In the place that is my own place, whose earth
I am shaped in and must bear, there is an old tree growing,
a great sycamore that is a wondrous healer of itself.
Fences have been tied to it, nails driven into it,
hacks and whittles cut in it, the lightning has burned it.
There is no year it has flourished in
that has not harmed it. There is a hollow in it
that is its death, though its living brims whitely
at the lip of the darkness and flows outward.
Over all its scars has come the seamless white
of the bark. It bears the gnarls of its history
healed over. It has risen to a strange perfection
in the warp and bending of its long growth.
It has gathered all accidents into its purpose.
It has become the intention and radiance of its dark fate.
It is a fact, sublime, mystical and unassailable.
In all the country there is no other like it.
I recognize in it a principle, an indwelling
the same as itself, and greater, that I would be ruled by.
I see that it stands in its place and feeds upon it,
and is fed upon, and is native, and maker.
-Wendell Berry
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Second Adolescence/Thoughts On My Ten-Year-Reunion
When I started middle school, I was in Mrs. Clark's 6th grade class. I remember sitting there at my desk on the first day, and Mrs. Clark (one of the best teachers EVER, by the way) cracked some joke that made us all "LOL". I was shocked because we all sounded so very OLD. There was a deepness to our laugh that hadn't been there in Mrs. Franklin's class the previous year. I can only assume it must have been due to some of the boy's voices going from falsetto to tenor or something, but I definitely felt like we were growing up.
And here I am, 15-or-so years later wondering what our laughs will sound like at the ten-year reunion. And then I realize, will this ten-year-reunion thing finally make me feel like an adult? Seeing all of the people I grew up with--grown up?
Some people told me marriage would make me feel like a grown-up. Others told me it would be having children. Still others told me it would be some life change or disaster.
I'm not feeling like an adult yet. And I am wondering if it is because I am no longer around the people I was around when I was growing up. I have nothing to gauge my development against anymore. Maybe?
I don't really view myself as an adult at all. I feel as though I'm constantly hitting walls when it comes to the whole mentally aging aspect of life. Maybe it's the fact that in spite of everything we *have* been through (cancer, joblessness, homelessness, other illness, etc), I am stil mostly enjoying life. I love being married to my husband and having kids and having our own house. I have definitely done my share of hand-wringing and am definitely noticing signs of worry wrinkles appearing on my forehead. But I still feel often more giddy than dour. And I thought adulthood would be all about feeling constantly frustrated with life.
I am not trying to say I live in constant cloud-9. I am far from it, in fact. It's just that life is so full of moments of, well, playful, silly immaturity. Water fights with the kids in the back yard. Tickle fights with Greg. Playing on facebook. Staying up late and still feeling sort of like I've gotten away with something forbidden.
But then again, the last three times I've bought alcohol, I haven't gotten carded. And other people's kids actually listen to me when I tell them what to do (my own don't, but that's to be expected). And I do the dishes without people asking me to. What the heck?
About a year ago, I signed up for a subscription to Nylon magazine because I thought it would have good recommendations for new musicians I'd never heard of, and I liked the fasion a lot. After a few issues, I asked Greg what he thought of the magazine, and he said, "it seems pretty high school". And then I realized.. yeah, it does. So I cancelled the subscription. I was embarrassed because, sheesh, I am TWENTY-SEVEN after all.
And I keep finding myself shopping in the juniors section and being surprised when, oh-my-gosh, the clothes like, totally don't fit me like they used to.
I almost bought myself a Smurfette t-shirt the other day and thought, "Wait. Is this *appropriate*?"
I feel like I am going through a second adolescence--an awkward age where things aren't ever quite ever what they should be. It's all very Alice in Wonderland-ish, and disconcerting.
Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe I should just do whatever comes/feels natural. It's just that I'm somewhere in between two worlds. I know I'm not young anymore, but I know I'm not all that old, either. Does anyone else feel this way? Or am I just some sort of developmentally challenged permanent teenager? I want to act my age, but I am not sure what that age is.
And here I am, 15-or-so years later wondering what our laughs will sound like at the ten-year reunion. And then I realize, will this ten-year-reunion thing finally make me feel like an adult? Seeing all of the people I grew up with--grown up?
Some people told me marriage would make me feel like a grown-up. Others told me it would be having children. Still others told me it would be some life change or disaster.
I'm not feeling like an adult yet. And I am wondering if it is because I am no longer around the people I was around when I was growing up. I have nothing to gauge my development against anymore. Maybe?
I don't really view myself as an adult at all. I feel as though I'm constantly hitting walls when it comes to the whole mentally aging aspect of life. Maybe it's the fact that in spite of everything we *have* been through (cancer, joblessness, homelessness, other illness, etc), I am stil mostly enjoying life. I love being married to my husband and having kids and having our own house. I have definitely done my share of hand-wringing and am definitely noticing signs of worry wrinkles appearing on my forehead. But I still feel often more giddy than dour. And I thought adulthood would be all about feeling constantly frustrated with life.
I am not trying to say I live in constant cloud-9. I am far from it, in fact. It's just that life is so full of moments of, well, playful, silly immaturity. Water fights with the kids in the back yard. Tickle fights with Greg. Playing on facebook. Staying up late and still feeling sort of like I've gotten away with something forbidden.
But then again, the last three times I've bought alcohol, I haven't gotten carded. And other people's kids actually listen to me when I tell them what to do (my own don't, but that's to be expected). And I do the dishes without people asking me to. What the heck?
About a year ago, I signed up for a subscription to Nylon magazine because I thought it would have good recommendations for new musicians I'd never heard of, and I liked the fasion a lot. After a few issues, I asked Greg what he thought of the magazine, and he said, "it seems pretty high school". And then I realized.. yeah, it does. So I cancelled the subscription. I was embarrassed because, sheesh, I am TWENTY-SEVEN after all.
