These things I know are true:
That doing something everyday for 3 plus weeks does not a habit make. Not even close.
That if you feel like you don't have enough time, spend the day with a couple of toddlers. Recently I spent a week with my cute 3 and 2 year old grand kids. One day we got up, got dressed, had breakfast, (I have to mention these things because although they sound ordinary, when you do them with toddlers it is quite a production), went to a movie 30 minutes away, went to Costco, ran an errand and got home at 11:45. A.M. I remember thinking, what in the heck are we going to do the rest of the day???? I now remember this same phenomenon with my own toddlers--so much time, so little freedom.
If you want a belly-shirt, buy something made of rayon and wash it. Urgh.
Terriaki chicken and peach baby food taste pretty good together. Maybe that's only if you're really hungry because you've been so busy watching kids that it's the only thing you've eaten all day.
You should never suppress a generous thought.
Just because you ride a bike doesn't mean you should wear biker shorts.
If you paint your counter tops to look like granite, your old stove and sink are gonna look, well, crappy.
High heels are a torture device invented by men to make women's butts wiggle when they walk.
Dogs and small children are very forgiving.
Oh, and I don't know how to spell terryaki, teriyaki, teriaki, and neither does blogger spell check.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
Z is for Zero
There are few things that I've finished in life besides high school, dessert and birthing a baby. So I'm pretty amazed that I finished this A - Z challenge especially when I didn't intend to participate in the first place. Also, it's worth noting here for you people that are taking notes that unlike school, I was not bound by law to finish the challenge, it was not particularly satisfying like dessert, and there was no huge amount of pain and discomfort to motivate me to finish.
So, Z is for Hector Zeroni from Holes, or Zero.
Everybody calls him Zero because they think he's nothing. But Zero knows better; he knows he's something. Which kind of reminds me of a quote from the movie, Cool Runnings which is pretty awesome if you haven't seen it.
Irv: Derice, a gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without one, you'll never be enough *with* one.
[Turns to leave]
Derice Bannock: Hey coach, how will I know if I'm enough?
Irv: When you cross that finish line tomorrow, you'll know.
So here's to Zero, here's to being enough, and here's to crossing the finish line.
Cool Runnings -- Peace Be the Journey!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Y is for Your Mama
My kids think I'm hilarious because I always say your mom's ____ after everything they say. Usually. Okay, if truth be told, I'm the only one who thinks I'm hilarious; my kids just think I'm annoying. But if you can't annoy your kids, what's the point of motherhood, so here's how it works.
Kid: Mom this dinner's hot.
Mom: Your mom's hot.
Now you're beginning to see how this can be fun and annoying.
Kid: Mom, does this look cute?
Mom: Your mom's cute.
You can also annoy other people, like solicitors.
Solicitor: Is your mom there? (This works if you happen to sound young.)
Mom: No, she's dead. (Okay, techinically this isn't a "your mom" response; but it's still fun and annoying and only works if your mom is dead or if you're a liar.)
Kid: Mom this dinner's hot.
Mom: Your mom's hot.
Now you're beginning to see how this can be fun and annoying.
Kid: Mom, does this look cute?
Mom: Your mom's cute.
You can also annoy other people, like solicitors.
Solicitor: Is your mom there? (This works if you happen to sound young.)
Mom: No, she's dead. (Okay, techinically this isn't a "your mom" response; but it's still fun and annoying and only works if your mom is dead or if you're a liar.)
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
W is for Whistle
My mom was a whistling sort of woman. She could emit a piercing sound that could round up stray dogs and stop misbehaving children in their tracks. Yes sirree, her whistler was a real show stopper, an attention getter. And when I was 13, that's what I thought I needed--attention--from one particularly tan, shaggy blond haired boy who worked across the street at the farm, usually with his shirt off. Man could that boy drive a tractor.
I spent most of my summers drooling at him from my bedroom window, or from my horse when I galloped past him with my hair flying behind me, or from the bushes across from his house when I was stalking him.
Yeah folks, I had the jump on stalking way before Facebook even thought about it. That's why I needed an attention getter or maybe a life or perhaps a therapist.
So I spent half of the summer of 8th grade learning how to whistle. I spent the other half of the summer whistling. At the guy with the sexy tractor. Or the sexy guy on the tractor. It's all a blur now.
In case you're wondering, I did not marry the shirtless boy on the tractor. In order to marry someone you have to converse with them at least enough to say, I do which happens to be two words more than we ever shared.
I don't whistle at farm boys on tractors any more mostly because I would get arrested, and I don't live by a farm or a tractor.
But I do break out the "whistler" to get the attention of a dog or two and hush a room full of 7th graders, so my 8th grade summer wasn't a total wash, right?
