are making themselves seem way more chic and deep than they really are. So here are my answers...and I'm being completely honest!

My favorite home-cooked meal: It's got to be grilled cheese because that's the only meal Jim cooks. And I'm not counting anything I make because I had to do the work.

Three things always in my pantry: olive oil, sugar, flour

The single best thing about working out is: when it's over

The body part I like the most is my: I like my feet because my toes are perfectly stair-stepped to create a 90 degree angle.

My go-to at-home spa treatment: WTF?! There's no spa-ing going on in my house of boys. Although sometimes I do remember to put lotion on.

Whenever I'm nervous I psych myself up by: Calling Kelly and having her tell me to snap outta it.

If I could change one thing about the world: Everyone would just be nicer.

My favorite book of all time: Is constantly changing. I'll read any and all Janet Evanovich and Jennifer Crusie. I'm working my way through the Nevada Barr and Dennis Lehane libraries at the moment.

My best quality: I am funny, dammit!

I wish I had more time for: Being a mother...the twins are almost 18! I'm getting a little twitchy over than!

My happy-life motto: Is this really going to matter in 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 months?!

We Survived Spring Break 2010

2010-04-05T15:45:00.004-05:00

I should have a t-shirt printed with this. Moms all over the nation will be clamoring to buy them.

Although my spring break was woefully uneventful. I was all prepared to write a blog post, all peachy and happy on day one and then ripping out my hair by day 10.

But it really didn't go that way. It was calm and relatively peaceful every day.

Sunday evening we did come close to a melt down. Because Jermaine is addicted to the XBox Live. I didn't think it could happen, but it has. My 17 year old son is addicted to it. I think I need to find him a treatment program. Stat!

Other than that? No real drama. The twins had track practice almost every day. Coach Nihells sure knows how to tire them out! The man is a saint for introducing the heavy conditioning for the outdoor track season during spring break!

Aaron spent his time playing the Xbox and playing outside with friends. We did nothing remotely educational either. No reading. No writing. Just a little 'rithmetic.

I wonder if I can get the mellow troops to help in the Spring Break aftermath cleaning spree. They may not have been pills, but they sure are messy!

Pop Tart Wars

2010-04-05T14:26:00.002-05:00

I am in the middle of a Pop Tart war with my youngest son, Aaron. He's the picky eater in our home and has been since his arrival. Once, I cut up everything into small pieces and served it with toothpicks. Like Costco does. He ate like a maniac that night.

But, the Pop Tarts might be the death of me. Because I am completely torn about them.

Some back story. I have, fairly recently, gone on a whole food kick. No boxed items. Which really means I'm making my own flavored rice instead of buying RiceARoni. Because I still buy a small jar of spaghetti sauce and doctor it with my own crushed tomatoes. And I had to buy taco shells because Aaron won't eat soft tacos. Of course, I buy pasta already made because I cannot see myself tossing together some homemade spaghetti. Hey, my pasta machine is for polymer clay!

Even though I have become an almost-whole foodie, I don't want to label food as "good" or "bad." After all, it's just food. Labelling is simply my own judgement. I don't want my kids going through life thinking of food as something to be conquered.

So that part of me says, "C'mon, you can get some Pop Tarts. They really aren't bad."

Then Aaron's chiming in my ear saying, "Pop Tarts are a fruit mom. Every body eats them..." Except he doesn't get the fruit flavored ones. He wants the S'mores. Ain't no fruit in marshmallows, buddy!

So, on occasion, I give in. I gave in this weekend because it could be an Easter treat.

Aaron got hold of the box and followed me around, preaching, "Mom, it has B vitamins! And is fortified! And, there's no cholesterol and no trans fats!" He points out that it says so right on the box.

I retort, "It's not real food." I mean I can say something is "real" instead of "good," right?!

"Yes it is. See, I'm chewing it. With my teeth." He stops short of opening his mouth and making me look at a dessicated pop tart.

I'm still not convinced Pop Tarts are good for you. I know, I know...in moderation anything is fine.

I'm just worried because Aaron has taken to hoarding the box from his brothers and eating the pop tarts one on top of the other, sandwich-like.

Convincing me even more that Pop Tarts might actually be a little evil...

Happy Easter...and I'm just not that happy with Yahoo mail right now...

2010-04-04T15:53:00.002-05:00

OK, Happy Easter. For all you practicing Christians, enjoy the resurrection of Jesus! I don't really know what to say to my Jewish friends, because I was raised Catholic. And I'm not really Catholic anymore. I'm more a believe-in-God closet Buddhist. But this is all fodder for a different post.

What I really want to do is rant about Yahoo mail. They have "new" mail and "classic" mail. I am using "new" mail because it's got to be better, right?! Except I can't use any of the options in "new" mail.

So I switch back to "classic" mail and make my changes. Seriously, I need my filters to work because I am a cheerleader on Goals for Guppies for the next three months and I want the posts to go into their own folder. Except that it hasn't worked so far and I've tried and tried, but they keep going into the generic Guppies folder. Now, I really want them to go into my general Inbox folder so I can answer them within an appropriate time.

But when I switch back to "new" mail, none of my changes take! I can't even make changes to my contacts list and my brother Tommy changed his email address, and I really, really need to make the changes.

So I use the "comment" link and make a comment. At first, second and third tries I am polite. When the screen comes up offering to send my to customer service, I politely decline. Well, in my head anyway. I mean there's no one really there. It's just a screen.

But the last time, I'm not even sure I wrote in complete sentences. I just want them to know that their system isn't working for me.

And when I start my new on-line class this week about freelance writing, and I fail to keep up because I can't make a folder for the million and one posts that will be coming through each day, I will get more and more angry.

If anyone knows someone at Yahoo, could you mention my problem? Their comment page isn't working right...

Pet Peeve Friday...Annoying Co-Shoppers

2010-04-02T14:16:00.005-05:00

Last week's drawing for the Pet Peeve Friday prize of Avon lipstick samples is Keri Bender Roberts! Keri, keep an eye on the mail...

This week's prize is still undetermined. But please comment and share today's pet peeve! It'll be good...I promise...

***

I just got back from Target and was crowded in the check out line by a middle aged couple (that means they were older than me). The man got so close I couldn't even swipe my card without bumping him.

Seriously, if you're in that big of a hurry to get out of Target, please don't shop there! It doesn't matter day or night, morning or afternoon, weekday or weekend, Target is always the same!

My Target is set up in a rather annoying way though. From the cash register to the end of the counter, where your bagged purchases get piled, is approximately 3-4 feet. The card swipe machine is by the cashier, then there are the empty bag hangers, then the landing pad for the purchases. In order to get things into your cart, you have to keep moving back and forth, while you pay.

So, Target's at fault for poor ergonomics. Whose bright idea was it to set it up like this? Why isn't the card swiper at the end where you can grab your bags and toss them into the cart? I know they probably paid some person lots of money to come up with a workable system. Well, it ain't working!

OK, so that was a little side rant about Target and their apparent stupidity. I've done my best to accept this as part of the price of shopping at Target. Some days are easier than others...

It's the rude people that really bug me! How come the person behind you in any checkout line feels the need to get as close as possible! Well, get their cart close, anyway!

If my groceries are piled to the end of the conveyor belt and I am still piling things up there, there's absolutely no reason you need to have your cart bumping into my hip. Having you bumping me isn't making me work any faster. In fact, it makes me slow down (you know, like an adolescent boy when you tell him to do something he doesn't want to do!).

Getting into my personal space doesn't make me pay faster. It makes me turn to you and try my damnedest to blow up your skull. Like in that movie Scanners. You might think I have a migraine or something, because I have to really screw up my eyes and wrinkle my nose to get the full power of my brain into the act. But I am just trying to have your brain explode.

Now for the people in the aisles actually shopping. Have you ever heard "be polite, stay to the right!" Even preschoolers are taught this. If everyone stays on the aisle to their right, people can pass by with plenty of room to spare.

Unless you let your kid hang off the side. Then that's just an invitation for someone (said child) to get hurt when I wing around you. Have you ever noticed that people with small children just shop slower than the rest of us? I know I did.

I also don't find it amusing when your small child is blocking my way and you stand in the distance begging her to move. While you are working on your diplomacy skills, you are preventing me from completing my least favorite chore. (See the above Scanners reference for an explanation of my expression.) I do not find misbehaving children amusing at all, and their spineless parents even less so. Go take little Johnny's hand and get him out of my way.

Just a little piece of advice. There is no reasoning with a three or four year old. Using a sugary voice as you try to convince them to do something isn't going to work. They need to be shown!

(In case you are thinking that I must believe I am a perfect parent, please don't! I have had kids act like total brats in stores. Hey, Aaron still does it, and he's 11! But, unlike some parents, I have come to realize the not everyone is enamored of my children. Especially when they are misbehaving. No one likes a brat. The brat's parent is liked even less!)

There is a special place in hell for the people who insist on parking their carts diagonally across the aisle. Are you undecided? Lost? Trying to shop with both arms off of shelves on either side of the aisle? Good luck and God speed. If my wing span was something greater than 60 inches, I might try that!

Wow, shopping really set me off today. I guess I'd better stick to PeaPod!

So, tell me about your latest Pet Peeve!

April is Happiness/Gratitude Month!

2010-04-01T14:34:00.005-05:00

"Optimism, like gratitude, is really about shining the flashlight of
your attention on what's good instead of what's not."
M.J. Ryan, life coach and author of Adaptability

The moms at Motherhoot are taking on the happiness/gratitude challenge! You're invited to participate too!

Take some time each day to jot down the things that you are grateful for that day. Big or small, everything counts! You don't need a fancy journal to do this. Although it really is nice to keep it all in one place so you can read over it.

This challenge developed from an article I read about The Happiness Project. Other researchers have taken the premise just a little further and have studied whether there really is an increased feeling of happiness when you focus on the good in your life.

I believe your overall feeling of happiness has to increase if you are grateful. And I challenge you to try it, too!

The moms will be posting their feelings each week throughout the month. Why don't you join us and share with others. Is it working for you? Do you think it's hokey?

We want to know it all! Good or bad!

This was my message from the universe this morning and it seemed just a little too coincidental:

For simply giving thanks, Susie, when you lay down to sleep each night, or, from time to time, for no reason or rhyme, you'll begin to move with life instead of against it. You'll be shown that life could not possibly be more beautiful than it is now. You'll see that you are the fountainhead of your experience. You'll remember that you transcend all things time and space, and thus are their very master. And you'll find that you live in a paradise where the only thing that truly seems impossible is how powerful you really are and how much you are loved.

What else would you think about, anyway

Phew!

The Universe from www.tut.com

Where You Go I'll Follow...

2010-04-01T08:00:00.000-05:00

So won't you follow me? I'm looking for more twitter and twittermom followers. The Bloggess, my new blog crush, has over 39,000 fans. (Yes, I put in the correct number of zeros!) I don't even have 39. (Yes, there are NO zeros here!)

And I want more! More followers! More fans! More of everything!

So why don't you follow me? Please? I'll follow you! Pass me around to your friends (hey, you know what I mean!) and ask them to follow me!

I want, and need, more, More, MORE!

Won't you help me, please?!

Ladies, We Have Got to Talk...Again!

2010-03-31T14:09:00.002-05:00

I guess some of you have forgotten the first time this was posted. So, we are having a refresher course. Please, please, please read and remember the section on lining the seat with toilet paper and leaving it for the next user. There will be a test...

***

About bathroom etiquette!

Sure, this is uncomfortable for all of us, but I think some need a refresher course. Frankly, I don't care what you do in the privacy of your bathroom at home. Your home, your business. It's what you're doing in public restrooms that's grossing me out. Big time.

I'm breaking us all into two categories: squatters and sitters. If there is another category, please let me know. Personally, I am a sitter. I have short legs and squatting is just not comfortable.

Just a little lesson about the dangers of public restrooms. Urine is sterile. There, I said it. Yes, there are exceptions when people have a bladder or urinary tract infection. Then it is not sterile.

The only way you're going to get some sort of disease or infection from a public toilet is if you sit on a soiled seat with huge, gaping, weepy sores on your butt. If that's the case, we have a lot more to fear from you than you do from the other public bathroom users. Get to a doctor and get that cleared up.

Let's address the squatters first. Sure, you have strong thighs and quads and can keep yourself hovering above the toilet seat. This is fine if you aren't peeing all over the seat. However, if you do make a mess on the toilet seat, PLEASE CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF! Seriously, I am getting tired of coming into the stall after you and either passing it up entirely because you've peed everywhere or having to wipe down the seat before I can even use it.

It's gross. It's messy. It's piggy. You made the mess, clean it up.

Now the sitters. Some of us sit directly on the seat, some of us put down two strips of toilet paper on the seat. Now you have a nice, clean barrier between you and the toilet. Unfortunately, sometimes you leave the nice strips of toilet paper laying on the seat as you pull of your pants and go on your merry way. Again, CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF! Remove your paper strips, drop them into the bowl, and flush. Do not just walk out of the stall and think you're done.

Personally, I don't want to deal with half-sodden pieces of toilet paper. When you dangle it into the toilet, the toilet water is wicked up and someone has to deal with that mess. Do it yourself.

Everyone, it takes mere seconds to turn around, assess the mess, and deal with it. Drips? Amazing how a little tissue can fix the problem. Spatter? Again a little toilet paper.

If you've taken your child into a public bathroom, it is your responsibility to clean up after the little one. Little boys spatter. You hate it at home. We hate it in public.

If we would all just clean up after ourselves, it would be a cleaner, healthier, happier world!

(Let's not even talk about the people who use their dirty, gross shoes to flush the toilet. Just what the next person going to flush wants--a handful of floor filth!)

I'm on Spring Break

2010-03-30T14:10:00.002-05:00

It's Spring Break here in Roselle, Illinois.

Spring Break=Kids, No School.

So why am I suddenly so unmotivated? It's almost like I am also on Spring Break.

Cook dinner? But I'm on spring break!

Vacuum the living room? But it's spring break!

Watch the kid? Hey, I'm on spring break here!

The sad thing is that being a stay at home mom means nearly every day is spring break. Seriously, how much cleaning can you really do? Laundry is endless, so I don't even count that as a chore. Cooking comes second nature.

But for Jim--who really could use a Spring Break--his days are filled with never-ending work and stress. I feel really bad for him.

Plus, it's day 2 of Spring Break, and I don't even have anything to bitch about yet.

No one's threatened to kill anyone else. Well, Jermaine did call Aaron "retarded" yesterday and I had to yell a little about that.

Aaron went with me to bowling today and was good as gold. Seriously, I was dreading it--okay, seriously dreading it--but with a full McDonald's breakfast and my Ipod touch, he was content to sit for 2.5 hours while I bowled. And he only asked to go to the arcade once!

Maybe I'll get motivated to do something. Or maybe I'll watch "Jag" on Sleuth. That David James Elliot guy--or whatever his name is--is pretty cute.

Happiness

2010-03-29T14:01:00.002-05:00

It's almost here! Just a few more days! It starts Thursday!

What is it? It's the Motherhoot Happiness Challenge.

The idea is that by identifying things that make us happy each day, we will end up happier. It's a way to get us to see that life is filled with good, but we probably don't always see it that way.

For instance, if I were to do a gratitude journal entry for today, these are the things I would list (so far!):

the smell of chlorine even after showering off the pool water
kids who are getting along
sunshine
the wall Jim built me in the yard
budding leaves on the lilacs

Nothing mind-blowingly grand. Nothing that cost a lot of money or took a lot of effort (well, except for the part where Jim built a wall!). Just noticing life and how darn good it can be most of the time.

I came upon this website today and now want to read the accompanying book. The Happiness Project is Gretchen Rubin's memoir of a year she spent "test-driving studies and theories about how to be happier." The whole site is fascinating and I could lose myself there for hours. Take a look and see what I mean.

For the Motherhoot Happiness Challenge, the Hoots (which is now how I am thinking of all the contributors to the Motherhoot site) and all who want to join in, will keep a daily gratitude journal listing the things that they are grateful for that day. The science behind the gratitude journal is that after doing this for awhile (we're all doing it in April!) you will become happier.

I like that idea. I've been on a year-long stint of postive thinking and looking at the glass as half full, and I am definitely feeling better about things. I've been pretty lax with my recent gratitude journal keeping, but am looking forward to starting it up again. I, of course, have an app for it! But anything will do: small notebook, scrap paper, your computer...