And I keep finding myself shopping in the juniors section and being surprised when, oh-my-gosh, the clothes like, totally don't fit me like they used to.
I almost bought myself a Smurfette t-shirt the other day and thought, "Wait. Is this *appropriate*?"
I feel like I am going through a second adolescence--an awkward age where things aren't ever quite ever what they should be. It's all very Alice in Wonderland-ish, and disconcerting.
Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe I should just do whatever comes/feels natural. It's just that I'm somewhere in between two worlds. I know I'm not young anymore, but I know I'm not all that old, either. Does anyone else feel this way? Or am I just some sort of developmentally challenged permanent teenager? I want to act my age, but I am not sure what that age is.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monica
Some of you already may know (or know of) this family. If not, please keep them in your thoughts and prayers. I didn't know Monica, but it sounds like she was an extraordinary person. I wish I had known about her sooner, so I could have thanked her for being such an inspiration to so many--myself included. Pray for her little boy and husband as they are going through a devastatingly difficult time right now.
http://www.solandmonica.com
http://www.solandmonica.com
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Not an April Fool's Joke, But Still...
So, as some of you already know, Greg and I took a tour of Europe in 2004. If you are actually considering going to Europe, I highly recommend *not* using a bus tour, unless it's through a private family-owned compay. What we wanted was to spend some time in a few select cities. The most practical way to do this (according to our Travel Agent) was to use a bus tour. So, we took the Globus "Grand European Tour".
We were packed on a bus of 30+ people, didn't like too many of them, and were rushed around in "get to the end as quickly as possible" fasion. I feel we could have spent *much* more time in some of the places we visited, but most of them were briefly introduced over the course of one day. It was exhausting.
There were, however, some highlights to the trip. One of my favorite memories is of a man who was part of our group. He insisted on sitting in the back of the bus the whole trip, watching episodes of Futurama on his mini-dvd player. He went by the name, "Prince Joseph of Australia".
Seriously. This guy spent the duration of the tour trying to convince everyone on our bus that he was of "Australian royal descent", but was living in the city of La Jolla, running an (extremely successful--according to him) antiques business.
According to his story, he had been exiled from the country by his older brother (who's name we never could get from him). He was forced to live by himself in the US (horror) and was never to go back to Australia unless his brother died.
To be really honest, I was a little afraid of Prince Joseph at first. I really couldn't figure out his motive. Why on earth would this guy be doing this? I knew Australia had no royalty outside of the queen of England. Elizabeth I, and then parliment, right? There are no princes of Australia. Was he some sort of wacked-out terrorist or something?
But then I saw how some of the ladies on the bus tour actually FELL for his story. I mean, he actually had BUSINESS CARDS that read, "His Royal Highness, Prince Joseph of Australia." We nick-named his group of women "Prince Joseph's Harem" because they were so very enamored. The ladies followed him around like he was the cool kid on the playground. And he ate it up big time. The more questions that were asked of him, the more elaborate his story grew. I loved watching the husbands of the ladies rolling their eyes and shaking their heads as their wives squealed in delight over Prince Joseph's wonderful tales of Australian high life. I don't know if they really did believe him, or just wanted to.Funny thing was, he had zero Australian accent. We asked him about that once, and he told us he had to use an American accent to protect his identity.
At one point during the trip, Greg and I found a big, gaudy, fake-gold necklace just outside of the bus. I immediately recognized it to be "Joey's" (what we were supposed to call him when we were off the bus--for the sake of secrecy). But since we were in one of our "on our own" moments, we weren't able to return it to him. Later that day, when we got back on the bus, we gave it to our tour guide Doris. Doris asked if anyone was missing it. His royal highness got all excited and said, "Oh, Yay! Now I can call Paris Hilton back and tell her it's been found!" Even if Paris Hilton had known "Joseph of Australia", I don't really know what she would have been able to do about his missing necklace in Europe.
The trip passed relatively uneventfully and Joseph never did kill any of us. It is funny how much of an impression he left, though--the annoyance combined with amusement. Greg and I speak of him often. I wonder if he reserved his act for European tours, if he actually does run an antiques business, if he really even does live in La Jolla. Who the guy really is, we'll probably never know.
We were packed on a bus of 30+ people, didn't like too many of them, and were rushed around in "get to the end as quickly as possible" fasion. I feel we could have spent *much* more time in some of the places we visited, but most of them were briefly introduced over the course of one day. It was exhausting.
There were, however, some highlights to the trip. One of my favorite memories is of a man who was part of our group. He insisted on sitting in the back of the bus the whole trip, watching episodes of Futurama on his mini-dvd player. He went by the name, "Prince Joseph of Australia".
Seriously. This guy spent the duration of the tour trying to convince everyone on our bus that he was of "Australian royal descent", but was living in the city of La Jolla, running an (extremely successful--according to him) antiques business.
According to his story, he had been exiled from the country by his older brother (who's name we never could get from him). He was forced to live by himself in the US (horror) and was never to go back to Australia unless his brother died.
To be really honest, I was a little afraid of Prince Joseph at first. I really couldn't figure out his motive. Why on earth would this guy be doing this? I knew Australia had no royalty outside of the queen of England. Elizabeth I, and then parliment, right? There are no princes of Australia. Was he some sort of wacked-out terrorist or something?