I spent most of my summers drooling at him from my bedroom window, or from my horse when I galloped past him with my hair flying behind me, or from the bushes across from his house when I was stalking him.
Yeah folks, I had the jump on stalking way before Facebook even thought about it. That's why I needed an attention getter or maybe a life or perhaps a therapist.
So I spent half of the summer of 8th grade learning how to whistle. I spent the other half of the summer whistling. At the guy with the sexy tractor. Or the sexy guy on the tractor. It's all a blur now.
In case you're wondering, I did not marry the shirtless boy on the tractor. In order to marry someone you have to converse with them at least enough to say, I do which happens to be two words more than we ever shared.
I don't whistle at farm boys on tractors any more mostly because I would get arrested, and I don't live by a farm or a tractor.
But I do break out the "whistler" to get the attention of a dog or two and hush a room full of 7th graders, so my 8th grade summer wasn't a total wash, right?
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
V is for Vegetarian. .. almost
A decade and a half ago or so our family was at the Happiest Place On Earth and I'm not talking about Costco. Although when I go there, some people look like they're at the happiest place on earth. What is so happy about parking a mile away and pushing a cart the size of a flatbed truck through crowded isles and waiting 20 minutes to check out?
Back to the H.P.O.E.--which looks almost like hope only hope is free and H.P.O.E. is the price of one of your kidneys on the black market. But hey, we've all got two, right?
Anywhoo, after a day of fighting about which rides to go on because we had family one--the 4 kids we had in 4 1/2 years and family 2 the 3 that we had every 3 years after the 4--we were famished and stopped to eat at a chicken place after my husband sold the youngest child to pay for the meal. Just kidding. Mostly.
As we're devouring the chicken, my sweet Cassie turns to me and asks, "Where does chicken come from?" Uh oh, the Happiest Place on Earth just got a little less cheery.
What you have to know about Cassie is that she loved animals more than people at that age. And maybe still at this age. And that she adopted a stray cat which she named Lucky Chicken. That about sums it up.
She was so hungry, yet so disturbed. With tears and big heaving sobs, she ate every bite of that chicken.
But here's the kicker or the clucker: After we'd finished eating Cassie said, "Don't you dare throw away those bones!" She arranged them all carefully on a plate. We then followed her to a nearby flowerbed where we dug a shallow grave with our heals. And I don't want to burst your bubble about the H.P.O.E. but there was a r-a-t in that flowerbed. I saw him with my own eyes while I was burying his lunch 2 inches under.
After a short graveside service which may have involved some praying, words of thanks to the chicken, and a song or two, we wiped the chicken grease on our pants, rubbed our muddy shoes off in the grass and made our way back to what makes the H.P.O.E. so darn happy, which apparently is not the chicken.
Back to the H.P.O.E.--which looks almost like hope only hope is free and H.P.O.E. is the price of one of your kidneys on the black market. But hey, we've all got two, right?
Anywhoo, after a day of fighting about which rides to go on because we had family one--the 4 kids we had in 4 1/2 years and family 2 the 3 that we had every 3 years after the 4--we were famished and stopped to eat at a chicken place after my husband sold the youngest child to pay for the meal. Just kidding. Mostly.
As we're devouring the chicken, my sweet Cassie turns to me and asks, "Where does chicken come from?" Uh oh, the Happiest Place on Earth just got a little less cheery.
What you have to know about Cassie is that she loved animals more than people at that age. And maybe still at this age. And that she adopted a stray cat which she named Lucky Chicken. That about sums it up.
She was so hungry, yet so disturbed. With tears and big heaving sobs, she ate every bite of that chicken.
But here's the kicker or the clucker: After we'd finished eating Cassie said, "Don't you dare throw away those bones!" She arranged them all carefully on a plate. We then followed her to a nearby flowerbed where we dug a shallow grave with our heals. And I don't want to burst your bubble about the H.P.O.E. but there was a r-a-t in that flowerbed. I saw him with my own eyes while I was burying his lunch 2 inches under.
After a short graveside service which may have involved some praying, words of thanks to the chicken, and a song or two, we wiped the chicken grease on our pants, rubbed our muddy shoes off in the grass and made our way back to what makes the H.P.O.E. so darn happy, which apparently is not the chicken.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
U is for Unity
Sometimes we think life is about getting to the finish line first. But it's not about "winning." It's about how we run, and who we run with, and how we help each other along the way. You've heard it before--united we stand, divided we fall--but seeing it is so much better.
Monday, April 23, 2012
T is for the Tonight Show
My husband is one for putting things out in the universe. He's pretty good at it. You can read about it here. If I put something out in the universe, I'd never be able to find it again because I can't find my way out of a paper bag because I have a little Dori fish (from finding Nemo) swimming around inside my head.