I hope you'll join us on the project. The Hoots will be posting comments once a week about their progress. You don't need to share your actual gratitude journal, just share a little something about how it's making you feel.

Of course, if you don't find a gratitude journal at all helpful, we want to know that too! If you can't be honest with the Hoots, we're doing something wrong!

Pet Peeve Friday...Safety Seals on Bottles

2010-03-26T11:06:00.004-05:00

I understand the food and drug industries are doing whatever they can to keep their products safe for consumers. What I don't understand is why they make it so freakin' difficult to open their products!?

Give me just a little tab or a lip to grasp so I can pull your safety device off clean and neat. You're really not making me a big fan of your product when I have to feel around for the piece that's hanging over the opening so I can get a good grip to get it off.

I don't like just punching through because I don't want the dirty safety guard on the outside of the bottle touching the contents of the bottle. Isn't one of the reasons for the safety guard so the product doesn't get contaminated?!

Plus, I'm a little neurotic about this and need to have the entire safety guard removed from the bottle. It's just neater that way. It's how I like it. (I also like my towels hung a certain way, my gym bag packed a certain way, towels folded a certain way...)

If I had the energy, I would start a letter-writing campaign. Start boycotting difficult-to-open products. But since I don't have any excess energy at the moment, I will just complain here.

Hurry! Give me your pet peeve for today! I'll be doing a drawing on Sunday from all comments. The prize: an Avon lipstick sampler. Tell your friends! Please include an email address so I can contact you.

Where's My Patience?!

2010-03-25T13:49:00.000-05:00

Has anyone seen it? Because it sure as hell isn't here right now!

I am testy and pesky. And Aaron's driving me nuts.

It could be my pre-Spring Break dread. The knowledge that I will be forced to entertain and endure the children for an entire week. I'm sure Jeremy and Jermaine will be off doing track-like things. So that will leave me with Aaron.

I could play Cop Out Mom and keep him entertained in front of the TV, the playstation, the DVD player. But I just can't do it. So I will have to come up with some Fun Family Activities that we can enjoy together.

If it's nice we can go to Cosley Zoo and look at the spring animals. And we'll laugh about the time the cow scared Jermaine senseless and at the chickens with the funny feather hats.

We can see movies. "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" and "Percy Jackson Lightning Thief" are still showing. But I really really hate spending lots of money at the movies. Aaron requires popcorn--preferrably at the theater that also supplies the cinnamon/sugar or cheddar cheese flavoring--or nachos. Of course, we'll need something to drink.

Of course, if the weather's nice I will have nothing to worry about. I'll just need to keep tabs on where he disappears to. His bike is broken, so I don't have to worry about the acrobatic traffic darting those 11-year old boys prefer.

If you have any suggestions for a fun and fulfilling Spring Break, please share them with me. Share them with all of us!

If I find my patience, I'll let you know if yours is lurking nearby!

Send it in a Letter

2010-03-24T17:31:00.000-05:00

Last week I ran into a friend, who began telling me the details of her now-completed nasty divorce. She shared some of the more dastardly things he pulled. None of which I remember.

Because I got completely side-tracked by the fact that he did many of these dastardly deeds through...LETTERS!

Yes, he wrote silly demands and perverted requests to her IN LETTERS.

Seriously, letters. And she's been saving them in case she needs them in the future.

Jim has never, ever, in nearly 14 years of being together, written me a letter. I don't even think he knows my address. Cards are signed simply, "Love, Jim" and are sometimes embellished with a smiley face.

I'm not sure I want him to write me letters. Do I want a written list of the things I need to be improving? I prefer the running tally being made silently in his head, thank you! I don't want concrete evidence of my shortcomings.

I know that letter-writing is a dying art. In fact, the letters I actually do receive each year are usually attached to Christmas cards. Although my brother Tommy is an excellent letter-writer and I loved receiving them. Most of my written communications are limited to emails and texts.

I'd rather talk to Jim than have him write me a letter. I hope there's nothing we have to say that is so horrible it needs to be written and left silently behind.

Kelly and I were talking last week about women who have boxes of love letters from old beaus. I have none. Zip. Zilch. I guess I've never been the type of woman who inspires men to pick up pen and paper and wax eloquently on my many admired qualities. Maybe there are no admired qualities!

Still, I like where Jim and I are communication-wise. We're somewhere between "tell me everything" and "un-huh." If it's important, it's said.

Most importantly, we say "I love you" a lot. As a family, it's one of the things we all do well.

Sing, Sing a Song

2010-03-23T14:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I wrote about dancing. Today will be the obvious companion--Singing!

I love to sing. I love to sing when the music is loud. As the years have gone by, I have become more blatant in my singing in the car.

I sing as I dance about the house.

And I am always good! Seriously, American Idol contestants have nothing on me! I could swing by and dance through Dancing with The Stars and then mambo into the next studio for my episode of American Idol!

I've even toyed with the idea of joining some sort of choir. Or asking the singer down the street for voice lessons. She's a professional singer, so I don't actually ask her.

For a long time, I forgot how important music was to me. I always had the television on to fill the house with noise. I limited my music consumption to the car. Then I started turning on music in the house. And it has made such a nice difference!

Music is very important to our family too. When Aaron was younger and was never going to walk, talk, function, etc. (that's what the professionals told us anyway) he was being taught sign language to give him communication skills. Then one day he starts belting out "Big Machine" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Let me tell you, my admiration for Johnny Rsesnik took on a completely different facet. Aaron could communicate, he was just waiting for a really great song as his message! (I heard Johnny Rzeznik likes to hear inspirational stories about his music, so feel free to pass along this blog if you know him!)

I made up a lot of little songs for Aaron when he was little. Sure, Rick Springfield has his lullabies, but did he ever sing "Socks on Toes" and "The Arms Go In The Sleeves." Or sing "Rock a Bye Baby" over and over to induce giggles when the line "and down will come baby" meant he would be dropped and caught before he got hurt. (Again, if you think Rick Springfield would like the music rights to "Socks on Toes" or any of the other ditties, please feel free to pass on this blog.)

Jeremy and Jermaine thought Peter Gabriel was singing "Chocolate Monkey" instead of "Shock the Monkey." For a long time, Jeremy's favorite song was "Cheeseburger in Paradise." They recently informed me that they prefer Jim's music (rock and country) to my 80s laden alternative choices. That's ok with my, because they'll be remembering my music and telling their kids one day, "Gramma Susie used to sing this song all the time when we were kids!" They won't be able to hear the Cars "Moving in Stereo" without thinking of me!

Jim plays guitar every night. Once I asked him to play me a love song and he did a little Mexican hat dance like song. Yeah, he thinks I'm hot and spicy!

There are songs that always bring a smile to my face. The memories are from long ago, but hearing the song makes it seem like just yesterday. I am instantly transported back in time when I was young and carefree.

So sing today. Sing loud and proud!

Dance 'Til You Drop

2010-03-22T17:15:00.000-05:00

How often do you dance? Seriously?

I can’t remember the last time Jim and I danced together. It was probably at a wedding. Crap, Shannon’s been married eons now. We did dance a lot at our wedding twelve and a half years ago. However, it’s not our dancing together that is ever remembered. It is Jim dancing solo on the table while people shoved money down his pants. (We had a wild wedding!)

Personally, I dance a lot. In the morning I pop on my IPod and dance around the bedroom. Some times I make the dogs dance with me. Dylan used to love to dance. I’d grab his front paws and around we’d go. But now he’s old and not all that fond of being swung around like that. Nikki’s too darn big to dance with. I usually end up getting licked from ear to ear. That’s not something I enjoy right after a shower. Roxy prefers dancing on her own. She will spin on her back paws without any assistance needed on my part.

When I dance alone I am a phenomenal dancer. I would win Dancing with the Stars in a heart beat. Well, if I were a star and I could be the only person voting!

I used to Jazzercise. That was fun dancing. There was a routine we did to Copacabana. I swear, we were Vegas showgirls.

When I was diagnosed with Sjogren's Syndrome, I told my kids I was really diagnosed with Showgirl Syndrome and would soon have spectacular legs and would be dancing all over. I practiced and practiced so I could be a Rockette. When I saw their Christmas show, I realized the only role I would ever dance was Mrs. Santa.

I was just dancing around the living room. I wonder what the neighbors think when they look in the windows? Not that I really care. I just want to dance!

First Day of Spring

2010-03-20T14:54:00.000-05:00

It's the first day of Spring and I am watching the snow falling outside my window.

Seriously. The grass is white again. The pine trees in front of me have white and green branches. And the finches have fled the front yard.

I know, I know, it won't last long. The warmer weather will melt it soon.

Still, I'm just tired of snow and the teasing of spring we had all week makes it even worse!

I'm ready for eternal sunshine and pleasant breezes.

Awwwww, summer...

Health Care Reform

2010-03-19T15:39:00.000-05:00

I really hate to get political because it is so easy to offend people. But I can't keep my mouth shut any longer.

What the hell is the matter with healthcare reform? OK, that didn't come out as delicate and polite as I wanted it to. But it's what I've been screaming in my head for months and months.

Let me tell you some stories...

How about the pregnant woman who had her company's health insurance change mid-pregnancy and then couldn't get coverage with her obstetrician because he wasn’t covered under the new insurance? True story. I worked with her.

How about the single mother who was beaten up by her children’s father? She didn’t have insurance and didn’t have a caring employer, so she worked all day. I heard about her because I was the family counselor at the day care. She had to walk past my office to get her kids. She could barely walk, was holding her side, and explained that she wasn’t going to the hospital because she wasn’t able to drive herself down to Cook County Hospital to get medical care. I called the nearby hospital and got them to agree to treat her.

When I was the executive director of The Peace Center—a social service agency that worked with people who were homeless—I saw more than one family lose their housing because they were struck with a devastating illness. These were hardworking people who struggled to pay all their bills. Even though people without insurance regularly pay more than people with insurance. People often lose jobs because of an illness.

I’m getting a little miffed when I see all the older Teabaggers doing the protesting. Aren’t you getting Medicare? Don’t you already have a government health care plan in place? Why would you take it away from others who need it as much as you do?

Is there anyone in America who truly believes that the system we have in place now is working? Sure politicians don’t care…because they already have a government plan in place that covers them. And, it’s become painfully obvious that politicians do not believe in paying bills; I’m assuming this from all the education cuts being made in my state because the state is in arrears.

So I beg you, call your representative today. Let her know that some sort of health care reform is needed.

The signs of a Healthy Relationship

2010-03-16T16:31:00.000-05:00

This blog post by Brett Blumenthal really hit a nerve with me today. I am the middle of something that has my head spinning.

Apparently, I am so evil and twisted that my badness stretches across the miles and through the Earth's atmosphere, causing mayhem and destruction without me actually have to do one single thing. Yes, I am so powerful that I could ruin your day, perhaps even your entire existence!, if I merely think your name today in a negative way.

It's scary being so evil. (I can't even bring myself to add the requisite "muhahahahaha" after that. [Hey, I do an incredible evil laugh!])

The person at the receiving end of my evilness has described me as having "deep problems" and said that I get "pleasure" out of hurting her and others. Once again, I point out to you that I actually did not speak, email, or communicate anything to this personal at all! Hmmm, who's the sick and twisted one?

What this has done has rocked my very existence. It has made me doubt my goodness. I am not perfect and never have claimed to be. But my basic belief as a human being is to be a good person. I try to be kind and empathetic. I try to think positively and help others do the same. I believe my greatest task as a mother is to raise children who do the same thing. My mantra is "we are kind to other people and kind to the Earth and all her animals!"

Yet, this one person has made me question myself. I've actually had quite surreal moments over the past few days where I have had to ask myself if my reality could be so completely askew. Am I such a devious person that I think I am good when I am actually very very bad?!

Can I rely on friends to be honest with me? Or are they also so evil (birds of a feather and all that) that they revel in my badness and won't tell me the truth? Who or what can I believe?!

Are you starting to see why my head is spinning?

I think I could take the relationship of which I speak and write an article on the signs of a relationship that really isn't working. Because a relationship doesn't really exist if it is between one person who walks on egg shells waiting for the inevitable moment when she makes the other person angry. A relationship doesn't exist when one person looks at every word, every phrase, every email, every phone call looking for the inevitable thing that will send her off the deep end.

Why, you ask, is it inevitable? Because this little ballet has been performed over and over through the years. It's a dance I know well. Unfortunately, I am never the lead. I never get to be the choreographer. I never get the cool tutu. I never get to be the princess. I always get to be the troll.

Well, I am tired of being the villian. I don't want to dance anymore. I'm stopping here. I'm going to chalk this up to a learning experience and another lesson how not to treat people. I'm taking back my sanity by refusing to play in her insane production ever again.

Do You Know Where Your Resolutions Are?

2010-03-15T14:34:00.000-05:00

You know, the ones you wrote or made in January. I did a nice little layout of my resolutions--or goals as I chose to call them. I noted actions needed to accomplish my goals. It looks really pretty.

Last week I chose to review my goals. It was a another goal I made that week for a writing group I belong to. I quickly found the nice little type-written page and spread it open on the keyboard.

[My desk has undergone a transformation recently when I was driven to clean it off. And it has stayed that way! It is amazing what empty wood looks like!]

Goals 1, 2, and 3...working on them pretty steadily.

I'm working out, trying to regularly keep a food diary (I use the one at Daily Plate and it's nice. They boast over 650,000 foods in their database. There's also an IPod Touch app.)

I'm writing. I made quite a dent in the first draft of a second mystery novel during the Guppies Chocolate Challenge. I joined the Goals for Guppies group so I would be inspired to keep up the writing challenge! I'm keeping up my blog and am working steadily on the Motherhoot website.

I've been keeping up with Avon and servicing all my regular customers.

Then I got to number 4. I had completely forgotten about it until I spread that piece of paper on the key board. It's a fairly important one. It's something I am always struggling with. OK, I'll confess: I am trying to get my house organized. Corral those stray papers, deal with the mail immediately, file important things away immediately.

I keep asking myself how with a mere four measley little resolutions I could actually forget one. Heck, maybe I actually have four children and have just focused on three. The fourth is stagnating somewhere under a hairball in the corner!

All I can think of now is that I hope my goals only took up one 8.5x11 inch page. I hope there's not another sheet or two of neatly organized resolutions floating around the house.

2010-03-15T13:12:00.001-05:00

Twitter Moms: The Influential Moms Network

You Are Invited

2010-03-14T16:47:00.000-05:00

Cordially, of course!

Our next group project on the Motherhoot website is going to be a happiness experiment. I read an article recently (don't remember where) about an experiment where people kept a gratitude journal. Each day they listed things that made them happy. At the end of the experiment, they rated whether they were happier or not.

The Hoots are going to do our own version of this. Starting April 1st, we will start our daily happiness journals. Each week will post comments about our feelings on this journal. Is helpful? Are we feeling happier? I'm encouraging total honesty!

I would like you to participate with us! Please, keep a gratitude journal with us during April. It can be as low-tech as scraps of paper or as high-tech as an IPod app. Personally, I use "gratitude journal" from the ITunes store. Since I'm always using my IPod touch in the evening, it's easy to just fill out my journal.

Several times in the past I have started doing the gratitude journal, but always end up letting it fall to the wayside like so many other things in life.

Male or female, parent or not, the invitation is presented to you to join us in the Motherhoot Happiness Experiment. Try it, and share your comments with us! You don't need to send them weekly, just send them in when the feeling grabs you!

I look forward to hearing from you!
susie

Corporate America, Take Heed!

2010-03-13T17:04:00.004-06:00

Dear Corporate America,

Lately, I have concluded that very few of you are capable of employing functioning customer service personnel. Normally, I am loathe to make blanket statements like this, but in this instance I feel I am more than justified. I wish I could convince you to adequately train these employees. (Make mine English-speaking and computer literate please.)

However, since you haven't taken it upon yourselves to hire competent employees, I am vowing the following: I will be test driving your customer service departments before I purchase your product. I am going to go to your websites and I will check them for ease of use. I will see if your Frequently Asked Questions section is at all helpful. I am going to call, email and live chat with your customer service departments about completely false problems.

If, and only if, you manage to pass my rigorous screening process, I will consider purchasing your product. It would be in your best interest to know what your competitors are doing customer-service wise because I will also be checking them out. Highest scorer wins!