But then I saw how some of the ladies on the bus tour actually FELL for his story. I mean, he actually had BUSINESS CARDS that read, "His Royal Highness, Prince Joseph of Australia." We nick-named his group of women "Prince Joseph's Harem" because they were so very enamored. The ladies followed him around like he was the cool kid on the playground. And he ate it up big time. The more questions that were asked of him, the more elaborate his story grew. I loved watching the husbands of the ladies rolling their eyes and shaking their heads as their wives squealed in delight over Prince Joseph's wonderful tales of Australian high life. I don't know if they really did believe him, or just wanted to.Funny thing was, he had zero Australian accent. We asked him about that once, and he told us he had to use an American accent to protect his identity.
At one point during the trip, Greg and I found a big, gaudy, fake-gold necklace just outside of the bus. I immediately recognized it to be "Joey's" (what we were supposed to call him when we were off the bus--for the sake of secrecy). But since we were in one of our "on our own" moments, we weren't able to return it to him. Later that day, when we got back on the bus, we gave it to our tour guide Doris. Doris asked if anyone was missing it. His royal highness got all excited and said, "Oh, Yay! Now I can call Paris Hilton back and tell her it's been found!" Even if Paris Hilton had known "Joseph of Australia", I don't really know what she would have been able to do about his missing necklace in Europe.
The trip passed relatively uneventfully and Joseph never did kill any of us. It is funny how much of an impression he left, though--the annoyance combined with amusement. Greg and I speak of him often. I wonder if he reserved his act for European tours, if he actually does run an antiques business, if he really even does live in La Jolla. Who the guy really is, we'll probably never know.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Creepy Facial Hair and Where Does the Diet Begin
-- As most of you already know, Greg sports a nearly-constant goatee. I occassionally will make him shave it off for the sake of kissability. When it gets to a certain length, it's kind of like making out with a hairbrush with lips. I have difficulty in enjoying our, er, "us time" when it gets to this point. So I will beg and plead that he trim the cactus living on his face, and he is usually pretty sweet and compliant about it all. HOWEVER--Greg takes great joy in getting my goat (no pun intended) by shaving with *creativity*. Oh, I wish I had a picture. Greg will shave. But due to his love of performing, he will shave in STAGES. Each stage leads to less goatee and more creepiness. He loves to take on various personas depending on what his goatee looks like (farmer, horny pepe le pew-like man-person, Boris from Rocky and Bullwinkle, etc). It usually takes him about 45 minutes to get the job done because of this. And with every "stage" of shavedness, he will come out of the bathroom to show me the latest shape/accent combo. For some reason, I find his creepy facial hair super-disturbing and usually run away in terror. Of course, this leads to him chasing me around the house, using his accent, and it's all very married and wonderful and I love it even though I'm annoyed. Eventually he does shave it all, but not without some major nagging on my part. Do all men do this? Or is it just a Greg thing? Ren Faire is next week. We are taking my sister's family for the first time. I am very excited, but I have a feeling the latest goatee will be coming along with us, whether I like it or not.
--10-year-reunion is less than 5 months away and I have got to lose some of this baby weight, or I'm just going to feel self-conscious the whole time I'm there. One of my favorite movies ever is "Grosse Point Blank". In it, Joan Cusack's character talks about her 10-year reunion. She says, "Yes I did [go to my 10-year-reunion]. It was just as if everyone had swelled."
I DON'T WANT TO BE SWOLLEN!
Funny thing is, I never gave weight a thought then. I ate pretty much whatever I wanted and stayed as skinny as I wanted to be. This lasted through college. Darned metabolism. Seriously. It's like once you get married and have babies, your body says, "Okay, you've procreated. You can be fat now." The kiddos are worth it, but man! It is a lot of work getting rid of all this extra poundage. I am having serious issues getting started.
Anybody up for being a diet-fitness partner with me?
--10-year-reunion is less than 5 months away and I have got to lose some of this baby weight, or I'm just going to feel self-conscious the whole time I'm there. One of my favorite movies ever is "Grosse Point Blank". In it, Joan Cusack's character talks about her 10-year reunion. She says, "Yes I did [go to my 10-year-reunion]. It was just as if everyone had swelled."
I DON'T WANT TO BE SWOLLEN!
Funny thing is, I never gave weight a thought then. I ate pretty much whatever I wanted and stayed as skinny as I wanted to be. This lasted through college. Darned metabolism. Seriously. It's like once you get married and have babies, your body says, "Okay, you've procreated. You can be fat now." The kiddos are worth it, but man! It is a lot of work getting rid of all this extra poundage. I am having serious issues getting started.
Anybody up for being a diet-fitness partner with me?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Hope
One of Emily Dickinson's best loved poems is called, "Hope"
The first couple of lines say, "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches on the soul..."
When I envision that feathered thing, I have recently been picturing Big Bird. I used to picture a nightingale.
Greg and I have talked about this. We have decided there are two kinds of hope... there is a worldly hope, and then there is Eternal hope. Eternal hope is the only kind that ever feels real to me. My hope for eternity is full of joy and contentment and it feels *light* and good because I know my eternity is taken care of. Jesus is my hope for Eternity, and I know I get to be in Heaven with Him someday. This is good!
But worldly hope depends on circumstances, and whether God decides to give us a 'yes' or a 'no'. Unfortunately, I cannot say for sure where that will lead. So, we cannot really know what will happen. My hope in this life feels shakey and unstable.
"My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness
All other ground is sinking sand"
Since Greg got his layoff, I've been battling with worldly hope--the sinking sand kind. Hope feels heavy these days. I don't want to rely on hope alone because hope has nothing to do with outcome any more than worry or anger. I can feel hopeful, but that is not going to mean that the hope will lead to anything. Hope is a feeling--an emotion. You can want something to death and never actually get it.