Ellen Degeneres is also one who believes in putting things out in the universe. She was not too many years out of high school, living in a lice-infested basement apartment with no heat or air and the only furnishings being a single mattress on the floor when she was driving home from work and saw an accident. She drove past it and later found out that one of her friends was killed in the accident. While thinking about how unfair it was that her friend was dead while the horrible fleas in her apartment were still alive, she wrote an imaginary conversation with God where she asked Him this question.
After she wrote it, she said to herself---to the UNIVERSE, someday I will perform this monologue on the Johnny Carson show. She wasn't doing comedy at the time and had never done comedy. A few years later, the universe delivered.
Ellen Degeneres is also one who believes in putting things out in the universe. She was not too many years out of high school, living in a lice-infested basement apartment with no heat or air and the only furnishings being a single mattress on the floor when she was driving home from work and saw an accident. She drove past it and later found out that one of her friends was killed in the accident. While thinking about how unfair it was that her friend was dead while the horrible fleas in her apartment were still alive, she wrote an imaginary conversation with God where she asked Him this question.
After she wrote it, she said to herself---to the UNIVERSE, someday I will perform this monologue on the Johnny Carson show. She wasn't doing comedy at the time and had never done comedy. A few years later, the universe delivered.
So, what do you want to put out in the universe?
Saturday, April 21, 2012
S is for Someday
"Conditions are never perfect. 'Someday' is a disease that will take your dreams to the grave with you. If it's important to you and you want to do it 'eventually,' just do it and correct course along the way."
Tim Ferriss
I've been living for someday for a long time now. There's never a good time for anything--except to procrastinate. Someday I'll go back to school; someday I'll write that book; someday I'll clean my house (okay probably not); someday I'll have more time for the people I love. . .
Someday I'll figure out how to get where I want to be without actually doing anything. Someday.
What's on your someday list?
Friday, April 20, 2012
R is for Rigor Mortis
Ever met someone who has stiffened up a bit and they're not even dead yet? Even worse, have you ever been that person?
My mom, who was fighting cancer the last five years of her life, was not one of those people. Neither was my mother-in-law who fought this same ugly disease. Although their bodies may have stiffened a bit due to this horrible disease, their minds and spirits remained limber and unhindered. The last days of their lives were filled with service, work, play--you know, life--the kinds of things that the living do and enjoy.
On the other hand, I know people that have been dying for years, whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually. This is a slow, painful way to go; this is when rigor mortis sets in long before the heart stops beating, essentially turning them into walking corpses or the living dead or ZOMBIES! (Crap, there goes my Z post.)
Sometimes I wonder if I get too rigid in my ways--too holier than thou; too my way or the highway; too woe is me; too the Jones' have more, therefore I don't have enough. Rigor mortis is like that. It can creep up on you in lots of different ways.
So the moral of this story is, don't be a dead beat. Be open to new ideas. Help somebody with their problems instead of worrying about your own. Look at what you have instead of what you don't have.
And if that doesn't work, try eating chocolate, Silly Stringing something or someone, or burping the alphabet.
Lighten up folks: Live, Love, Laugh, Burp the Alphabet.
(Somebody should put that in vinyl on a block of wood or something. . .)
or maybe "Just so no to rigor mortis."
Do you ever feel rigor mortis setting in? What do you do to "keep loose?"
My mom, who was fighting cancer the last five years of her life, was not one of those people. Neither was my mother-in-law who fought this same ugly disease. Although their bodies may have stiffened a bit due to this horrible disease, their minds and spirits remained limber and unhindered. The last days of their lives were filled with service, work, play--you know, life--the kinds of things that the living do and enjoy.
On the other hand, I know people that have been dying for years, whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually. This is a slow, painful way to go; this is when rigor mortis sets in long before the heart stops beating, essentially turning them into walking corpses or the living dead or ZOMBIES! (Crap, there goes my Z post.)
Sometimes I wonder if I get too rigid in my ways--too holier than thou; too my way or the highway; too woe is me; too the Jones' have more, therefore I don't have enough. Rigor mortis is like that. It can creep up on you in lots of different ways.
So the moral of this story is, don't be a dead beat. Be open to new ideas. Help somebody with their problems instead of worrying about your own. Look at what you have instead of what you don't have.
And if that doesn't work, try eating chocolate, Silly Stringing something or someone, or burping the alphabet.
Lighten up folks: Live, Love, Laugh, Burp the Alphabet.
(Somebody should put that in vinyl on a block of wood or something. . .)
or maybe "Just so no to rigor mortis."
Do you ever feel rigor mortis setting in? What do you do to "keep loose?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)