Why have I been driven to these drastic measures? Because for many of my goods and services, you have failed in the areas of customer service.

While I don't feel safe enough in our litigious society to name the names of the bad, I will instead, name the good. (Althought wouldn't it be totally cool if the Motherhoot blog came under fire?!)

DirectTV--absolutely amazing customer service and not one problem in nearly six years of being a customer
First American Bank--again, amazing customer service (they haven't even made me feel stupid when I have emailed them the most stupid of questions!) for nearly 13 years of service
Apple--it's no secret that I believe the Apple people are Gods
Allied Waste--I pay, you take my garbage; you don't inundate me with junk mail
US Cellular--ok, the only bad thing I can say about you guys is that you don't offer the Iphone (see #3 above)

I hope this list isn't complete. Frankly, I don't want to go through my bill pay list at the moment to rate everyone. But if you don't see your name above and you know I am a customer or own one of your products, you might want to spend some time training and re-training the troops. Because they aren't getting the job done!

I look forward to doing business with you in the future!

Sincerely,
Susie Kline

PS While I won't be writing about the bad in my blog, I will be telling all of my family and friends about specific customer service. My email address book is large!

Proper Parenting

2010-03-09T14:16:00.000-06:00

Yesterday's visit to the LifeTime locker room developed into a "healthy living" discussion between several of us. I offered Vitamin E as a way to moisturize the pregnant belly of one woman. Another woman chimed in that cocoa butter was best and you'd better buy it from the health food store because it would be chemical free. It morphed into the dangers of cosmetics and the benefits of jojoba oil, olive oil, and coconut oil.

It further morphed into what we feed our children. Avoiding high fructose corn syrup, plastic bottles, canned goods. Eating "whole" foods.

But just when I start to feel smug that I'm doing things "right" I realize I missed something completely. Damn!

For weeks I have been trying to feed my family "whole" foods. That means nothing processed. Frozen vegetables. No rice a roni. No pop tarts.

Then I spot the store-bought cinnamon rolls on the counter top. One left, of course. And the tub of store-bought cream cheese frosting in the refrigerator because there's never enough frosting on store-bought cinnamon rolls. You have to add more.

And last week I made spaghetti sauce with a jar of store-bought sauce and a can of crushed tomatoes. I can't begin to imagine what's lurking in the store-bought sauce! Chemicals. Ingredients impossible to pronounce. This week I'm attempting the sauce again, but with two cans of crushed tomatoes and my own spices. I bet I get some complaints.

I made tuna casserole...and used canned cream of mushroom soup. Seriously, I have no idea how to make cream of mushroom soup and don't think I want to add it to me cooking repertoire. I mean, it already comes in a can. And Campbells has entire cook books devoted to its use!

Sometimes it gets so confusing. I won't microwave leftovers in plastic containers because of the terrible chemicals that leach into the food. But I will eat a frozen meal that comes in and is microwaved in a plastic container. I'll even eat a Lean Pocket that gets cooked inside a cancer-envelope. I haven't actually heard them called that, but I am waiting for the scientific report saying it's true.

I was so pleased with myself when I got rid of the bottled water. Then I had to get rid of the plastic refillable water bottles because of the BPAs. I replaced them with metal--except only stainless steel is good; aluminum is bad. I have some BPA-free plastic. But I just read a news article on how canned goods contain BPAs also.

Frankly, I'm surprised kids today don't have three heads, dual sex organs, and are drooling uncontrollably. I know as the mom, I'm starting to drool incontrollably because I can't keep up with the do's and don'ts of proper parenting!

Happy Found You Day!

2010-03-05T16:08:00.000-06:00

Today is a special holiday my sister Jamie and I celebrate--Found You Day!

It was on this day, six years ago, that I found my seven older siblings (three sisters and four brothers), in-laws, a slew of nieces and nephews, great nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles. Even a grandma for a few years.

After 38 years of not knowing who the hell I was or where I came from, I found these guys!

The first time some of us met in Kansas City, it was like coming home. After so many decades, do you have any idea what it was like to finally look like someone, talk like someone, laugh like someone?! We even talk to our kids the same! These are things those of you who aren't adopted probably take for granted. To me, it was a very special gift.

There's not a lot to say, except that I am truly blessed to have each and every one of these Johnsons in my life. Thank you, God!

Do You Hear What I Hear?!

2010-03-03T17:50:00.001-06:00

Ha! You think I'm going to start singing Christmas carols. In March!

Trust me, I am so glad Christmas is many many moons from now. When ITunes plays a Christmas carol, I fast forward that sucker so fast the patridge spins out of the pear tree.

What I am talking about are the voices in your head. The ones in my head give me a running commentary on life as it passes by. For instance, while walking through the grocery store I might look as thought I am intently looking for the frozen peas (we go through TONS of frozen peas because we use them as ice packs for various wounded body parts--we never actually eat frozen peas), but my mind is chattering something like this:

"Get the hell out of my way. Why the heck do you think it's okay to park your cart across the entire aisle as you grab your butter?...Are you really wearing those shoes to the grocery store?...What a cute baby!...Cool tattoo!...Wonder what she had to do to get such a big diamond?...Are my kids getting enough nutrients in their food?...If I was a good mom I would cook everything from scratch from vegetables I grow in my own garden!...What should I plant in the garden this year?...God, summer's coming and I'm still going to look like caca in shorts!...Why am I so short? My brothers are tall!...Hey, I have brothers! And sisters!...I wonder if anyone thinks my hair sucks as much as I do?...Jeanne's hair always looks nice!...Man, I miss Aunt Darlene!...I wish I lived in Omaha!...Omaha steaks!...A steak sounds so good!"

The above passage was just the first two minutes in the store. Because my inner voice never shuts up!

I did manage to silence the critical inner voice a few years ago. Good medication took care of it. That inner voice was a nasty bitch who needed a good slap upside the head. I'm glad she's gone.

But I'm afraid the regular inner voice is here to stay. She's ok, really, but man is she a talker! Never shuts up, that one!

What absolutely fascinates me is that some people do not have the voices in their heads giving them a commentary on life. They live life in blissful silence, never interrupted by inane comments. They simply exist in silence.

This, I cannot grasp. Who can you talk to if not yourself?! (And your pets, of course!)

I was rather comforted the other day when I was discussing visualization with the twins. They told me their coach tells them to do that. I've been telling them to visualize things since they were in middle school. (I've read studies that say visualization actually does make a difference in physical performance. For instance, visualizing yourself batting the ball perfectly actually affects your muscles in a concrete manner.)

When Jermaine told me it was hard to visualize things because the voices in his head were never quiet enough, I was pleased. I'd hate to think I've raised quiet mind people!

What about you? Do you or don't you have voices?!

Your Public Face

2010-02-26T17:38:00.000-06:00

I sometimes worry about the public face I wear.

Expecially when shopping with Aaron.

For instance, today I took him to the health club with me. Then we went to WalMart.

As anyone knows, any trip to WalMart has to begin with a visit to Subway. We were eating subs at 10:45am. And getting the subs wasn't an easy task. First, we had to argue over the drink: soda vs. icee. Icees cost more and I am already getting mad at the amount of money I will be spending on a freakin' sub sandwich. Second, we argue over add-ons. Why must every sub sandwich be accompanied by chips and cookies?! I solved the dilemmas by declaring soda the drink of the day and having Aaron get chips with his sub while I got cookies with mine. Both add-ons go to Aaron because all I want is the sub. (By the way, Subway ended up costing $16!)

Shopping at WalMart commences with the first official merchandise request: Can I have a new shirt and pants? No. Can I have cookies? Yes. Can I have pop tarts? No. Can I have some fish? No. Can I have...can I have...can I have.

By the time we check out, I want to rip my hair out. In great big giant handfuls. But I refrain.

Of course, the trip to WalMart was a bust (even though it cost $50!) because I went for a squirt bottle (how else can I squirt the dogs when they bark?!) and they didn't have any. Aaron jokingly suggested getting a bottle of Windex and emptying that. I should have taken his advice!

We head to the dollar store.

Inside the doors, the Can I Have's begin. Endlessly. Every aisle produces another thing Aaron has to have. Bow and arrow. Yoyo. Cookie. Fruit punch. His own squirt bottle.

Now, we have been together nearly one hour. And 54 minutes of that time has been spent arguing over things Aaron must have.

By the time I reach the last aisle of the store, I am ready to scream. I actually do screech a little when he asks for something. Then I notice the woman giving me The Look.

I know she thinks I am the worse mother in the world. After all, how could someone be so short-tempered with Aaron the adorable boy? What kind of mother would deny him anything?

I want to grab her by the lapels and explain, tears falling freely: "I've been to lunch and two stores with him. I cannot take anymore. Please, help me. Put me out of my misery..."

Instead, I put on my sunny mother persona and manage to buy the four items in my basket. The clerk wasn't very friendly. She took my money without even saying the total. Now her, I wanted to grab by the neck and snarl directly into her face, "I'm the customer! I'm shopping with a child! Please, show me some courtesy! Just a little! I...just...need...a...little..."

Reading Menace

2010-02-18T12:00:00.004-06:00

Years ago I gave up buying books because I thought they just added clutter to our small house. Plus, I could get books from the library and they are free. The only books I've purchased in years are the new paperback release from Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series and anything new by Jennifer Crusie. I cannot read and re-read these authors enough. (If you've never heard of them, check them out! I cannot recommend their books enough!)

Then I got a Sony Reader for Christmas. Yes, my new device. If you're new to Motherhoot, you might not know that I lust for electronic devices. The newer, the better. New phone, I want it. New Ipod, I want it. (I am counting down the days until our cell phone contract is up so I can switch to the Iphone...which combines my two favorite devices: cell phone and Ipod Touch.)

I have bought more books in the two months I have had it than in the past five years. Maybe even longer! Someone recommends a book, I rush to my ereader account to see if they offer it. If they don't, I check out ebooks.com hoping that they have it. When I find books that aren't available for a reading device, I feel sad and bereft!

Yesterday I just happened by the ereader site to see the new releases. Suddenly, I am interested in these things. Before this I was content to wait until the library called to tell me it was my turn to read the newest release on my favorite authors list.

What did I find? Light and fluffy novels for $1.99 each. Had to have them.

One of the best features of the Sony Reader is the ability to "check out" books from an on-line library. I found the link to my site from my library's website. I recommend looking into yours if you have a reader and don't want to keep buying books.

I've discovered Nevada Barr and her Anna Pigeon series. I am almost done with the second book and cannot wait to place the third book on my list so I can read it. The e-library I use has a wish list and a holds list. This was I can track as many books as I want!

I don't think I would have discovered Anna Pigeon without the on-line library. I also cannot wait to start reading some Michael Connelly either. I like starting a series at book one and working my way through to the current offering. Also Hannah Fluke has caught my eye. Her first novels are waiting patiently on the reader to be read and recipes tested.

Next to my Ipod touch, this device is getting the most use. And some nights I even forgo the Bedazzled quest to read!

One World One Heart Winners!

2010-02-15T14:49:00.005-06:00

It was so nice to visit so many blogs over the past few weeks. I believe there were over 1,000 blog participants this year. I'm only sorry I didn't get to visit each and every one of those blogs. The ones I did visit were intriguing and each was unique!

It's time to announce the winners of the three pendants I am giving away this month!

Beth will receive this pendant...

Debra will receive this one...

Char will receive this one...

Romance

2010-02-11T14:58:00.005-06:00

That day is coming. You know the one. Where the push to be romantic comes at us from every direction. This is a hard one for me. Because I am the most unromantic person and have a hard time buying into romance from anyone else. Yes, even my husband.

Long ago I loved reading Harlequin Romance novels. I was about twelve. Then as I grew older and started dating and falling in love, I came to believe that romance doesn't really exist. At least not in the way it does in those sappy books!

I think this is a reflection of the men I chose to date and fall in love with, more than the actual state of the homosapien romantic male. (My early choices were dismal ones!) But it has stuck with me.

Poor Jim! Early, in our dating days, he tried being romantic. Eventually, the deer-in-the-headlight looks I would give him when he did put an end to that. He toned it down to bringing flowers--which the cats ate. (It's hard to enjoy a dozen roses when they are sitting in the bathtub or kitchen sink because the cats are going to knock over the vase!)

Luckily Jim realizes that romance isn't a big, once or twice a year event, but something that can be done every day. He's great at the little gestures that I can believe in. He cleans the snow off my car and shovels the driveway. He'll clean the bathroom or do laundry. He scrubs the floor (a job he knows I abhor; it's the wet hair that grosses me out). He cleans out the tub drain, even though he rarely showers at home. He gets the oil changed in the van. He brings me chocolate. He takes me to eat guacamole whenever I want it.

The list is endless! Jim knows that a new electronic device will earn him more points than a dozen roses will. (I can use a device!) He gets a kick out of buying me power tools for Christmas or my birthday. The year he got me a drill press was a gold star event!

I guess I am truly lucky that Jim (whom I suspect is a romantic at heart) has adapted so well to my callous ways!

Are you a romantic or not? Do you want the grand romantic gestures? Or are you happy with the little gestures? Let me know!

S.M.A.R.T.

2010-02-03T13:38:00.002-06:00

We are the Suburban Mom Animal Rescue Team. We sit high in our minivans, scouring the streets with our radar-sharp mother eyes, looking for animals that have wandered away from their owners.

Day after day, as we leave our neighborhoods to run errands, schlep kids, or go to lunch, our momdar is perpetually on high. We can spot a stray animal, a lost pet, or even a wandering kid in a heart beat. Brakes squeal as we throw open our van doors and lure the wayward animal inside to deliver him to safety.

I am a proud member of SMART. I have, in fact, rescued a lost pet. Sure, I found him in his own yard. But he was just wandering there. And I didn't know it was his yard! I swear! His owner even seemed grateful when she walked down the street to get him from me.

I've corralled the dogs from next door when they've gotten out of their yard. I'm sure the neighbors across the street appreciated me trodding through their yards to retrieve the little scamps.

My men have also taken up this vocation. I am proud to report that we all are forever aware of an animal that appears to be lost or confused. The boys spent an entire summer searching for Thomas the missing cat. Jim brought home and introduced our latest canine rescue, Candy.

Won't you, too, join our team? We need all the eyes we can get!

I'm So Excited!

2010-02-01T16:31:00.003-06:00

I am getting giddy! I and some of my most treasured friends are getting things ready to launch the new Motherhoot website!

My vision is that this is a place for people to go to laugh, cry, get information, and share.

Kelly will be our craft master. She taught me my first quilting class, which started me on my quest for creativity. Imagine where she can take you.

Jan is my writing friend. We met at a writing conference nearly years ago. She's a great motivator as well as a wonderful writer.

Dawn is the friend who shares her spirituality. She is a holistic nurse and does healing touch work. She knows so much about living a natural and real life! She taught me to meditate and to get in touch with my inner self.

This is only a tease because the website will still take a little time to get going. I hope you are as excited as I am!

Go Google It!

2010-01-27T15:33:00.003-06:00

When I was a kid and asked a question, I was often told to look it up in the dicitonary, look it up in the encyclopedia, or hit the card cabinet at the library. It was tedious, but we did it. Even my first research course in college was all about getting to the library and finding out inane things through the reference materials available there.

Now my kids are kids of the New Millenium. They have Google or a million other search sites to use instead of me!

So that's become my pat answer of late, "Go Google it."

"Do foxes eat people?" says Aaron.

"Go Google it," I say. "Stop spending all your time online playing goofy games and do some research!"

It hasn't stopped the flood of questions that flow from Aaron when he's asked to do some chore. (Why is that the time when he has the most questions?!)

Why is the sky blue? Why do birds fly? How can water smell?

My go-to answer before I thought of Google was, "because God made it that way."

My God answer was a good one, I thought. But then it led to all sorts of God questions. Why did God make bad guys? Why did God make guns? What does God taste like? (My answer to that was my ultimate favorite..."God tastes like chicken.")

I wish I had thought of Google when Aaron went through his worm phase. Because telling him I wasn't a wormologist didn't stop him. Eventually, screaming to leave me alone and stop asking questions did that.

I will have to keep an eye on Aaron's Google research though. Lord knows kids don't need to go to Google to find out about sex! That's what dads are for...

One World One Heart

2010-01-25T08:17:00.001-06:00

It's that time again. I know I have participated in this event in years past. I'm so glad to have an opportunity to do it again!