But for some reason, I keep on hoping! Why do I need to hope? Why is there this intrinsic part of me that hopes beyond all hope that Greg will have his job next year and we will not be stuck moving back in with one of our parents' homes? Why do I hope that we will be able to stay in this house without having to take on menial jobs, go on welfare, and put our children in daycare?
And then that worldy hope is actually almost synonymous with worry. And we are outright commanded not to worry.
Maybe I'll call it hopry.
One of the hardest parts of being a Christian has been coming to the point in my life where you realize your life is not about you, but it's about God doing stuff through you. How I RESPOND when God dishes out Job- (the person Job in the Bible... not talking about occupation/careers, here) -like moments is the true mark of my character. And to me, it's just plain HARD to keep on trucking--to keep the faith--to continue living like a believer when the world feels so weighty. I need to be okay with whatever might come my way, because it's the only way I'll make it through, faith-in-tact. I'm trying, and I believe that God is working even when I can't feel it.
But even if Greg gets his job back, I'm sure I'll still find things to hopry about.
The first couple of lines say, "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches on the soul..."
When I envision that feathered thing, I have recently been picturing Big Bird. I used to picture a nightingale.
Greg and I have talked about this. We have decided there are two kinds of hope... there is a worldly hope, and then there is Eternal hope. Eternal hope is the only kind that ever feels real to me. My hope for eternity is full of joy and contentment and it feels *light* and good because I know my eternity is taken care of. Jesus is my hope for Eternity, and I know I get to be in Heaven with Him someday. This is good!
But worldly hope depends on circumstances, and whether God decides to give us a 'yes' or a 'no'. Unfortunately, I cannot say for sure where that will lead. So, we cannot really know what will happen. My hope in this life feels shakey and unstable.
"My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness
All other ground is sinking sand"
Since Greg got his layoff, I've been battling with worldly hope--the sinking sand kind. Hope feels heavy these days. I don't want to rely on hope alone because hope has nothing to do with outcome any more than worry or anger. I can feel hopeful, but that is not going to mean that the hope will lead to anything. Hope is a feeling--an emotion. You can want something to death and never actually get it.
But for some reason, I keep on hoping! Why do I need to hope? Why is there this intrinsic part of me that hopes beyond all hope that Greg will have his job next year and we will not be stuck moving back in with one of our parents' homes? Why do I hope that we will be able to stay in this house without having to take on menial jobs, go on welfare, and put our children in daycare?
And then that worldy hope is actually almost synonymous with worry. And we are outright commanded not to worry.
Maybe I'll call it hopry.
One of the hardest parts of being a Christian has been coming to the point in my life where you realize your life is not about you, but it's about God doing stuff through you. How I RESPOND when God dishes out Job- (the person Job in the Bible... not talking about occupation/careers, here) -like moments is the true mark of my character. And to me, it's just plain HARD to keep on trucking--to keep the faith--to continue living like a believer when the world feels so weighty. I need to be okay with whatever might come my way, because it's the only way I'll make it through, faith-in-tact. I'm trying, and I believe that God is working even when I can't feel it.
But even if Greg gets his job back, I'm sure I'll still find things to hopry about.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Favorites...
I don't have a favorite color. I don't have a favorite movie. I don't have a favorite song or play or brand of mayonnaise. Oh, well, maybe I do have a favorite brand of mayonnaise (Best Foods-- Nobody DOESN'T like Best Foods).
I hate being asked "What's your favorite..." because I usually like lots of things all at once. Does this make me indecisive?
I only have one favorite person; Gregory. But that's about as far as my favorites go, where people are concerned.
So here I am, thinking of writing about current likes and/or dislikes. I'm thinking I might update you on them every once-in-a-while.
For example, I currently am enjoying the music of Ingrid Michaelson. I discovered her on Grey's Anatomy. My husband hates her. But this makes me glad because he has introduced me to so many musicians and bands, it's kind of refreshing to like somebody all by myself.
I am also enjoying discovering blogs of people I don't know.
I am really figuring out that I have a distaste for online abbrevations. Well, wait. I can handle "btw" for some reason. But LOL makes me furious like Mr. Furious in Mystery Men. And don't even get me started on OMG or WTF.
I have a girl crush on the character of Liz Lemon on 30 Rock. We have 210 satellite channels, but I never watch tv. We just watch shows on instant viewing in netflix. LOVE the Instaview. But back to Liz. She's a dork and messy and real and weird and wonderful and I love her. I've never seen an SNL episode with Tina Fey in it, but I like 30 Rock. A lot.
I don't like any of the characters in Heroes. They are all just too pigeon-holed into these very specific roles, and the actors can't flex within those roles very well. I used to like Hiro, but he gets on my nerves now. But I still can't stop watching it, and get all joyful and call Greg whenever Netflix adds another episode to their instant viewing list.
I don't like the fact that I'm in the last part of my 20s. As I move along this little time-line of mine, things seem to be picking up momentum. I just can't believe Sam is already almost 4 and Aunica is turning one next weekend. Ay yi yi. (Is that how you spell Ay yi yi?)
I hate being asked "What's your favorite..." because I usually like lots of things all at once. Does this make me indecisive?
I only have one favorite person; Gregory. But that's about as far as my favorites go, where people are concerned.
So here I am, thinking of writing about current likes and/or dislikes. I'm thinking I might update you on them every once-in-a-while.
For example, I currently am enjoying the music of Ingrid Michaelson. I discovered her on Grey's Anatomy. My husband hates her. But this makes me glad because he has introduced me to so many musicians and bands, it's kind of refreshing to like somebody all by myself.
I am also enjoying discovering blogs of people I don't know.
I am really figuring out that I have a distaste for online abbrevations. Well, wait. I can handle "btw" for some reason. But LOL makes me furious like Mr. Furious in Mystery Men. And don't even get me started on OMG or WTF.
I have a girl crush on the character of Liz Lemon on 30 Rock. We have 210 satellite channels, but I never watch tv. We just watch shows on instant viewing in netflix. LOVE the Instaview. But back to Liz. She's a dork and messy and real and weird and wonderful and I love her. I've never seen an SNL episode with Tina Fey in it, but I like 30 Rock. A lot.
I don't like any of the characters in Heroes. They are all just too pigeon-holed into these very specific roles, and the actors can't flex within those roles very well. I used to like Hiro, but he gets on my nerves now. But I still can't stop watching it, and get all joyful and call Greg whenever Netflix adds another episode to their instant viewing list.
I don't like the fact that I'm in the last part of my 20s. As I move along this little time-line of mine, things seem to be picking up momentum. I just can't believe Sam is already almost 4 and Aunica is turning one next weekend. Ay yi yi. (Is that how you spell Ay yi yi?)
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Beautiful, Brave Little Man
This morning, Sam proved himself to be quite the awesome little helper.
In a previous note, I have mentioned what an ordeal it is for me to get the boy to school on time. This morning was no different. I got the kids dressed and ready to go. Sam ate his breakfast, we put on his shoes and went out to the car. I buckled Aunica in first.
IMPORTANT: I lifted Sam to get into his carseat while holding my keys. Unknowingly, I must have pressed the auto-lock button on my keychain.
As usual, I threw my keys into the driver's seat, then buckled Sam in, closed his door, and went to open mine. It was locked.
"That's odd," I thought, and so I tried again. Nope.
"Okay, that's weird," So I tried the other doors. Nope.
What I had done started to come into focus.
"Oh, CRAPPITY".
So, the dense person living in my head told me to try *all* the doors, just in case the ever-faithful auto-lock decided to be unfaithful today. None of them opened. Not even the trunk. Then the dense person told me to try them again. Nope. On the second time around, Sam grinned out his tinted back-seat window and yelled, "Hi, Mommy!"
I tried to not panic. "Think Crystal. THINK"Spare key! I ran into the house, hoping to find the single spare Ford key laying around somewhere. Yeah right. Even if the key were attached to something ginormous (snow globe, ruler, toilet seat, shrunken head) gas-station-bathroom-style, I still wouldn't have found it in this mess.
Two empty junk drawers later, I ran back out to the kids in the car. Who should I call? 911? AAA? The general police number in the front of the phone book? How long would they take?
Sam and Aunica sat there, snug in their seat-belts, patiently waiting for me to drive them off to preschoolville. Aunica's cold was causing snot to run down her face, but I could handle that.
What I couldn't handle was the thought of watching both of my children fry to death in our oven of an SUV on the first sunny day in two weeks.
"Help?"
Then it dawned on me. Sam! Sam is smart! Sam is capable! He's a BIG BOY now!
"Sam, sweetie?" I said lovingly through the window. "I have a big job for you to do. Can you help me?"
I don't know if it was the maniacal, crazed, desperate look I probably was exhibiting, or just the fact that Sam is such a great and helpful kid (probably both), but he smiled and nodded yes.
"Sam, mommy left her keys on the front seat, and locked the door, so I need you to get them for me, okay?" Another nod."Can you unbuckle your seatbelt?" He tried the orange button first.
Let me tell you about the orange button. The orange button is so stinkin' hard to push, I've broken nails trying to get my kid out (not that my nails don't usually break easily). It was made for kids to *not* be able to get out of, so obviously this was not going to be easy for my three-year-old son.
Sam tried his very best, though. He did a great job, used both hands and pressed so hard he was getting that whole tremble-with-exertion thing going. I told him to try the top button instead. The top button is a little easier. It's more like a plastic back-pack buckle and he's gotten that un-done before. He couldn't do it, though. So, finally, exasperated, I said, "Can you wiggle out of your seat, then?"
He tried, and it was starting to work. He got his shoulders out.
But then a woman strolled by on her morning walk. She looked concerned. "Hello!" I said cheerily, hoping she wasn't going to offer help or call CPS. What I really wanted to say was, "No, really. I *always* talk to my children through the car window in the morning. It's just one of those things we do." Thankfully she moved on.
Sam was doing great. He'd gotten both arms out and was halfway out of his seat. But he was stuck there. I was getting ready to go call the police when Sam had the brilliant idea of taking off his shoes. As soon as he did that, he was able to wiggle a little bit more. And then, he tried his top buckle again and it worked!
Huzzah! A few grunts later, he was free!
"Okay, Sam, I need you to get my keys. They're on the seat".
I was prepared to instruct Sam on not pressing the panic button on my keychain, and to press the button that had the unlocked lock picture instead of the locked lock picture.
Instead, Sam reached over and pressed the unlock button on the door of the car. Smart little cookie!
And I opened the door and HUGGED that boy like there was no tomorrow. Because, for a while there, it felt like there wouldn't be.
Oh, I love Sam so.
(PS. Aunica was fascinated by this whole experience, and never cried. I'm very thankful because that just might have sent me over the edge)
In a previous note, I have mentioned what an ordeal it is for me to get the boy to school on time. This morning was no different. I got the kids dressed and ready to go. Sam ate his breakfast, we put on his shoes and went out to the car. I buckled Aunica in first.
IMPORTANT: I lifted Sam to get into his carseat while holding my keys. Unknowingly, I must have pressed the auto-lock button on my keychain.
As usual, I threw my keys into the driver's seat, then buckled Sam in, closed his door, and went to open mine. It was locked.
"That's odd," I thought, and so I tried again. Nope.