The idea behind this event is to bring together bloggers from all over the world. By offering prizes, we are encouraging people to leave comments.

And this event lends itself perfectly to what I've been thinking of this afternoon. What do you do when you're bored?

What I do depends on my mood. I might pick up something to knit. Or page through a book or magazine to get ideas for something new to create. I might just grab a book to read. I might clean up a pile on my desk. Vacuum something. Call someone.

And now I will have days and days to go through blogs of all kinds as I get to meet my fellow participants in this One World One Heart event.

I encourage my fellow bloggers to leave links to your blogs so that non-bloggers can check you out. It's not a requirement by any means, just a suggestion.

If you are signing up for one of my prizes, please don't forget to leave an email address so I can contact you if you are the winner.

All entries must be done by noon CST on February 14, 2010. I will randomly draw three numbers that afternoon and inform the winners on February 15, 2010. Prizes will be mailed within days.

(Please forgive my photography! Taking pictures of glass is darn hard work! These pieces are gorgeous and all wiring is sterling silver.)

Resolutions

2010-01-11T17:43:00.003-06:00

Are you or aren't you a Resolutions person? Most people I polled this year had nothing but disdain for them. I'm on the fence.

Which is why I took time this morning to put my goals for the upcoming year into writing. Following guidelines suggested by Helen Buttigieg, I wrote down my goals and the steps needed to accomplish them this year. Then I printed it out on paper.

I even printed it out onto paper and have tucked it into my calendar.

The only problem? I have a tendency to never look at things once they are tucked away. I don't want to post my goals. My office is part of the living room. I don't want them to be my screen saver. I don't want them to be public at all. They are my private goals!

So how can I remember them? Or are they going to fall the way of my art journal. I did one entry, put it on a shelf, and, honestly, haven't thought about it again until today.

Once something is gone from sight, I forget about it. Doesn't matter what it is. Jewelry--unless it's out on the stand on my dressing table, I never wear it. Clothes--if they get too far down in the drawer, I never wear them. Shoes in the closet never get worn. Food shoved to the back of the cabinet never gets eaten. Books at the bottom of the pile never get read.

Maybe my only resolution this year should be to learn to look for things!

I know there are people who practice putting everything away all the time. How do you do this? How does it work? How do you know you aren't forgetting something?

I really need to know. I might want to add it to my goals for the year. If I can find the list...

I Hate to Even Admit This...

2010-01-10T16:42:00.002-06:00

but I think I've been getting the endorphin rush from exercising. I know, I know, my non-exercising friends, this is absolutely shocking. But I cannot control it. I cannot stop it from happening!

I'm getting to the point where I don't even think about it. On water aerobic days, I get out of bed. (I'm not so crazed that I leap out of bed at the first sound of the alarm. I still hit snooze several times!) Put on my swim suit, brush my teeth, grab my gym bag, and am ready to drive to the club as soon as Aaron is gone.

I still count the minutes during class, but less than before. Twenty or thirty minutes might pass by before I remember to look at the clock!

On non-water aerobic days I seriously contemplate heading to the club to run in the water or do some other form of exercise.

There. I'll admit it. It's addicting! I don't know if it really is an endorphin rush or just the relief of nothing really hurting in the water.

Whatever it is, I'll take it. I've even found myself pondering alternate forms of exercise.

Will the pod people please return my body?! Maybe later we'll discuss this craving I have for fruit...

Ladies, We Have Got to Talk...

2010-01-05T14:28:00.002-06:00

About bathroom etiquette!

Sure, this is uncomfortable for all of us, but I think some need a refresher course. Frankly, I don't care what you do in the privacy of your bathroom at home. Your home, your business. It's what you're doing in public restrooms that's grossing me out. Big time.

I'm breaking us all into two categories: squatters and sitters. If there is another category, please let me know. Personally, I am a sitter. I have short legs and squatting is just not comfortable.

Just a little lesson about the dangers of public restrooms. Urine is sterile. There, I said it. Yes, there are exceptions when people have a bladder or urinary tract infection. Then it is not sterile.

The only way you're going to get some sort of disease or infection from a public toilet is if you sit on a soiled seat with huge, gaping, weepy sores on your butt. If that's the case, we have a lot more to fear from you than you do from the other public bathroom users. Get to a doctor and get that cleared up.

Let's address the squatters first. Sure, you have strong thighs and quads and can keep yourself hovering above the toilet seat. This is fine if you aren't peeing all over the seat. However, if you do make a mess on the toilet seat, PLEASE CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF! Seriously, I am getting tired of coming into the stall after you and either passing it up entirely because you've peed everywhere or having to wipe down the seat before I can even use it.

It's gross. It's messy. It's piggy. You made the mess, clean it up.

Now the sitters. Some of us sit directly on the seat, some of us put down two strips of toilet paper on the seat. Now you have a nice, clean barrier between you and the toilet. Unfortunately, sometimes you leave the nice strips of toilet paper laying on the seat as you pull of your pants and go on your merry way. Again, CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF! Remove your paper strips, drop them into the bowl, and flush. Do not just walk out of the stall and think you're done.

Personally, I don't want to deal with half-sodden pieces of toilet paper. When you dangle it into the toilet, the toilet water is wicked up and someone has to deal with that mess. Do it yourself.

Everyone, it takes mere seconds to turn around, assess the mess, and deal with it. Drips? Amazing how a little tissue can fix the problem. Spatter? Again a little toilet paper.

If you've taken your child into a public bathroom, it is your responsibility to clean up after the little one. Little boys spatter. You hate it at home. We hate it in public.

If we would all just clean up after ourselves, it would be a cleaner, healthier, happier world!

(Let's not even talk about the people who use their dirty, gross shoes to flush the toilet. Just what the next person going to flush wants--a handful of floor filth!)

Latest Guilty Pleasure

2009-12-23T14:49:00.003-06:00

I love the internet. My latest guilty pleasure is only in existence because of it.

I love Mugs in the News! You can see the latest mug shots, what the person was charged with, and then a link to the story about the criminal. Or should I say "alleged" criminal!

I am not that interested in the really bad crimes, but the silly ones. Like the prostitutes who were advertising on Craig's List. One looks like she has the plague and I wonder if she was doing a lot of business looking like that. And they were charging lots of money!

Plus, it's like driving past the porn shop...I'm half hoping and half frightened that I will recognize someone!

Check it out!

Roughing It

2009-12-18T15:18:00.002-06:00

My family has made a conscious decision to take a step back from all the technology. We are making strides to become less reliant on technology and closer to living off the grid.

We have (gasp!) decided to let call waiting and caller ID go from our home telephone service!

In an effort to cut costs, I realized that we really don't use the land line very much. But because Jim is in the land line business we are keeping it. (And you should keep yours too!) Mostly we pick up the cordless phone and yell, "toll free call!" and then laugh maniacally as we listen to it continue to ring without answering it. That's our own little protest against the telemarketers of the world.

The first few days without caller ID were unnerving. Each time the phone would ring, we would all stop whatever we were doing and stare at one another like deer in the headlights. No one would move. We held our breath. Only our eyes moved as we desperately looked at someone else for direction.

Luckily, we've moved past this stage. We've learned the hollow buzz sound of the pre-recorded phone call and quickly disconnect. We're learning, "thank you, but I am not interested!" with a quick disconnect. (I like to say it in my Romper Room teacher voice, so the caller knows I am really sincere!)

Aaron is quite amusing because when he answers the phone, he yells, "It's a person!" and hands it off. I want to say, "who else would call, but a person?" But we all know about the computer calls.

Even call waiting is not being missed. If a family member calls home and gets a busy signal, a quick text message solves that. We all are in possession of our cell phones at all moments.

Now we need to work on general telephone etiquette. Aaron has been taking his phone into the bathroom. That's taking it just a little too far...

Happy Talking,
Your Favorite Techno Whore

Smile

2009-12-12T15:05:00.002-06:00

Quick...right now...smile! Smile again!

You think you look goofy sitting at your screen smiling, but I think we all need to smile more.

Don't worry about your teeth...your lips...your wrinkles. Just SMILE! Lots!

At water aerobics there's a woman who reminds me of those 40s movie queens. Bette Davis, mostly. She rarely smiles. I don't know her name or her situation. Once I saw her smile when she thought no one was looking and it was bright and broad and looked so right. When she smiles at me, her lips are pressed together and she looks awkward. I'm guessing she's self-conscious about something. I think she needs to let it go.

I've been on a mission lately to be more positive. This has been part of the Buddha Mom transformation of 2009. At first I consciously made myself smile at people and say "hello." It's now become habit.

I smile at everyone. I say "hello" and "thank you" and "Merry Christmas." I feel lighter on my feet. Happier on my skin. And I think I'm spreading good cheer everywhere I go.

Or people think I'm completely loony and are only responding out of fear!

Actually, I end up in lots of conversations because of this. People want to chat in the check out lines. They want to share something while we wait in the doctor's waiting room. There are stories to be heard everywhere I go. And I want to hear them all.

Go forth and smile! Be friendly!

Lessons Learned at the Gym

2009-12-02T11:24:00.002-06:00

Just a few of my observations from the past couple of weeks. I have faithfully been going to water aerobics classes! I am a graceful ballerina in the water and quite the athlete! Please, stop laughing!

Thongs...why bother? I've seen girls whip them on and wonder what thongs really do. I think you should just go commando and really go crazy!

Tankinis...bad news while working out. The top goes one way, the bottoms go the other. Body parts are falling out. Plus, it's hard to do an arm and leg exercise at the same time when you're constantly trying to hold everything in place.

Ill-fitting swimsuit...also bad news. See above.

Strapless swimsuit...doubly bad news. Today I saw a boob in the pool. I don't want to see boobs. I do not wear a strapless swimsuit.

I have a new exercise buddy. Nancy introduced herself on Monday and said she was going to use me as inspiration. I'm still not sure how to take that. Am I so pathetic that she is impressed that I am able to move my body at all. Or I am such a graceful ballerina, an aspiring synchronized swimmer, that she wants to be like me?

But being an inspiration is hard! I had to make sure I went this morning because I didn't want to let Nancy down! Then when she was late, I was wondering where the hell she was! I felt obligated to work out as hard as I could, pushing myself constantly, in case she was watching. You know, for inspiration. It's tough being a role model!

Happy Thanksgiving

2009-11-25T15:23:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow is the day we all take time to be thankful for all we have. Honestly, I try to be thankful each and every day for all my blessings. I am a very lucky woman and want God and the Universe to know that I appreciate all I've been given.

Here is my list for 2009...

1. My husband and sons. Sometimes they each drive me mad, but I am so lucky to have them all. Jim is the greatest man ever--and I am not biased at all! My sons are kind and good-hearted. Often people will say they hope my boys appreciate all we've given them. I never think in those terms. I am thankful that they gave me the gift of parenthood. We didn't adopt our children because we were being altruistic. We were being totally and absolutely selfish in wanting to be parents. We just got lucky and got great kids!

2. My animals. All seven of them. Nothing makes me feel absolutely loved and adored than when all the animals run to greet me when I get home.

3. My house and my physical possessions. I live exactly where I want to live. Our community is great, our neighborhood pleasant. My house isn't the biggest, but it's home and that's what counts. I'm pretty sure when people visit that they feel welcome. It's hard not to feel welcome when all the animals are crawling over you to give you a wet and hearty welcome!

4. Health. We are all relatively healthy and sane! My health problems are negligible when compared to some other people.

That's enough of my list. No, it's not complete! I want to hear from you! Tell me what you're thankful for.

The Way of the Buddha Mom

2009-11-24T14:25:00.002-06:00

We are coming to that time of year when we need to call on our inner selves to channel peacefulness and tranquility into our surroundings. I thought we should have a short course on Buddha Mom-ism.

Remember, I am merely a student of Buddhism myself (I read a few books and visited some websites). I will share my interpretations of Buddhism and how we can apply them to motherhood and fatherhood. I do not have all the answers. Hell, I don't have any answers!

Buddhism asks us to let go of our egos. That means we should not label things as good or bad...they just are. We cannot live our children's lives no matter if we know best. We must take care of the Earth and those creatures who inhabit it (animals and humans and plants and insects).

Let's look at some examples of how to properly channel our Buddha Mom.

Example 1:
Jeremy is in serious danger of failing three classes this semester. Classes he cannot afford to fail. Failing puts him in jeopardy of not graduating on time and for not competing in track in the spring.

I mute the television and calmly say, "Jeremy, do you know I am worried about you?"

He says, "Yes." Note: his voice is not particularly Buddha-filled. He is pretty much labeling me "retarded."

I take a deep breath, "Do you understand that failing these classes means you might not graduate on time?"

"Yeah." Again, no Buddha in his voice.

"I'm concerned that you are going to feel awful in the spring when you can't throw."

"Yeah." He has gone from labeling me as "retarded" to labeling me as barely capable of breathing on my own, much less being capable of forming a coherent thought. I can tell by the snarl that is filling his voice.

I could jump up and slap his lips off (that's Kelly's favorite saying at times and I am stealing it), but I don't. I take a cleansing breath, grounding myself, and say, "I hope you can pull yourself out."

No yelling. No screaming. No slapping. No hysterics on either of our parts.

Of course, we didn't solve the problem either. He is still failing three classes. I am no longer worrying about it because his success or failure isn't feeding my ego. Yeah, sure.

Example 2:
Aaron wants to go play outside, despite the fact that it's 40 degrees and drizzling. I have repeatedly told him no. Yet, he continues to ask.

Aaron: "Can I go outside and play?"

Buddha Mom: "No, it's nasty out."

Two minutes later, we repeat the cycle. And two minutes after that. And another two minutes...

Aaron: "Can I go stand in the yard to see if it's still drizzling?"

Me: "I can see out the window that it's still icky out."

Repeat the above four or five times.

Now my Buddha Mom persona is seriously cracking. I want to tell him to go play in the rain and leave me the hell alone. But I can't do that. I don't want him sick for the weekend. I don't want to give in. After all, I am the parent. I am the stronger one. I cannot cave because what will that show him.

But I am wavering. Seriously, wavering. I wish I had some chocolate. Or brownies. Maybe a cake.

Then the cycle ends.

Aaron: "Can I go watch TV in your room?"

Me: "God, yes. I mean, of course! Make yourself comfortable!"

I don't really like him watching TV in my bed because he messes up the bed. He moves the remotes. He steals my chocolate because he knows where my stash is. The joke's on him though, because I depleted my stash last night!

But he gave me an out and I didn't have to lose my inner peace. It's just slightly shattered at the moment.

As you can see, this whole Buddha Mom thing is still a journey. I don't believe I will achieve perfection, but I could have chosen someone else to emulate. I could have picked Joan Crawford!

Mommy's Only Temporarily Deformed, Honey!

2009-11-16T18:20:00.002-06:00

I used some of my Lifetime bucks (I got $100 for signing up in October to use for services at the club) to get a facial and pedicure on Thursday. The facial felt so good that I was planning on scheduling my next one very very soon. The pedicure was divine. I felt so pampered...so pleasant...

Until around 4pm. I asked the boys if I was turning red. The looks of horror should have been a clue. From my chest up--because a facial includes your upper chest, arms, face, neck, back, ears, hairline--I was tomato red. Powergirl fuscia. And that was the good part.

I took benadryl immediately after serving dinner to the family. I am such a good, self-sacrificing mother that I was worried about the nutritional state of my family over my own trek into fire skin. I couldn't take the benadryl sooner because it would knock me out. God, I wish it had knocked me out immediately!

By 9pm I was completely deformed. Not only was I red on all bodily surfaces from the chest up, I was also swelling. Swelling like I've never seen myself swell before. My eyes were slits. I didn't have bags under my eyes, I had a full set of hot pink luggage. Yes, I had rolls under my eyes. It was rather unattractive.

Jim offered to take me to the ER, but I said I would tough it out. And take more benadryl.

Jim was off work on Friday, so he took me to the convenient care. I couldn't get into the dermatologist until Monday and my internist didn't have an appointment until late afternoon. The convenient care sounded...well, it sounded convenient!

We sat for three and a half hours in a waiting room filled with sick people. Luckily the lady sitting right next to me just needed an antibiotic for her dermatitis, so she wasn't contagious.

First, the nurse was horrified at the amount of benadryl I was taking. I know that if two pills are good, three have to be better. She said three would make me never wake up. Frankly, as bad as I felt Thursday night the thought of being in some type of short-term coma was welcomed.