"Okay, that's weird," So I tried the other doors. Nope.
What I had done started to come into focus.
"Oh, CRAPPITY".
So, the dense person living in my head told me to try *all* the doors, just in case the ever-faithful auto-lock decided to be unfaithful today. None of them opened. Not even the trunk. Then the dense person told me to try them again. Nope. On the second time around, Sam grinned out his tinted back-seat window and yelled, "Hi, Mommy!"
I tried to not panic. "Think Crystal. THINK"Spare key! I ran into the house, hoping to find the single spare Ford key laying around somewhere. Yeah right. Even if the key were attached to something ginormous (snow globe, ruler, toilet seat, shrunken head) gas-station-bathroom-style, I still wouldn't have found it in this mess.
Two empty junk drawers later, I ran back out to the kids in the car. Who should I call? 911? AAA? The general police number in the front of the phone book? How long would they take?
Sam and Aunica sat there, snug in their seat-belts, patiently waiting for me to drive them off to preschoolville. Aunica's cold was causing snot to run down her face, but I could handle that.
What I couldn't handle was the thought of watching both of my children fry to death in our oven of an SUV on the first sunny day in two weeks.
"Help?"
Then it dawned on me. Sam! Sam is smart! Sam is capable! He's a BIG BOY now!
"Sam, sweetie?" I said lovingly through the window. "I have a big job for you to do. Can you help me?"
I don't know if it was the maniacal, crazed, desperate look I probably was exhibiting, or just the fact that Sam is such a great and helpful kid (probably both), but he smiled and nodded yes.
"Sam, mommy left her keys on the front seat, and locked the door, so I need you to get them for me, okay?" Another nod."Can you unbuckle your seatbelt?" He tried the orange button first.
Let me tell you about the orange button. The orange button is so stinkin' hard to push, I've broken nails trying to get my kid out (not that my nails don't usually break easily). It was made for kids to *not* be able to get out of, so obviously this was not going to be easy for my three-year-old son.
Sam tried his very best, though. He did a great job, used both hands and pressed so hard he was getting that whole tremble-with-exertion thing going. I told him to try the top button instead. The top button is a little easier. It's more like a plastic back-pack buckle and he's gotten that un-done before. He couldn't do it, though. So, finally, exasperated, I said, "Can you wiggle out of your seat, then?"
He tried, and it was starting to work. He got his shoulders out.
But then a woman strolled by on her morning walk. She looked concerned. "Hello!" I said cheerily, hoping she wasn't going to offer help or call CPS. What I really wanted to say was, "No, really. I *always* talk to my children through the car window in the morning. It's just one of those things we do." Thankfully she moved on.
Sam was doing great. He'd gotten both arms out and was halfway out of his seat. But he was stuck there. I was getting ready to go call the police when Sam had the brilliant idea of taking off his shoes. As soon as he did that, he was able to wiggle a little bit more. And then, he tried his top buckle again and it worked!
Huzzah! A few grunts later, he was free!
"Okay, Sam, I need you to get my keys. They're on the seat".
I was prepared to instruct Sam on not pressing the panic button on my keychain, and to press the button that had the unlocked lock picture instead of the locked lock picture.
Instead, Sam reached over and pressed the unlock button on the door of the car. Smart little cookie!
And I opened the door and HUGGED that boy like there was no tomorrow. Because, for a while there, it felt like there wouldn't be.
Oh, I love Sam so.
(PS. Aunica was fascinated by this whole experience, and never cried. I'm very thankful because that just might have sent me over the edge)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Okay.. it's been a while, I know
Mmmmm.. dinosaur! Tasty!
SOMEONE, QUICK! GIVE THIS BOY SOME MORE SUGAR!
Practicing for Sillouette shots
SOMEONE, QUICK! GIVE THIS BOY SOME MORE SUGAR!
Digging for gold
Practicing for Sillouette shots
Aunica's first swing experience
Friday, October 24, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
New Page
It has been a while since I got any new pages done with scrapbooking. Finally, I'm feeling a little more inspired. Here's the latest. It is of Aunica and her cousin Natalie.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Recent Photos
I have started a diet again. The exercise thing just isn't happening with the kiddos, so I am trying to stay as active as possible--WITH them. (It doesn't happen very much). But so far, I have lost 8 lbs in 1 1/2 weeks. Not too shabby, eh? Sticking to the lo-cal stuff, as I find it's easiest to keep track of what I am eating. Hope it works this time.
Will try to get some more recent pics up soon.
Will try to get some more recent pics up soon.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Addendum to the "Dyson Blog"
Oops.. just found out from my mom that Dad didn't actually plug the dyson into a 220 volt outlett. The vacuum did die, but it was something wrong with the electricity in the actual house--not my dad's mistake. Soooo, sorry Pops.
Will post some more recent pictures today! Honest!
Will post some more recent pictures today! Honest!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The People's Court And Me
So, I have a confession to make:
I enjoy watching "The People's Court". It comes on at 1:00 p.m. every weekday. I don't watch it every day, but sometimes I'll be out and about, will realize it is 1:15, and be a little bit sad I missed it that day. Here's why I like it:
-Judge Marilyn Millian (Did I spell that right?). She is an amazing woman: confident, funny, not swayed by manipulation, inconsistent but doesn't give a darn, says what she means... I love her. I wish I were more like her.
-I love to hate Curt Chaplin. He's a jerk. He's one of those always-has-to-have-the-last-word kind of guys who you know is just as arrogant at home as he is in the hallway. I want to smack him every time he gives that smug little shrug.
-I feel like I'm learning about New York State law every time I watch the show. I wish it were based in California, though.
But today--oh today I saw the funniest thing EVER. Well, maybe not the funniest thing ever, but it was pretty darned tootin' funny. Here's the link. Go check it out and let me know your reaction:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-eF7APJlgo
I enjoy watching "The People's Court". It comes on at 1:00 p.m. every weekday. I don't watch it every day, but sometimes I'll be out and about, will realize it is 1:15, and be a little bit sad I missed it that day. Here's why I like it:
-Judge Marilyn Millian (Did I spell that right?). She is an amazing woman: confident, funny, not swayed by manipulation, inconsistent but doesn't give a darn, says what she means... I love her. I wish I were more like her.
-I love to hate Curt Chaplin. He's a jerk. He's one of those always-has-to-have-the-last-word kind of guys who you know is just as arrogant at home as he is in the hallway. I want to smack him every time he gives that smug little shrug.
-I feel like I'm learning about New York State law every time I watch the show. I wish it were based in California, though.
But today--oh today I saw the funniest thing EVER. Well, maybe not the funniest thing ever, but it was pretty darned tootin' funny. Here's the link. Go check it out and let me know your reaction:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-eF7APJlgo
Thursday, August 07, 2008
First Reaction
Beer- Looks/Tastes like pee
McDonald's- Fries
Relationships- Fickle
Purple- Telletubbies
Power Ranger- Those actors must have been desperate
Cartoons- Wish they were like they were when I was little
Florida- Never been there
Reading- A most worthy use of time
Halloween- The smell of leaves and frost and feeling weird in a costume
Alice - 'In Wonderland'--a most fantastical story
Myspace- Kind of getting old--or is that me?
Feet- stinky and odd looking
Marriage- Comforting and uncomfortable at the same time
Paris- A beautiful but corrupt city full of pretention and snobbery.
Redheads- Are kind of unpredictable
Brunettes- Are wonderful
One night stands- Not worth the trouble
Donald Trump- hair--'nough said
Neverland- I didn't want to grow up, but am kind of enjoying being an adult.
Pixie- I wish I had wings
Vanilla ice cream- Bland
Hooters- Orange and Owls and supposedly really good hotwings
High school musical- I don't know much about it.
Pajamas- Snuggles!
Wet Socks- Dry eventually.
McDonald's- Fries
Relationships- Fickle
Purple- Telletubbies
Power Ranger- Those actors must have been desperate
Cartoons- Wish they were like they were when I was little
Florida- Never been there
Reading- A most worthy use of time
Halloween- The smell of leaves and frost and feeling weird in a costume
Alice - 'In Wonderland'--a most fantastical story
Myspace- Kind of getting old--or is that me?
Feet- stinky and odd looking
Marriage- Comforting and uncomfortable at the same time
Paris- A beautiful but corrupt city full of pretention and snobbery.
Redheads- Are kind of unpredictable
Brunettes- Are wonderful
One night stands- Not worth the trouble
Donald Trump- hair--'nough said
Neverland- I didn't want to grow up, but am kind of enjoying being an adult.
Pixie- I wish I had wings
Vanilla ice cream- Bland
Hooters- Orange and Owls and supposedly really good hotwings
High school musical- I don't know much about it.
Pajamas- Snuggles!
Wet Socks- Dry eventually.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Today's Earthquake
Today there was an earthquake here in So-Cal. 5.4 magnitude (on a scale from 1-10, this one was about halfway to the worst you can get.. so it really wasn't that horrible).
Last time there was an earthquake, my mom was visiting for Sam's birth. I was 9 1/2 months pregnant and was due (overdue) at any moment. We were laying on the couch watching, "Prince of Egypt". It was at the part where Moses was telling Pharoh to "let his people go". Pharoh was laughing at Moses when the earthquake hit. Mom and I were frozen.. picture us with the deer in the headlights look. I wasn't sure where to go, or what to do. Finally, Greg, who had already gotten up and gone and stood under the doorway, yelled, "Are you coming???" Mom and I finally reacted and were able to unglue ourselves from the couch, and move to the doorway with Greg. The movie was still going in the background, and JUST as the earthquake subsided, this is no joke, Moses said to Pharoh, "Behold, the Power of God."
Today's earthquake was different from that one... I was absolutely frozen like last time--I couldn't figure out what to do. But this time there was guilt involved. I knew I should be doing SOMETHING, but what I should have been doing was beyond me. I got that frozen feeling and then I remembered Aunica in the living room. I ran and picked her up, but by the time I got there, the quake was practically over. Kristin was outside with Sam, so I figured he was okay. The first thing he said when I ran out to see how they were doing was "oh! Scary!" I felt like kind of a bad mom for not being able to act as much as react. But I suppose 10 seconds isn't a very long time to get to think... especially when the ground underneath your feet is shaking.
The morning had not been the greatest. We had had some more setbacks with our move out to Yucaipa and I was feeling frustrated. Sometimes I guess it takes an earthquake to make you realize what really matters in life. Because as I got Sam ready to go to Disneyland with Papa and as I held Aunica in my arms, the possibility of us not being in Yucaipa quite as soon as expected didn't seem so dreadful.
Last time there was an earthquake, my mom was visiting for Sam's birth. I was 9 1/2 months pregnant and was due (overdue) at any moment. We were laying on the couch watching, "Prince of Egypt". It was at the part where Moses was telling Pharoh to "let his people go". Pharoh was laughing at Moses when the earthquake hit. Mom and I were frozen.. picture us with the deer in the headlights look. I wasn't sure where to go, or what to do. Finally, Greg, who had already gotten up and gone and stood under the doorway, yelled, "Are you coming???" Mom and I finally reacted and were able to unglue ourselves from the couch, and move to the doorway with Greg. The movie was still going in the background, and JUST as the earthquake subsided, this is no joke, Moses said to Pharoh, "Behold, the Power of God."