Second, the doctor I finally saw was chortling when she came into the room because the same exact thing had happened to her. She apologized for laughing, but that didn't stop her. She kept shaking her head and giggling. I was too weak to even smack her. Her prescription: more benadryl!

Dammit! If I knew I was only going to get benadryl, I would have skipped the visit. When this has happened in the past I've gotten a shot in the butt and a prednisone med pack. Seriously, my eyes were swollen shut. I deserved drugs!

I have quite a colorful (yes, pun intended) history of skin rashes. I have seen the best ER that Pittsburg, Kansas, has to offer. They provided shot and meds. Kelly and I have spent a drive on one of our adventures watching the skin on my arms turn red and dot up because of the sun. I no longer use Bath & Body Works products because of the rash they caused.

All of this has lead to the jokes about muumuus and burkhas. I mean, I can't go in the sun because I get a rash. I can take a shower because I get a rash. I can't eat spicy food because I get a rash. I am destined to wear the burkha and eat oatmeal for the rest of my life!

I am pretty much recovered now. I went back into the pool yesterday and nothing burned. I got my hair cut today and opted only for high lights. Hair dye would probably cause my scalp to bubble and cause baldness.

I just can't win! Thank God I find the humor in everything or this really might send me over the cliff!

Cleaning

2009-11-11T17:35:00.002-06:00

Do you want to know what I consider the absolute worst part about housecleaning? Cleaning the cleaning implements.

Today, I had to delay my load of laundry because I had to clean the laundry detergent bottle and clean the actual washer. Wouldn't you think an appliance called a "washer" could some how clean itself?! We've been buying laundry detergent in a big bottle and pouring it into a smaller bottle. And the smaller bottle is just coated with dried up soap. I think Jim has aiming problems...

Some days it seems I'm spending more time cleaning the cleaners than I am actually cleaning.

I just finished vacuuming and really should dust the vacuum cleaner. It looks awful. Every few months I have to slap all the various filters on the fence or sidewalk outside to get all the dust and gook out of it. That's a real pleasant task when someone has managed to vacuum over something wet--I'm not mentioning names, but I have some idea who does that.

Dr. Oz says the best way to clean your kitchen of evil food germs (think e. coli and other pretty bacteria) is with a spray bottle filled with half vinegar and half water. I've been using vinegar and baking soda for years to clean my stove top--that hint was from the Queen of Clean.

Kelly reminded me last week that you can use vodka as a cleanser. I came home and used it to clean off my remote, the mouth and keyboard. It was cheap vodka and smelled like rubbing alcohol when I poured it on to the paper towel!

If I was a drinker and liked vodka, that would be perfect! I could carry the bottle around, take a swig, clean something, swig, clean, repeat! But I'd have to invest in a better class of vodka!

Come on, share some cleaning tips with us!

Gym Membership...Week 1

2009-11-07T12:53:00.003-06:00

It's official, I have belonged to the gym for over 1 week. I have attended six water aerobics classes since I joined.

And I have no urge to quit yet! I actually am wondering, though, if water aerobics actually counts as exercise because I love it so much.

Hey, am I feeling an endorphin rush?! Is this that elusive feeling that I've failed to identify in the past?

I know water aerobics has made my muscles sore. So I'm guessing it does work.

But in the water I feel no pain...no struggle. I feel graceful and light on my feet.

Using the ladies' locker room has also been an eye-opener. First, I saw what boobs look like when you're young. OK, ladies, remember when your nipples pointed forward instead of downward? Yes, I have witnessed a set of these on a "regular" woman. It's been awhile and I had forgotten!

Second, I have seen what a "regular" aging body looks like. It has been ages since I've used a locker room. At my old clubs, I worked out and left to shower at home. I never saw an unclothed or partially unclothed woman at all. So it's been nice to see cellulite and saddle bags. Not everyone looks like a Victoria's Secret model under their clothes! They have sagging and bagging and look pretty good dressed.

Third, I have seen what makeup can do for some women. I've seen a blah looking woman sans makeup transform into a goddess with it. It almost makes me want to start wearing makeup on a regular basis!

I'm pleasantly tired from this morning's session of water aerobics. Maybe I'll go take a nap...

I'm Movin' On Up!

2009-10-30T15:16:00.002-05:00

I'm telling my family tonight that I am moving out. I am taking up residence at my new health club.

Because I have much joint pain from my autoimmune disease, I can't walk on the treadmill. Heck, I can't even take a casual walk around my neighborhood on a gorgeous fall morning without hurting for days. I have decided that the answer is water. I can walk in water. I can do water aerobics.

Thus began the quest for the perfect health club with a pool. I thought we found it last weekend when we explored Schaumburg Water Works. It's nice. There's the lap pool. A diving pool. A fun, zero-depth pool with a kids' playground and water slides. It was clean and pleasant. Very kid-oriented.

Then I remembered Lifetime Fitness. The club's been in the area for a long time. But it had the reputation of being expensive. I crunched the numbers and it actually comes out pretty even with the other club because the classes are included in the cost. So I joined.

I was completely overwhelmed when I walked into the doors of this huge building. My previous health club experiences have been with Women's Workout World and the local park district club. WWW closed and neither that nor the park district club have a pool. Both were/are nice clubs, but small.

Lifetime is HUGE! The front counter is about the size of the park district fitness room. There's a salon (manicures, pedicures, hair cut and coloring, makeup application, and massages). There's a small restaurant (today I tried the Mango/Pineapple Smoothie) where the calorie and nutritional information are listed for each item.

The second floor is all exercise equipment. The salesperson who gave me the tour told me there are 500 pieces of equipment up there. Rows and rows and rows of treadmills, elliptical machines, stair steppers, weight machines and a free weight area. There are two gleaming studios.

Downstairs there are two basketball courts, racquetball courts, a gigantic climbing wall. The children's center has computers, tvs amd a kid's basketball court.

But it's the magical land also known as the women's locker room that has me considering sending in the change of address card. When I got the tour the woman joked that sometimes moms drop their kids off at the children's center and then go sit in the lounge area for a couple of hours. Instantly, I flashed into the summer months when I want to hide from Aaron and can't. But I could drop him at the children's center...and go to the locker room lounge area and enjoy the leather furniture, big screen tv, and free phone. No dirty clothes lying around. No barking dogs. No fighting kids. No game system cords to trip over.

Frankly, after seeing the lounge area I was in the salesman's pocket. He should have started the tour with that and we would have been done!

Today I took a water aerobics class in the warm water pool. There are two pools. The lap pool (which I guess is cold!) and the zero-depth pool with two water slides. (There is also an outdoor pool with water slides, but seeing as how it's late October, I've not experienced that.)

After the class I returned to the women's locker room (aka Paradise) and said in passing that I was cold. Seriously, I might not have actually spoken the words aloud. Maybe I shivered a little dramatically. Instantly the locker room attendant asked if I would like a warm towel.

A warm towel! Sheesh. I got a warm blanket when they MRIed my brain. I got warm blankets and a warm table when I got a massage. But a warm towel at the gym?! An actual towel that wasn't warm because I just yanked it from the dryer and was folding it?! That was the deciding moment.

I'm moving in.

It's a 24-hour club. There's a restaurant with healthy food. I can sleep in the lounge. Shower in the locker room. Relax in the sauna--I believe I would prefer the wet eucalyptus sauna in the locker room to the dry sauna in the pool area. I won't go into a public hot tub/jacuzzi no matter how many times the salesman assured me they were completely drained and cleaned. I worked at the Y...I saw how dirty and gross a hot tub can get. I sometimes get a rash from toothpaste! Can you imagine what I'd get a hot tub?! ugh

I'll still visit my family. And we could always get a family membership so they could visit me.

But seeing as how I am still living on Norman (Bates) Lane (in honor of Halloween, of course!) I think I'll go find a towel for tomorrow. Too bad it won't still be warm by the time I need it!

Let's Talk Food...Cupboard Soup

2009-10-25T17:55:00.002-05:00

Ever have those nights where you need something for dinner, but not much? It happened Friday after the twins and I had lunch with Jim at Gino's East pizza. We were stuffed after lunch and didn't want or need a full dinner. Aaron was eating at a friends, so anything was fair game.

Voila! Cupboard soup was born! I'm calling it that because I had everything in my cupboard. Oh, and some in the freezer!

3 cans beef broth
1 large can diced tomatoes seasoned with sea salt
1 can dark kidney beans
1 cup frozen corn
1 cup frozen green beans
1 cup baby carrots
4 cups water
4 beef bouillon cubes
1.2 pound tri-colored bow-tie pasta

Toss everything except the pasta into a large soup pot and cook on high until it boils. Reduce to a simmer and cook for approximately an hour. Raise cooking temperature to bring soup back to a rolling boil and add pasta. Cook until tender.

This would be great with a nice, crusty bread. I think it would also be a great way to use up those little bits of left over vegetables we have sometimes.

If you try this, let me know what you think!

(I just made a ham glaze with Catalina dressing, brown sugar, and diet cranberry Sierra Mist. I'll let you know how it works out!)

Happy Cooking!

The Evil Scarf Revealed...

2009-10-08T10:25:00.002-05:00

it's to pretty to keep calling it evil! But it sure was a bitch to knit!

Knitting Knightmares

2009-10-07T08:44:00.002-05:00

I am being defeated by hand-dyed silk ribbon and seed beads. Seriously, I thought I was stronger than this, but I am seriously mistaken. I've survived divorce, death, teenage twins (well, so far!), a precocious 10-year old, and it will be the hand-dyed silk ribbon and seed beads that finally get me!

Arrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

This all started about a month ago, the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. Kelly and I detour to Richmond, Illinois, on our way to Lake Geneva. We are set on making one last try at this elusive yarn shop. It's been closed on all of the many other times we've gone there. I have, on more than one occasion, declared Wool, Warp & Wheel and the town of Richmond, dead to me.

But, to my pleasant surprise, the shop is open. It's a warm, cozy shop. There's a dog for petting, a bird for oohing, and an angora rabbit that did nothing for me because it was hiding in it's cage. Beautiful samples are hung and draped everywhere. It's a petter's paradise and I was tactically enthralled at all the different things to touch and caress--samples, yarn, ribbon, roving (that's the fiber for spinning). Yum!

Then my eyes fell upon this half-knit sample of a simple scarf. Oooo! Soft and shiny! The edges are scalloped with beads. The beads run through the length of the scarf. It's gorgeous and it's calling my name. And I buy it.

Let me start by saying that at this point, for my aggravation and pain, it would have been better for me to just buy a finished one. Seriously, even if it cost twice as much finished, it would have been worth the snarling, crying and bad words this scarf has brought out of me.

The hand-dyed silk ribbon is an array of luscious colors: emerald green, lime green, purple, deep blues. The colors meander along the smooth, silk strands. It feels good, it looks good.

It is evil. There. I've said it. I have purchased and am working with evil yarn! It saw me coming, muhahaha-ed to itself and sucked me in.

I started by putting the first hank of seed beads onto the silk. I didn't realize you should first wind the hank of yarn around the provided cardboard spool. (Yes, there was a small label suggesting you wind it around the cardboard, but no where was there a Surgeon General's warning that you must wind the silk around the cardboard!)

I start winding. Oops, some beads popped off! There they go rolling across the laminate flooring, under the furniture. Luckily the boys are home and they hop to retrieving the errant beads. I continue winding.

I am still unclear as to how I ended up with a hand-dyed silk ribbon gnarled mess. One minute I was winding, and the next it had all wrapped itself upon itself. Twists and Tangles. Tangles and Twists. I keep working at it. Then I put it aside...I need a break.

I show my tangled mess to Kelly. We sit in The Studio (aka the garage) for over an hour, untangling the yarn. I had to resort to cutting it in places. So the one-piece hank ends up in about 50 pieces. Kelly announces she cannot spend the night and must get home to her family. I think I silently sobbed as I watched her leave.

Jim comes home to me and the snarling ribbon sitting on the chair. Tentatively, he asks what I am making. I know I was a little snarly when I said, "A babushka!" and draped the snarling, evil ribbon yarn over me head. We chuckled. I thought about killing myself to end my misery.

I do get the ribbon untangled that evening and happily start knitting. Knit, knit, slide some beads, knit, knit. Oops! I didn't notice I came to the end of a piece of the once-whole ribbon and some seed beads went flying. Tinkling over the laminate, rolling under the furniture, kids scrambling after it. What fun ribbon and seed bead knitting is!

The scarf of knit in two sections, from end to middle on both pieces. I finish the one end and am slightly concerned that it is very short. I am a short, but rather plump person, so I require more than 24 inches in a scarf. I ignore my feelings of distress and knit on. I transfer the second hand of seed beads to the ribbon. Knit, knit, slide some beads, knit, knit.

I do encounter problems when I come to the ends of pieces, because I have beads where they shouldn't be. I surgically transfer them from ribbon piece to ribbon piece with a floss threader. (Thank you Dr Karas, my beloved dentist for these samples!) It's tedious, but it gets the job done. I only lose a few of the beads. But now when the beads tinkle across the floor no one eagerly jumps up to get them. There are snarls and grumbles from the boys.

I finish knitting the beads on the second half, as just as I suspected, the scarf is nearly Barbie-sized. I decide I will just knit the rest. I contemplate a complicated lace-stitch, slap myself upside the head and knit on.

Yesterday, I finished the second half! It was done! It's gorgeous. If you don't look too closely you will not see the yarn joins. I only have to join the two pieces using a three-needle bind off. I search through my knitting books to find the instructions (the actual instructions that came with the kit are long gone, having been disposed of during a rabid living-room clean up where I assumed all loose papers on the floor were the boys). I finally find it in a Stitch & Bitch Nation book. It looks simple enough.

A half hour later, after dropping and retrieving stitches numerous times, I am tearing my hair out. How could something that looked so simple on paper be so freakin' difficult?! It's got to be the evil, devil-spawn hand-dyed silk ribbon. I put the separate pieces away, yes, with some seed beads flying! I greet Jim, tell the boys what to do for dinner, and go sit in front of my computer and sob.

Yes, two hanks of iridescent seed beads and a hank hand-dyed silk ribbon have reduced me to tears. To sobs. Real tears! Mascara smearing, racoon eye making, red-eye inducing tears. Luckily my family does not notice this because there's no way they would understand why I was crying over knitting a scarf. (Honestly, though, I am a little concerned that I was crying at the desk and no one noticed....are they freakin' blind?!)

I swore when I was done that I was DONE! No more knitting that scarf. I don't care if it cost a great fraction of the grocery budget for a week. I don't care that I have worked on it for a month. I don't care that it's gorgeous (oh, is it gorgeous...and it even feels good!). I just want it gone. Out of here!

And everywhere I go, there are lone seed beads mocking me. In the powder room (which has been swept and scrubbed numerous times in the last week) there's one. On the stairs going up to the second floor, there's one...and another. They are taunting me. Teasing me. I hate the freakin' seed beads!

But during the night I came up with a way to salvage it. I will use a big-eyed needle...and some scrap yarn...I'll lose a few rows, but it'll be worth it! There will be pictures...

Need vs. Want

2009-09-21T08:42:00.003-05:00

Experts will tell you that my recent questions of need vs. want are part of this economic down-sizing. That it's a natural result of having to tighten our belts as a nation and reassess where we're going.

I'll tell you I've been doing it for years. When I no longer worked outside the home and became the full-time COO of Kline Industries, I started looking at the things inside our home. I started watching organizing shows. Neat and Clean House are my favorites. I read books. "It's All Too Much" by Peter Walsh is my favorite.

We, as Americans, accumulate too much stuff. We've passed this message on to our children. More is better. New is better. You want something new even though the old thing is fine? Get it! Fill the landfills!

This is why we have become the parents of the Entitled Generation. Kids who don't want to work for anything. Kids who expect things to be handed to them without question. Kids who believe every activity, every sport should be theirs for the asking. Just because.

We didn't live like this when we were kids. You got games and you took care of them. Because no one was going to buy you another game until next Christmas. To my kids, games are disposable. Take care of all the dice in Yahtzee? Why, we can buy another. Lose the hotels and cards for Monopoly? No problem, Target has more!

I don't have any answers. I just want you to think about this. How can you make a difference?

I'm only buying things we need. But that's hard because I'm not sure even I can tell the difference between need and want. We need food, shelter, and clothing. I want crab legs, new curtains, and cool clothes.

I'm trying to use the one in one out rule. When you buy something that you already have, throw out or recycle the existing one. I've been doing this for clothes. New t-shirt? Throw out a stained or torn one I'm keeping "just in case."

I tell my kids that God wants us to be good citizens of the Earth. He wants us to treat people well, and to take care of the Earth. I believe this wholeheartedly. It is our responsibility for our children, grandchildren, and beyond.

I just wish the advertising people weren't so good at their jobs. Or that Ipod would stop making cool devices.

Do you have any ideas or suggestions on minimizing waste and ending our mass consumerism?

Happy Purging!
susie

It lasted over 3 months...

2009-09-04T16:55:00.006-05:00

...but I can't take anymore! I'm getting an emergency hair coloring tomorrow morning.

Oh, I tried to be strong. I tried to hold out. I told myself that when it all grew out it would be cool to know what color my hair really is. I told myself that the white--glaringly white!--patch right at my part was cool. I'm being natural! Surely I will have no more odd rashes since I am not adding random chemicals to my body! (Note: the rashes have continued even without hair dye!)

Then I caught sight of myself in the rearview mirror yesterday and went into a full blown, can't catch my breath, I think I'm gonna pass out panic attack. I look hideous!

It doesn't help that my bangs are an odd length. Since my hair is really curly (who knew this little fact?!) the bangs are curling up like Little Bo Peep hair. And my hair is dull. The golden brown of my youth (hey, I have clippings!) is gone. (It probably went with my youth. If anyone knows where they are, send them back!)

I decided to let Jim be the deciding factor. If he thought I was looking alright, I would leave it as is. Go au naturale...

Today at lunch I brought it up...

Me: What do you think of my hair? Should I go back to col...
Jim: Yes. Please. (He didn't even let me complete the question!)

I made the appointment immediately. Ha! You think I'm joking. He went to the restroom, I paid the check, and immediately called Carole my hair goddess. I've trusted her with my hair for years now. She's never steered me wrong. She just laughed and said she was waiting for me to change my mind. She has openings tomorrow.

Disaster soon to be averted.

I'm also thinking of changing hair styles--again. I never have the same one for very long. Let me know which one you like. I'll let you know which one I choose after tomorrow!

Run your fingers through your hair for me!
Susie

Greatest Invention Ever

2009-08-30T16:54:00.005-05:00

Some of you are expecting to name an electronic device. After all, I am a techno-whore. While I do admire the Apple people (the Ipod is genius!) and all the computer geeks that have allowed us all to get techno, I have a much older and simpler item to name as The Greatest Invention Ever...

Campbells's Cream Soups!

These soups have saved many a dinner time dilemma in my house. They are versatile. Flavorful. Quick. Convenient. I am not taking credit for any of these recipes. I'm sure I saw them somewhere and just did my best to replicate when I've read without actually following a recipe.

Tonight I am making

Taco Chicken Spaghetti
2 cans nacho cheese soup
2 can cream of mushroom soup
2 cans rotel tomatoes
1 cup of sour cream
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
1 lb. chicken tenders
2 lb. spaghetti or other pasta, cooked (I find it easier to break the spaghetti before I cook it)
Saute the chicken tenders in olive oil. Shred.
Combine all other ingredients (except pasta) until thoroughly mixed. Add chicken. Then add spaghetti in batches to make sure every thing gets mixed.
Toss into a casserole dish and cook at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.
You can also add shredded cheese to the top before you bake it.

My family loves this! Of course, for smaller groups you can halve everything. Sometimes I even use the soup/tomato/taco mix for a nacho dip. Throw it all into a crock pot and it's great with chips for a party.

Another favorite here is the Quick Chicken Divan. I found it on the All-Recipes app on my ipod. I double it for my family, so here's my recipe.

2 cans cream of chicken soup
2 cans cream of mushroom soup
1 cup mayo
2 packages of frozen broccoli
1 lb. chicken tenders
2 cups shredded cheddar
I saute the chicken tenders. Later the cooked chicken and broccoli in the bottom of a casserole dish. Mix all other ingredients together and pour over the top. Sprinkle on shredded cheese. Bake at 350 degrees for 30-45 minutes. Serve over noodles or rice.

This gets broccoli eaten with no complaints.

Last week I even resorted to tuna casserole! Yes, that old stand-by I hated growing up! Do you need a recipe? Here's mine for my big eaters.

2 big cans tuna (I had to use one tuna and one chicken because some tuna disappeared)
2 cans cream of chicken soup
2 cans cream of mushroom soup
2 bags egg noodles, cooked
Mix everything together, toss with noodles and bake in 350 degree oven for 30-45 minutes. (Usually my time is determined by how quickly Jim gets home from work!) I think this would even be better with some peas added.

See, how can I survive without cream soups?! Seriously, you can keep some cans in the cupboard and throw anything together for a meal. Do you have any favorites? Send them in!

Bon Appetit!
Susie

Schizo Reading

2009-08-28T16:18:00.002-05:00

Is it just me, or does reading a woman's magazine make your head spin? Does it make you feel confused? Do you find yourself questioning reality?

I love magazines. The articles are short. Magazines are portable. You can set one down and pick it up days later and start where you left off.

Lately, however, I have been questioning the content of so-called women's magazines. Family Circle. Woman's Day. To name a few.

Maybe it's after reading Men's Health that I have grown discontented with this particular genre of reading material.

You pick up a woman's magazine and start reading. You come across an article on how you can lose weight by not dieting. Just giving up and letting nature take its course. Following that is a special diet designed just for the readers of the magazine--the only way to lose weight and keep it off! Further on, there are recipes for nutritious meat-free meals. Then come the decadent dessert recipes--with the "you'll never be able to eat just one!" message across the top.

In a short span of time you are told dieting doesn't work. Just in case they do work, try this ultimate diet. (But don't get to used to it, because the real diet that really works always comes in the next issue.) Here are some low-fat, low-cal recipes to get you started. When you get so freakin' frustrated that you can't take it any longer, they have recipes for the binge.

This seems to be the message of all women's magazines. Is their goal to confuse us? Because we never quiet get a straight answer, we have to buy the new magazine when it hits the stands because it might hold the answer?

I started reading Men's Health because Jim reads it. It has such great advice. I never feel like I don't know which was is up. They write about sex. Politics. There are great recipes. Need a workout routine, they have it.

I test-drove Women's Health and was sorely disappointed. Obviously the editors of Men's Health had nothing to do with their magazine. Because the schizo editors were there in full force.

Is the answer to stop reading magazines? I mean, they do have some great recipes.

What do you think?
Susie

Suzy Homemaker Takes on Canning

2009-08-22T15:33:00.004-05:00

I am in the midst of canning my own salsa. We have so many tomatoes (and they are so big, but I will save commenting on them in a later post where I voice my concerns that we are living on radioactive land, a la Gilligan's Island) so I am doing something fiscally responsible with them. I read somewhere that in this recession people are getting closer to their roots.

I took Aaron out to pick some of the tomatoes. I thought he would get a kick out of it because he's always been interested in growing things.

"C'mon," I say, pulling his eyes away from some stupid television show, "let's go pick some tomatoes from the garden!" This is, of course, spoken in my happy mother channeling the Romper Room Lady voice.

"Why?" he groans, "This is the worst day ever."

I resist smacking him. "I thought you would think this is cool! These are tomatoes we've grown ourselves!" Yes, still Romper Room Lady.

We walk the 15 feet to the garden (that's the back corner of the "back forty") and I point out the red tomatoes we need to pick.

"Are there thorns? I really hate thorns." He's sounding a little panicked as he catches site of the mutant rose bush that shares the tomato garden.

At this point you might think he's overreacting, but this rose bush is frightening! It has thorns on every single millimeter of stem from ground to tip of the branches. Some are huge and some are almost cactus-like. No matter what, it's scary!

I point out how he can go around the rose bush and the tomatoes and get into the corner and reach the ripe ones. He stops to feel every single branch he's going to pass by.

"Is this thorny? What about this one?"

"Those aren't thorns," Romper Room Lady (RRL) says, "the branches are a little furry on the tomato bushes!"

He picks the first one and heaves it into the bowl I'm holding. "Don't throw them!" RRL chirps, "we don't want them bruised!"

(At that point I am completely unaware that the tomatoes will soon be pulverized in the food processor. There's no chunky salsa in Klineville!)

He reaches for another tomato and yells out, "I hate webs as much as I hate thorns!"

"Isn't this fun!?" RRL chirps. "We're really getting close to nature! We're living on the land!"

Aaron rolls his eyes. I resist the urge to smack them back into place because RRL continues to channel through me.

We get done. Aaron has collected about 10 tomatoes. We walk the 15 feet back to the house and Aaron announces he's done and going out to play. Sure, ask for a little work to be done, and out the door they all head!

My idea was to have chunky salsa. But I forgot that the food processor doesn't do chunky very well. So it's liquid salsa. Tomatoes sure are squishy! I don't follow recipes, so I made up my own.

Tomatoes, approximately 15
Onion, 1
Jalapeno peppers (seeded), 7
Garlic, 2 heaping spoon fulls
Cilantro, 4 giant handfuls, washed
Salt
Pepper

The neighbor boy, who is Mexican, declared it good. His only suggestion was that it should be hotter. I'm thinking the longer the salsa sits in a jar, the spicier it will get.

Aaron came back in while I was cleaning up (he's been in and out about 4 times during the making of the salsa; he comes in to watch TV for a few minutes then goes back outside) and RRL asked him, "Isn't that cool that you picked the tomatoes that made this salsa?!"

Another eye roll, he takes a big drink of water, and asks, "Are there any more pop tarts."

Romper Room Lady is still here. I feel so proud of myself! I'm not sure we actually saved any money this way. Just running the dishwasher twice to clean all my dishes is probably the money cipher.

I can't wait to have some chips with my salsa. Jim ran to the store to get some. Oh yeah, that's the third trip to the store: one for our regular grocery shopping, one for the jalapenos and garlic we forget, and now the chips.

Too bad I don't drink or I'd have myself an ice-cold Corona with some lime or a margarita!

Happy Canning!
Susie

PS I have eight pints of salsa! It is incredibly good! Good thing I'm making tacos for dinner so we can eat the stuff that didn't get into the jars!

21 Days of No Complaining

2009-08-16T12:50:00.002-05:00

I've joined a Facebook group and have vowed not to complain for the next 21 days. Just to be clear about what this means, I looked up the definition of the word complain.

Main Entry: com·plain
Pronunciation: \kəm-ˈplān\
Function: intransitive verb
Etymology: Middle English compleynen, from Anglo-French compleindre, from Vulgar Latin *complangere, from Latin com- + plangere to lamen
Date: 14th century
1 : to express grief, pain, or discontent <complaining about the weather>
2 : to make a formal accusation or charge
— com·plain·er noun
— com·plain·ing·ly \-ˈplā-niŋ-lē\ adverb

I am interpreting this to mean that I cannot say anything negative. At all.

This is going to take some serious re-framing. Since re-framing is one of my favorite psychological techniques, I am looking forward to this. It's a good thing.

It's also a way to put some Buddhist teachings into practice. My understanding from what I have read (please understand that everyone can interpret it differently!) is that things are things. Events are events. They do not have negative or positive connotations until we label them so. And by labeling things, we are tapping into our egos. Which is not a good thing.

We should be striving to be ego-free.

For example, right now it is raining outside. I would label this a good thing because I love rain and storms. Someone else is labeling it a bad thing because they maybe were looking forward to doing something outdoors. But it's just what it is...rain. An act of nature.

I think all of this is wonderful until I try applying it to parenting. Because I can't begin to imagine how you parent without involving your ego. Maybe that's what I will figure out over the next 21 days!

Are you doing the 21 days of no complaining? How's it working for you? Please share!

Spend some time just being.
Susie

I'm Doing Something Wrong Here

2009-08-12T16:48:00.002-05:00

Monday night I'm watching TV and see blurb for the upcoming news. There are such things as "mommy bloggers." Yes, moms who write about their families and other very important life-changing events.

Of course, I googled all about it the next day. I find that there is an entire network of these mommy bloggers. From all over. With all tones of blogs.

And they get free stuff to review and recommend to their readers.

No one has offered me anything to review or recommend. Seriously! I have 32 followers and not one of you wants to give me something?! Other than a hard time?

I guess mommy bloggers are the blogs to watch. We've begun reporting on the heartbeat of America.

Tomorrow I'll share my recipe for burrito casserole if it turns out good.

Happy reading!
Susie

I'm Going to Do It...I am...Well, Maybe...I Think...

2009-08-11T17:50:00.003-05:00

What has me so indecisive these days? To color or not to color. My hair.

I've been coloring it for so long that I've forgotten my real hair color. The only thing I am certain of is that I have a white streak in the front. Pretty much like my birth mother's identical twin sister.

For some reason, this makes me feel closer to the mother I never met. It's a link. Something that we have in common. I'd like to think that if she were alive, we could laugh about it. I could tease her about the legacy she passed to me. She'd laugh. I've heard she had a great sense of humor.

Beyond this connection, I am waffling. I am too young to be so white. Heck, I'm too young to be the mother of nearly-17 year old twins. Or to be married to a man who's turning 52 in October. I'm too young to have graduated from high school 25 years ago!

Jim looks pretty good for being nearly 52 years old. What if people think I am his mother or something equally as horrifying? It's been hard enough when he gets carded at the grocery store for wine samples and I don't.

If I could be guaranteed that I would have some really great white/gray hair I would have no problem with this. There's a lady at my library who is absolutely stunning with her grey hair. She doesn't look old at all. She looks elegant and classy.

I'm afraid I'll just look old and used up. Beaten down by life. Pale and lifeless. Dull. Bored.

Since there are no guarantees, I pretty much have to go with it. It will be an experiment.

It's been almost 12 weeks since I had my hair colored. I opted not to at my last hair appointment. I told myself it was to save money. But I think I was just daring myself to try it.

I did break down and used a rinse a few weeks ago. Within a week, my white hair in front was back to being white. I have no interest in dying my hair every week! I'm not that high maintenance!

I could even cut my hair a little shorter to hurry along this experiment.

I've never been afraid to try anything with my hair before. I mean, it grows back. I've grown out enough haircuts through the ages that I am not happy with.

I'd love to hear from those of you who color and those who don't. What do you think? Want to join me in the pact to let it go? To live free of the dye bottle? To try to be natural?

That's another thing. I've been on an environmental kick lately, and somehow covering my body with chemicals that then get washed into the sewer system just doesn't seem right. If I won't kill a bug, can I really poison one?!

Let me hear from you!
Susie

Fashion Chat

2009-08-10T17:00:00.001-05:00

I want to talk about fashion. I can do this because a) I am an AVON beauty advisor!, b) I read magazines, c) I have eyes, and d) check out my picture...wouldn't you trust fashion advice from someone brave enough to wear a pink tiara?!

Ladies, if you have a belly, please don't wear your pants/jeans under said belly. Seriously, you are not a man, who for some reason is able to get away with this. Sure Joe put on fifty or sixty pounds, but he still wears the same size jeans he did in high school! Joe's not really fooling anyone. And neither are you. We can see the roll over the waistband. Especially because you're also wearing a short t-shirt with these ill-fitting jeans. Please, go buy pants that fit. No one will know what size you're wearing, but we will know the difference between fitting and...well, falling out of.

Mother's to be, please see above. If you think you can pull it off, at least do it without self-consciously pulling on your t-shirt waist every two seconds. That only lets us know you are uncomfortable!

Moms, you are not supposed to look like your teen-aged daughters. Sure, Moms today are hotter than ever. But you're not so hot that you can pull off 16...17...or 18. The jig is up when we see your face and see the wrinkles! I started noticing this phenomenon at the high school football games. I would see two women from the back with the same hair, dressed similarly, and when they turned around it was clear they were mother and daughter. Scary! Moms should look a little like moms! Plus, dressing like your teenage daughter is just creepy. Time to grow up!

Frosted hair...obviously lined lips...out of date! Don't do it. Highlights shouldn't take over your main hair color and they shouldn't be brittle beige. If you're looking in the mirror and are reminded of Carol Brady--time for a new hairdresser! Lip liner should match your lips.

Smokers, you look pretty silly driving around with the cigarette hanging out of the corner of your mouth. When you're smoking and using the cell phone while driving next to me on the road, I am scared. 'Nuff said.