Today's earthquake was different from that one... I was absolutely frozen like last time--I couldn't figure out what to do. But this time there was guilt involved. I knew I should be doing SOMETHING, but what I should have been doing was beyond me. I got that frozen feeling and then I remembered Aunica in the living room. I ran and picked her up, but by the time I got there, the quake was practically over. Kristin was outside with Sam, so I figured he was okay. The first thing he said when I ran out to see how they were doing was "oh! Scary!" I felt like kind of a bad mom for not being able to act as much as react. But I suppose 10 seconds isn't a very long time to get to think... especially when the ground underneath your feet is shaking.
The morning had not been the greatest. We had had some more setbacks with our move out to Yucaipa and I was feeling frustrated. Sometimes I guess it takes an earthquake to make you realize what really matters in life. Because as I got Sam ready to go to Disneyland with Papa and as I held Aunica in my arms, the possibility of us not being in Yucaipa quite as soon as expected didn't seem so dreadful.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Greg's Blog About Sam and 'Dyson'
Sam is a wonder. Yes. My son. There is so much to him. He’s so much more than the baby I thought I was going to have. He’s … how can you think about what a blank slate will become?So, today, he amazes me. We are planning to move into our old house (where he was brought “home” to from the hospital, all those three years ago), and he starts asking today, when I say “Let’s get your shoes on, okay?” he says (not asks), “We go to new house now, Daddy!” I explain that it was put off until next week, but we will be going there soon. Several times throughout the day, he asks or assumes we are going to our new house. It’s interesting, he must be very excited or nervous about it.
Well, after bleaching jeans together, (his first time, my first in ten years!), he wants to watch Iron Giant again (his favorite movie at the moment… I was bummed that he thought the “bad guy” was Hogarth’s dad, grrrr...) and I say, “Let’s wake up mommy and go to get our new vacuum.” He looks at me with this look like, “Uhhhhhhhhhh.” But gives no response.
Anyhow, at the store, he finds spare parts from the various vacuums on display at Best Buy, and wheels them around, calling them “Sweeper” (you know, from the movie Robots, and from the real life video tapes of street sweepers and other city heavy machinery). We finally get sent to a whole “Dyson” section, and find our old vacuum… beefed up since three years ago when we bought it. It’s still the purple one, called “The Animal” (since it specializes in getting animal hair out of carpet—our dog sheds all year—thus our previous purchase when we were rich). It’s spendy, but Dyson’s rock, and I LOVED our last one. (PS – We need a new one because my father in law discovered that Dyson didn’t expect someone to plug them into 220 electrical circuits—I can’t believe that Dyson didn’t think of that! They’re/He’s mostly so “outside the box” thinking.)
Well, Sam found the attachment that is smaller, and he swept/rolled/sweepered the entire area around the Dyson section with it… ten or twenty times, while Crystal and I were contemplating getting a replacement of exactly what we had before. We decided, “yes.”
When I got a cart and placed the new Dyson on it (big, black box, about six feet long) he got on top of it and laid down. At least he wasn’t running around the store.
Okay, okay, I have to say, the cart was because I slipped a disk last year, and I thought better of hefting it to the cashier.
Anyhow, Sam hugged the Dyson box to the car, then when we got home, he wanted nothing more than to open the box to play with his vacuum. “Mine” he said. Conversations about it being his persisted, even through opening and assembling, and when we tried it out, he still believed it was his. It was adopted by him as his new sibling (like Aunica, except more purple and robotic). Well, when we turned it off and decided not to vacuum the entire house, he got very sad. He was just sure we were taking Dyson from him. We tried to assure him that this was not the case, but eventually, the only thing that satisfied him was my suggestion of letting “Dyson” sleep in his room (since it was soon to be his bed-time). This made him happy.
He cleared out Dyson’s box (bed), and then we moved Dyson into his room. He chose a story to read to “him,” and we could hear him reading to him while we finishied fixing dinner.
After dinner, Sam got ready for bed. He explained the routine for bed to Dyson, and turned on the nightlight for “him” to not be scared. We discussed “stars” and “praying,” and Dyson participated in these bedtime rituals… including a kiss from Sam, Daddy, and Mommy, and Sam even told Dyson, “I love you,” to help “him” sleep, and finish the routine. It was sooooo amazingly cute and bizarre.
My son is amazing. And so …. I don’t even know what else he fits with, but something neat and weird. I love him sooo.
Thank you Crystal, for helping me make such an amazingly unique little boy! He’s awesome.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Finding Gladness
We are visiting my parents in Alturas, enjoying the beautiful summer weather, all the elm trees dipping, bowing, and making lovely wind-music, the smell of non-smogged-up air, hearing the laughter of our son and his cousin Hayden.
And then Sam gets sick, and we find out we have to leave two days early, and Aunica is particularly crabby, and I feel like I'm catching the cold too, and Greg is going to be starting work earlier than expected (this coming Monday) and I say to myself, "what a crazyfull world".
Isn't it weird how life is such a mix of emotions--moments all wrapped up in joyfullness and frustration?
I don't want to be a complete Pollyanna, because I think I find her a little obnoxious. But I don't want to be an Eeyore either. So, I find myself jumping schizophrenically back and forth between joy and discontent. I want to concentrate on the good things in life, but darn it... the good moments seem to always be tainted by tiny little disappointments. Some people might call me moody. I think I just feel things more than most.
Here is a picture of one of the best moments of the trip thus far. It was Sam's first fish ever. He was so proud of himself, and I'm pretty darned proud of him too.
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