Here's one for the young women. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. Soon it will be your turn to begin noticing nice skin...on other, younger girls. So get ahead of the game now and moisturize everything. You'll thank me, really! Don't forget your neck and your hands!

I know...I know...I should practice what I preach! I'm just lucky that my pants fit (sweats are so forgiving!), if I do dress like my teenagers it's because we're sharing t-shirts, and I don't have obvious lip liner because I rarely wear makeup in the summer! I mean, it melts off!

Happy Fashion!
Susie

Bikini Bodies

2009-08-05T17:29:00.002-05:00

I was in line (notice I said "in" and not "on"--there was no actual, physical line drawn on the floor!) at the grocery store, doing my weekly news catch up--aka, reading the National Enquirer. The cover was all about good and bad bikini bodies. They might actually have used the terms "fit" and "flab." Or maybe I am making that up.

I look at the good bodies. Yes, they are good. Fit, smooth, flat. Magazine worthy. I look at the bad bodies. I think they are OK. Sure, maybe some that should be avoiding bikinis, but nothing needing a burka to enter into public view.

It takes me a minute to realize that the good bodies are late teen and twenty-something women. I didn't know who half of them even are because I am now officially old and out of the entertainment loop.

The bad bodies were women in their forties and fifties who have had babies and actually lived life! They pictured Jerry Hall, who is 53! I just googled her. Lisa Rinna who is 46. Rosie O'Donnell who was wearing a tankini with shorts.

Who, in their right minds, would compare twenty-somethings and fifty-somethings? Talk about apples and oranges, to be cliche!

It's just nonsense. How many women will read the article and start beating themselves up for not looking like the young and nubile? How many will feel even worse about themselves, squelching any urge they had of going to the pool or beach this summer?

I hope women start to think, "yeah...you look good now, but come see me in 25 years!" Maybe I should clip the article (but that would mean actually buying the National Enquirer) and wait for ten or fifteen years and see if any of the good bodies show up as bad.

I think I'm going to the pool!

Happy swimming!
Susie

Too Much Time on My Hands

2009-07-30T15:33:00.003-05:00

Today I am thinking about the Busy People. You all know someone like this or you are this person.

This Busy Person is always telling you how busy they are. They don't have time to do anything because They Are So Busy. They get nothing done because They Are So Busy.

I'm not talking about people with jobs. Yes, these people are busy! Working, coming home and caring for family. That's busy.

But us moms who are at home with school age kids, seriously, we are not that busy. Not so busy that we have to be Busy People.

I used to wonder what I was missing in my life because I am not a Busy Person. I was feeling guilty. Maybe I need more things to do! Maybe I need bigger and better aspirations for myself. I stewed about this for quite awhile.

Then I came to my senses. I think the Busy People are so busy talking about being Busy People that they have no time for anything else. Seriously, when someone gives me an inventory of things they Have to do and then add that they don't have time to even take a shower, I have to wonder.

If you don't have time to take a shower, you've got bigger problems than being a Busy Person. (You are also a Smelly Person and that comes with a whole different set of problems!)

I think Busy People are trying to convince themselves and others that they are Very Important People. Because only the Very Important People could ever be so busy! If they stopped and really thought about it, they would realize that they aren't that important anymore.

Because we are moms and we've taken a backseat. We are the support behind the family unit, but we are no longer the centers of attention. We have husbands who work to support us. Sometimes these husbands are Very Important People at work or in the community. Our children are the ones others want to know about. We've been eclipsed.

And that's how it's supposed to be. This is the path we've chosen and once we make peace with it, we'll feel so much better.

I no longer feel lacking or guilty. I get done what I can and what I don't get done, can wait until tomorrow or even the next day. We have clean clothes and food. The kids get driven where they need to go. The house hasn't been condemned by the health department (yet!). And I manage to shower daily!

Maybe the day will come again when I will be a Very Important Person. I don't think I need to be one though. I'm comfortable in my own skin, doing my own thing. I've recognized my limitations and have embraced them: committee work, no way; reading to the class, you bet; shower every day, of course!; scrubbing the floor every day, no way in hell!

Today's assignment is to think of the things you're doing that you hate just because you need to be a Very Important Person. Then cross them off your list of To Dos. Stop being a Busy Person and enjoy life. Take a lunch. Read a book.

Be Happy in Your Own Skin!
susie

Runaway Mom

2009-07-27T18:16:00.002-05:00

Janet picked me up last week for our bingo date and I was ready to go. I was relishing the thought of grown-up company, especially that of my bowling team. I've missed them during our summer hiatus! You spend a few hours with the ladies throughout the school year and it makes a difference without them!

Janet arrives exactly on time. She brought Phil, her 10 year old son, who was waiting here for his dad to pick him up. The dogs are barking, kids are bouncing. The house is in an uproar. You might think it was the unexpected company, but this is the state of my house about 80% of the day.

I ditched the grunge clothes and had on things that matched. And coordinated. I wasn't wearing my Crocs. (I don't care that fashion-istas think they are ugly...they are freakin' comfortable!) I had on (gasp!) makeup and jewelry. I was in full Beauty Advisor persona!

Jim's getting dinner ready. I'm trying to get out of the door. I'm dodging questions, trying to begin a meaningful dialogue with Janet. All while tripping over dogs and kids trying to get to the door.

I did make a stop so Phil could stand next to me and gloat over the fast that he's almost three inches taller than me! Seriously, a soon-to-be fifth grader towers over me. But it was Phil and he's a sweetie, so I didn't mind all that much. Janet's six feet tall, so he has a ways to go before towering over her!

Janet and I make it to the front door. We're out of the door. Her mini van is in sight...and she drops her keys, delaying us slightly.

The next thing I know, Aaron is approaching via the garage. I knew I should have strewn something across the path from the house to the drive way. Anything to delay him! Some broken glass shards? Pieces of glass rods?

Jim's in the garage looking for something. Aaron's on the driveway.

"O'Mom! Can I ask you something?" He never just asks. He always prefaces it with my newly appointed Irish name, O'Mom.

"There's your dad, ask him."

"But, Mom! I want..."

"Your dad is right there...ask him!" I hear the hysteria in my voice getting clearer.

I'm hissing to Janet to get the car open, stat. She's fumbling with the keys. Phil's the same age as Aaron so she knows the relentlessness of the 10-year old boy.

We get into the car and slam the doors. Aaron's at the door, knocking on the window. "O'Mom! Can I ask you something?!"

"There's your dad!" I screech, "Ask him!"

I'm hissing as Janet under my breath, "Drive! Drive away now!"

Now Jim's in the driveway, getting ready to ask me for something. I sing-song to Aaron through the closed window, "Mommy's leaving! I can't hear you! I can't see you! Go ask Daddy!"

Janet slams the van into reverse, we fly out of the driveway. Now I am no longer hissing under my breath, but out loud, "Let's get out of here."

Yes, I've had my get-away car experience. And it was to flee my child.

I didn't look in the rear view mirror. But I am imagining Aaron running after the van as it spun out down the street. When he finally stops, forlorn because he cannot catch the vehicle, his face is covered in soot from the exhaust and smoke from the tires spinning on the pavement.

I get home four hours later and barely walk through the door when Aaron appears. He's wrapped in his blankets. "O'Mom! Can I ask you something?!"

"You're supposed to be in bed! I'll talk to you in the morning!" I run up the stairs and bolt my door shut. "Good night! I love you!"

Twenty-three days until school starts...

Happy Mothering!
susie

Mini Vans, Bowling, Bingo...Oh My!

2009-07-23T11:18:00.004-05:00

I swore I would never drive a mini van. I mean I'm way cooler than that! I even joked that I wanted it written into a prenuptial agreement that I would never drive a mini van.

I now drive a mini van. And quite proudly. With vanity plates. It's covered with pro-Obama stickers. I have the magnetic high school logo and a football on it, too.

Driving a mini van became the only logical solution to the ever-growing boys. First, we traded in the Neon when it was just Jeremy and Jermaine. We went everywhere looking for a car that was big enough for them.

Picture us at the car dealer, having the twins sit in the backseat of a car and deciding there and then whether it was the car for us. I finally went on line and found the car with the widest wheel base and largest interior. The Chevy Impala was it. So we got one.

Then we traded in Jim's truck (a Dakota two-door with a back seat). Jermaine joked that it looked like a clown car when the five of us piled out of it.

Final step, a mini van. Again, searched the Internet for large wheel bases and large interiors. I did everything I could to avoid the mini van. I wanted an SUV, any SUV. The mini van won.

Only a few of my friends still gloat.

Three years ago Janet finally wore me down and got me to join her bowling team. I had resisted. Not sure why. Bowling just seemed like the thing not to do...for a cool mom like me.

Although around this time it's becoming clearer...I am not a cool mom!

I am, simply, a mom.

Certainly my kids don't think I'm cool. Jim thinks I'm cool. My friends think I'm OK. I don't care what other moms think.

And so I bowl. And drive to the bowling alley every Tuesday morning in my mini van. With the vanity plates and the bumper stickers. Advertising my sons' high school.

(I've offered them money for the first one to come home with a my-kid-is-an-honor-roll-kid bumper sticker. They asked if one already attached to a bumper would count. I'm not holding my breath.)

Tonight I am going to play bingo. I've begged Jim to stop me if I start talking about square dancing. I'm afraid that's the next step. I'm one shuffle board tournament away from hell!

We're driving to bingo in Janet's mini van. I wonder if she needs some bumper stickers? Maybe we need some good luck trolls...

Wish me luck!
susie

Chubby Babies

2009-07-22T13:26:00.003-05:00

I think one of the most beautiful things is an adorable baby, with the chubby cheeks and chubby legs. (And let's be honest, pretty much all babies are adorable!) The kinds of cheeks and legs that beg to be tickle. This chubbiness fades as they get older and leave the toddler stage. Suddenly they aren't babies any more and you know that because all the chubbiness has smoothed out into a more adult-like body.

Imagine my horror when I've heard mothers exalting their baby's thinness!

At the pool this morning I heard a mother proudly announce, "She only weighs 22 pounds and she's over three years old!"

I have been watching this skinny child running around the pool, wanting to feed her a cookie or some ice cream. I have been watching the mother, formulating my theory of parenting based on the mother's appearance. (That's another posting, though!)

I did double check to see if the mother was horrified that her child only weighed 22 pounds. But she looked proud and was pushing her chest out like mothers do when they announce something their children have done to make them proud.

This isn't the first time I've heard a similar conversation. Last spring, I was surrounded by mother-speak in the pediatric dentist's waiting room. The mother from Nashville, with the quite annoying drawl, was telling a soon-to-deliver mother that her youngest daughter was still wearing her clothes that were size 18 months.

"She's been wearing them for months and isn't gaining any weight at all." Again, she was thrusting her chest forward, waiting for the other mothers to tell her how wonderful she was.

Me? I wanted to start tossing Cheetos into the girl's mouth! I wanted to take her to Dairy Queen!

I'm finding this whole thing frightening. Why would you want skinny babies? Why would you be proud that your baby isn't growing?

Are these kids future bulimics and anorexics? Are they eating disorders in the making?

I do believe as parents it is our responsibility to feed our kids healthy foods. I don't let my kids have unlimited soda or snacks. Fruit, eat all you want. Oreos, there's one pack and when it's gone it's gone. (Since I have raised King and Kong, they don't last very long!) We do dessert on weekends, not every night. When I've been concerned about weight with the kids, I buy fewer snacks, more fruit and vegetables.

Maybe I would think of it differently if I was raising girls. I hope not. I'm pretty sure I would never be concerned that my infant or toddler child was thin enough.

I do believe as parents it is our responsibility to raise good citizens. Does it really matter what you look like on the outside if you're kind-hearted and generous? That's the message I want my kids to take away as adults. I think it would be a wonderful world if more mothers felt this way...

Happy Parenting!
susie

I Think My Kids Are Trying to Gaslight Me

2009-07-20T16:06:00.002-05:00

Have you ever seen the movie Gaslight? It's old, black and white. A husband tries to drive his wife mad by saying things happen or don't happen. She finally starts questioning her sanity.

Here I am on Day 46 (for those of you who are new, that's the number of days of summer vacation...give or take a few because everything's getting blurry...) and I am convinced my teenagers are trying to drive me mad.

I have discussions with them--OK, I am bitching at them about something!--and they appear to be listening. But they aren't. If they do choose to reply, they do it under their breath. They whisper just loud enough so I can hear it. Then they deny ever saying it.

The other night Jim took Aaron out to play baseball because the twins said Aaron was too little to play hard ball with the big boys. Mere moments after Jim and Aaron walk to the nearby baseball field, they stumble back in the door. Jim's boasting a HUGE bruise on his chin. Aaron hit him with a hit ball. (Jim getting hurt by the big boys is a separate post altogether!)

When the twins come in, I tell them what happened. I point out that Aaron managed to hurt their dad. Jermaine mumbles under his breath, "Yeah, sure."

Jim's telling them he was throwing fast pitches and Aaron was nailing everything. Jermaine whispers once again, "Like you can throw as hard as we do."

Let me explain that the twins' baseball prowess has taken a downward turn since they became track stars. Every time I go to one of their games, I want to groan out loud and yell, "For this I paid $300?!" Instead, I smile and say things to the coaches (Jim's the assistant coach) and other parents, "Boy, they are sure here to have fun!" As there are errors after errors made by the entire team. I wonder if all the parents watching are thinking the same thing!

Seriously, they couldn't have had fun without me paying $300?! There's a ball field a block away. Some of their friends drive. They could be over there every single afternoon playing ball.

But I digress...

After the conversation about baseball and who throws harder, I had to keep questioning myself. Did I really hear Jermaine right? I didn't hear him right. He wouldn't say those things.

Of course he would...he's a teenager.

It hits me the next morning in the shower that I did hear him right. I am not deaf. I am in my 40s...not my 80s. I don't need a hearing aid! I need respect! I heard everything he said.

Unfortunately, I can't smack the crap out of him the next morning! (You don't have to point out that I can't smack him because I can't reach! I already know that!)

The twins do this a lot. In the middle of some conflict, they mutter things. Just low enough so I don't have to respond. Just low enough so I question what I heard. But not loud enough that I can react at that very moment because I am not sure I heard them right!

So my new resolution is to stop doubting myself. I am right. I am the mother! I will react to what I hear. Sure, I'll get it wrong a few times. But for those times I get it right...watch out, boys! There's no Gaslight-ing Mama!

Happy Monday!
susie

Migraines: The Summer Connection

2009-07-15T19:37:00.002-05:00

I'm beginning to notice a correlation between the increasing frequency of my migraines and summer vacation! Moms, start tracking yours so we can report on this in some obscure medical journal.

I was migraine-free for quite a long time. If I was a serious record-keeper I would probably find that I had none during the school year. Well, maybe one or two during Christmas break. Unfortunately, the migraines have made a recent reappearance.

Eye throbbing, skull wracking headaches. The kind that can only be cured with bed rest. Or a tropical vacation sans kids!

Yesterday Aaron asks, "what is autopilot?" I carefully explain it, going into some detail. A heart beat after I finish, he says, "what is autopilot?"

Except he never just asks a question. It's always, "Oh Mom, can I ask you something?" (Jim's quite amused that I am so obviously Irish!) I always reply, "You can ask me anything." I miss the days when he asked, "Can I talk to you something?"

Repeat the above scenario eight...ten...one hundred times per day. And the migraine begins...

Jeremy and Jermaine are having one heck of a summer. Jeremy is at least attending summer school from 7am till noon each day. I do have to get up to drive him and am not happy about it! Jermaine, however, is sleeping until it's time for track practice and then pretty much gone for the rest of the day. He comes home in time for dinner and then runs right back out. Jeremy follows along when he's done with school.

Yesterday I carefully explain that I had a doctor's appointment today and would need them to watch Aaron. I questioned Jeremy when I dropped him off at practice, making sure he had his phone and would answer it.

Because the Wonder Twins screen my calls! I, who pay the bill with the money that Jim makes! I am screened! They have been warned. They have been threatened. Continue to screen my calls and the phones of the bills that I pay with the money that Jim makes will disappear!

Time's ticking by this afternoon. I start calling the twins one half hour before I need to leave. No answer. I keep calling. I'm calling and calling. Alternating between their phones. Getting more and more angry.

I realize that Aaron has to come with me and the headache worsens slightly. We drive past the school to see if they can be spotted. I call Jim and bitch. Aaron keeps asking, "where are our brothers?" (Aaron is pronoun challenged.)

Headache worsening.

My cell phone goes dead because I keep forgetting to charge it. I get the car charger plugged in and there's a call from Jeremy's phone with an undecipherable voice mail! I call back, demanding to know where they are. Giggle. Giggle. "In front of school."

"Well, start walking because I am on the way to the doctor for the appointment you were to watch Aaron during." So the teenage athletes have to walk! Gasp! It's less that one and a half miles from the school to our house--I know this because buses won't pick up my kids because we fall within the magic one and a hlf mile margin!

I fume. I get through my doctor's appointment with normal blood pressure (I was more than a little concerned I'd be nearing stroke level). I have blood drawn. I buy Aaron a pop from the machine in the lobby because he's obsessed with vending machines. We go to Target to pick up a prescription (I got something to help me sleep; maybe I should have gotten some valium!).

Headache begins to recede.

Except I am with Aaron in a store! I get my prescription and, let me tell you, this little bottle with its magic pills is calling my name! I agree to buy a donut.

"Can I have three donuts? How about a bag of Starbursts instead? Or some skates? You said I could get some skates. Starbucks has donuts."

"Two donuts," I gasp as the headache begins again.

"I want this donut and this one and this one." He's beginning to spin in the Target food department.

"Two donuts."

"OK, I got my donuts! Can we go buy some skates?"

"No skates."

"Those Starbursts look good. I sure would like some candy."

"Donuts."

We make it up to the cash register and he tries one more time, "Are you sure I can't get skates today?"

"Donuts."

The drive home is made pleasant because Aaron's mouth is full of donuts. If it had been a longer trip I would have sprung for three or maybe even four!

Start dinner. Listen to bickering in the living room. No one offers to help. Create mouth watering dinner: breakfast at night.

We chat about headaches. Guess what, the twins rarely have a headache. Must be because they are too busy giving them to get them!

Now I am writing from bed, hiding from the kids, nursing my migraine.

Thank you, kids!

Summer will end soon!
susie

ps I've confiscated the cell phones. Now how the hell will I know when to pick them up?!

Sarah Palin Resigns

2009-07-11T13:22:00.004-05:00

I don't want to get into a political discussion about Sarah Palin and her political prowess. I'm sure some of my dear readers are fans. I do, however, want to address a possible reason why she has resigned as governor of Alaska effective at the end of this month.

Sarah's 45 years old. I'm surmising that she's perimenopausal. She is also involved in a position requiring many meetings. Combine these two things alone and she's a woman on the edge.

I'm imagining some conversations she's having with Todd (why do I always think of the Saturday Night Live skit with the Lubner's...poor Mr. Lubner, he was born without a spine!).

She comes home from a long evening meeting. And I know they're long because I was involved in local government (library board) for a short time. The meetings are endless. Often they are repetitive. Seriously, we had some conversations that were word-for-word the same one from the previous month! I'm guessing that serious politics is even more intense.

I like to think Sarah has to take to her bed on these nights like I do. She has a house full of kids, a grand baby, an infant son, a husband who's not around much. Taking to her bed is the obvious conclusion, unless she drinks. Maybe that's what makes your children more bearable at the end of the day!

She's laying in bed with a cool cloth on her forehead. "Todd," she says, "Mr. A. brought up Project A again tonight. It's the fourth fucking month in a row he's brought this up. No one can agree on what should be done. He just won't give up."

"Poor Sarah," says Todd. Maybe he's rubbing her back. But he knows not to say too much because he might get into trouble somehow.

"Ms. B. accused Ms. C. of not doing something right because it wasn't done the way she wanted. If she was so worried about how it got done, she should have chaired the fucking committee. Then she wouldn't have anything to complain about!"

"I know, Sarah," Todd soothes.

"I don't think I can fucking take this anymore, Todd. The kids. You're never here. Two babies in diapers, crying all night. I've been offered a book deal and my own talk show. I should take them. Then I wouldn't have to deal with these morons at these stupid ass meetings. Who invented the meeting? I think it was the devil himself, just to create a little hell on Earth. God knows, nothing productive comes from any board meeting!"

She sits up and starts waving her arms around wildly, "Todd, I was almost vice president of the entire freaking country! Why do I have to worry about Project A and committees? I am cut out for bigger and better things! That's it, I'm resigning. Shit, maybe I'll be president of Russia. Get the boat and take me over there! I'll finish my fucking college degree and show them all! I'll be an oil painter! I'll go on Project Runway or Dancing with the Stars! I'm a star! Dammit, I'm a star!"

I applaud this Sarah! Good for her! I just wish she could have done something to put an end to The Meeting. They should be outlawed. The Surgeon General should declare them a health hazard. The Attorney General should create very stringent rules for meetings: topics can not be repeated verbatim, people not involved in a committee cannot criticize said committee, something productive needs to occur during each meeting beyond discussing your dog's latest medical drama.

Go, Sarah, Go! Go forth and re-invent yourself! Women of a certain age are saluting you!

Happy Saturday!
susie

Getting Your Kids to Do What You Want

2009-07-04T12:33:00.006-05:00

Addendum: I just came across this article...

Yesterday, while watching a television show about notorious females on E!, I started thinking about mothers who can get their kids to do anything. It was the segment on Sante Kimes that got me thinking the most. She's a mother who got her twenty-something year old some to kill and rob for her. When they were finally arrested, the police found 14 notebooks filled with handwritten notes on how to kill one of their victims.

I'm not condoning what they did! But it did make me wonder how she could get her son to do criminal things for her when I can't even get the twins to clean their room! What does she have that I don't?

Seriously, my three boys, in nearly 30 combined years of school, have not filled 14 notebooks with anything. Much less notes on one single subject or plan. I'm not going to count to doodles of manga characters.

I'm reading a book about a mother-daughter bank robbing team (Knockout by Catherine Coulter, pretty good so far). Here's how bank robbing with my sons would go...

Setting: my kitchen table, during dinner...

Me: Tomorrow we're going to ride the bank...
Aaron: Which bank?
Me: The one down the street...
Aaron: Why that one? Why not the other one? What are we going to do after that? How long will it take? Can I get a sucker? Can I have two? Do Jeremy and Jermaine have to come? I don't want to miss Ben Ten...there's a new one coming on...can I tape it?
Me: I don't care.
Aaron: Can we stop at McDonald's on the way? Can I have a shake? Can I have a large shake? Can I have two? Can Jeremy and Jermaine have one?
Me: Shut up! We're going to rob this bank and that's that! (I leave the table, head upstairs, and take to my bed in early evening to recover from the conversation.)

Next day...
Me: Get your brothers up, it's time to go rob the bank...
Aaron: Wake up my brothers? Now?
Me: Yes...
Aaron: Wake up my brothers?
Me: Yes...
Aaron: Where are we going? Can I have a shake? Can I have a large shake? Can I have two? Can Jeremy and Jermaine have one? What are you going to get? You really like that yogurt thingy, you can get that.
Me: Get your brothers.
Finally Jeremy and Jermaine make it downstairs, sometime well after noon.
Me: Who's driving the getaway car?
Jeremy: (shrug)
Jermaine: (shrug)
Me: Fine, we'll work it out when we get there. (drive to the bank)
Me: Jeremy, you drive the getaway car...
Jeremy: I don't have my permit...I lost it...
Me: Damn it, Jeremy! That's the fourth one you've lost. You're paying for it! It's coming out of your allowance! You're going to order it yourself!
Jeremy: (shrug)
Me: Fine...Jermaine you drive...
Jermaine: I don't really want to...I want to go throw the shot and discus (spinning around the parking lot like a 6'5", 280# ballerina)
Aaron: If they don't have to go, I'm not going...can I change the channel? Can I tape this movie that's three-quarters of the way over?
Me: (drive home, go upstairs, take to my bed...)

In my house, it's not even worth planning a trip to the park, much less anything requiring tight planning and plotting! How did Sante Kimes do it? Was she armed and threatening? Was her son scared of her?

Because my kids are a) bigger than me and b) not scared of me in the least. Which would explain why I say, "take out all the trash," get a nod, and find out later nothing was touched. And repeat this same scenario for cleaning the room, vacuuming, dusting...you get the picture!

I really don't want to rob banks with my kids. But I would like to go to the store to buy clothes for them without the attitude, whining, questioning...

If you have secrets for getting your kids to do things, share them, please!

Happy Fourth,
susie

Passion

2009-07-02T14:51:00.005-05:00

Get your mind out of the gutter! (Not that it's an entirely bad place to be...)

Yesterday Kelly and Kelsey came over and we played with our watercolors. It was so energizing. I was buzzed all day and evening. When they left, I kept painting.

I had no goals. Just paint. Playing with the paints, trying to get them to do what I wanted. No intent to sell or gift. Playing for playing's sake.

I've been missing this passion. I used to have it for bead making. After my first bead class I would sit at the torch for hours every day. I couldn't wait to get the torch hooked up every day. I couldn't wait to wake up the next morning to see what was in the kiln.

Recently, that's all been gone. I haven't torched except to teach. I don't get the same energy from making beads. All I feel is disappointment. Disappointment that sales are miserable. That I'm accumulating beads that sit here. I've stopped playing and experimenting.

Aaron and I saw Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian (a very fun movie, by the way!) and the message was to do something you love. I got the same message from an art newsletter I get.

And now I am really getting it. I need to stop making beads to sell and concentrate on the simple fun of torching. I need to be excited about my kiln contents. I need to play with my paints.

Just because we're grown ups doesn't mean we can't play. Playing is good. Plus, I'm guessing that passion for something leads to passion for something else, making life more enjoyable all around.

Happy Playing!
susie

Vegas Night...and Day

2009-06-29T13:13:00.003-05:00

The neighborhood kids are in my kitchen again. They've been invading my home for days now. Why? Because they are playing poker at my kitchen table.

This winter, Jim, I and the twins played poker on Saturday nights after dinner. Just for an hour or so. It was fun. We laughed. And it was a nice way to spend the cold nights. Since I play once a month (September through May) with some good friends, it's also a way to share one of my favorite things while practicing.

Little did I know that my kids would be spreading the gambling bug throughout the Waterbury subdivision in little ole Roselle.

They're playing for chips. And I have to question their poker savvy when someone says they have "all clovers." Or when they were playing with 51 cards. Or when all blacks were wild.

But they're having fun. I know where they are. Plus, I get to watch the social interactions of the elementary and high school crowds.

There's been fighting. Storming out in anger. Apologies. Whining. Laughing. Teasing. It's fun to see!

Yesterday one little boy stormed out in anger only to return about twenty minutes full of apologies and tattling on the little boy who made him mad. I think he wanted me to do something about it. Maybe talk to the other boy. Maybe assure him that he was right to be mad.

Instead I stared at him in stunned silence. My usual, "stop your whining," "get over it" and "stop your tattling" didn't seem appropriate with a kid who's not mine. Asking if there was any blood involved or a bone sticking out seemed pretty harsh for this only child who must have more caring parents at home. I just smiled and murmured something that I hope came across as reassuring.

Later, I heard the same boy whining to another boy outside. "But you said we could play together! Just you and me! Not you and me and ten other people!" The second boy rides off on his bike, yelling, "I said maybe!"

I think Boy #1 needs to learn to relax. Go with the flow.

After all, that's what we moms have to do, right? Things change from second to second and if we were to remain rigid, we'd snap in two eventually. So we save our real anxiety and angst for the important things--blood and compound fractures. We don't have the fully loaded emotional debit card ready to be depleted over smacks and insults.

Boy kids don't seem to hold grudges. (I can't speak for girl kids.) Yesterday's smacker is now the smacked; the smacked is now the smacker. All they care about at the beginning of the new day is who wants to ride bikes, skateboard, or, in the case of my suburban sons, play poker.

I think I need to stock up some snacks...

Happy Mothering,
susie

It's My Favorite Day of the Year!!

2009-06-23T11:52:00.002-05:00

The day the new Stephanie Plum novel comes out! This year's Finger Lickin' Fifteen has some big shoes to fill, because the first fourteen novels were hoots. Check out the Janet Evanovich's website at evanovich.com for more information about all the novels.

I'll begin my yearly ritual today. Starting with One for the Money, I will re-read each of the books while waiting for the library to call when it's my turn for the new one. I am on a book-buying moratorium, but will make an exception for the new paperback of Fearless Fourteen.

These books make me laugh. Seriously, I will sit in bed reading, laughing out loud. Then I'll make Jim listen to a passage to share it with him.

I want to be Stephanie Plum. I want two yummy guys to drool over and make my hormones swirl (in a good way, not this perimenopause way that's really sucking!). I want a kooky gramma who fires her gun at dinner, hitting the chicken. I want a side kick like Lula who will pretty do almost anything I ask her.

OK, my best friend Kelly is my sidekick. But I can't see her covering the rear with her gun while I go to the front door to pick up a stray bailed out prisoner who's failed to appear. If I begged, she probably would do it. But chances are one of us would get shot. And it would hurt. A lot! Mostly Kelly and I critique shops and buy art supplies!

Janet Evanovich's magic isn't just seen in the Stephanie Plum novels. She also wrote some really fun romances at the beginning of her career. I just finished reading The Grand Finale and it was sweet and hilarious.

OK, just read all her books. She's my favorite author and can't be beat!

Happy Reading!
susie

The Great Ice Cream Maker Hunt

2009-06-22T20:43:00.004-05:00

When Jim and I got married, one of our wedding presents was this great ice cream maker. You froze the canister, popped into the machine, and it spun and churned until the liquid ingredients turned into yummy ice cream. We make chocolate chip ice cream. Peppermint ice cream.

Fast forward 11.5 years and we are left with only the canister. I can't find the machine part anywhere. I probably tossed it into a goodwill box and now someone is stuck with the machine and no canister to freeze.

The boys and I decided we wanted to make ice cream. I mean, it's so much fun! You mix ingredients, sometimes cooking them and waiting for them to cool. You add them to a machine and voila! moments later you have ice cream!

Aaron made ice cream in school with a zip lock bag and a coffee can. How homey! It's something June Cleaver would do. Any good mother whips up fresh ice cream for her brood if she really loves them!

And so the hunt began...

I did have rules for the new ice cream machine. I don't want to mess with rock salt. So that means I need something a little less rudimentary than a coffee can.

I find a nice Rival ice cream maker that fulfills all my needs. I even had a coupon for $10 off! It's the perfect machine.

I make a special trip to the market down the road. I pick up heavy cream and half and half. I only need a cup of each, but they only have quarts in stock. Of course, I will be making a lot of ice cream so more is better! We can have fresh ice cream all week long!

The canister sat in the freezer all afternoon, as instructed. I mixed the ingredients before dinner so that I could start the machine the minute we sat down for dinner. That way dessert would be ready when we were! I had it perfectly planned!

I can hear the machine churning as we eat. I am feeling so smug! Fresh made ice cream! With real ingredients! No high fructose corn syrup and fillers for my brood! Only the freshest full-fat cream will do!

Churn...churn...

Dinner's over, the dishes are done, and the ice cream maker continues to churn. Churn...churn...

I go to the computer and answer email, feed and groom my PetSociety pet. Churn...churn...

The machine stops! I am so excited. Fresh ice cream...yadda yadda yadda. If I had an apron I would wear it proudly at that moment!

We don't have ice cream. We have something not quite liquid, not quite frozen. More the consistency of a really runny Frosty. The ice cream making machine hasn't stopped because the ice cream is ready...it stopped because the machine overheated.

Obviously Rival can be rivaled when it comes to ice cream makers!

Telling the boys that we are having shakes, I toss in some Heath pieces and we all drink our ice cream. It's thawing rapidly and it's really sweet milk with Heath pieces in it by the time we're done.

I pack up the machine and return it. But I still insist I will buy another, better machine! I know one exists because we used to own one.

I get a coupon for Bed, Bath and Beyond. I research them on-line. I actually drive past the Bed, Bath and Beyond.

Then it hits me. Duh! [That's me slapping my forehead.] They make ice cream for you. They make it and sell it in cardboard containers, already frozen, in a million different flavors.

I can even get it made without high fructose corn syrup.

Frankly, this was one of my sillier ideas. I mean, if I really want to wear an apron, I'll wear it while dishing up store-made ice cream with my really cool ice cream scooper from Pampered Chef!

Happy Desserts!
susie