When you become a mother, you automatically join this private club of women. It's an unspoken club, but it exists, nonetheless, of every woman who has a child. There are subsets in this club: Adoptive moms, moms over 40, moms who gave birth without an epidural (I'm in that one, twice over).
I'm the newest member of this subset: Mommies who have lost their child in a public place. I'm also a member of this secondary subset: Mommies who had to call the Police Department when their child got lost.
Yup, that's me. Mother of the Year.'
The Situation: The kids and I were at Rack Room Shoes looking for summer sandals for me. Kendra was supposedly helping me by looking for shoeboxes with my shoe size. (Hey, when you wear a size 11 you get pretty excited when there's actually a shoe in your size.) Caelyn was supposedly in charge of David. Not the best plan, but that's what was happening.
After 30 minutes and several directives to the girls to "please go get your brother and bring him to me," I was checking out at the register. David came up to me with a random box of shoes that he had pulled off a shelf, somewhere. I told him "no touch" and said we were going to leave in a minute. He pouted when I took the shoes away from him and walked off toward the girls.
One minute later, I tell the girls that we are leaving. "Where's David?" I ask. The girls say they don't know, so we make rounds around the store looking for him. After circling the store 3 times, I ask an employee to help me find my son. She checks the storeroom and then says, "Do you want me to call the police?" I can't even tell you how stressed I was beginning to feel. I don't even think I answered her. I just told the girls to stay there with this nice worker and I darted out the front door and started running up and down the strip mall.
When I came back into the store, everything converged within seconds. The employee was on the phone with SAPD trying to describe David's clothes (the girls were helping her and actually remembered what David was wearing). Just as the employee was asking me how to spell my last name, the other worker calls out, "Hey, I think he's in your van."
I ran to the window and yes, David's head is now peeking out of the the sliding door on the minivan. He was rather sweaty, since he'd apparently been sitting there for several minutes watching me run up and down the sidewalk.
The employee told the police that we'd found David just before she gave him our name. I was saved from public humiliation at the police department, at least. I quickly thanked the workers, gathered up the girls, and practically ran out of the store. I don't think I started crying until we'd gotten on the highway.
A truly horrible experience, but I'm grateful for several things. I'm grateful that the car was parked immediately in front of the store, not across the parking lot. I'm grateful, strangely enough, that the car was somehow unlocked so David could get in and be in a relatively safe place.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
This Is How Tired I Am
I just poured myself a glass of milk, got out a clean bowl, and then poured cereal into the glass of milk. I wanted cereal, but I'd rather eat it out of a bowl.
Why am I so tired? In the last four days I have:
1. Removed everything (and I mean everything) from the garage. This included all the tools, toys, shelves, and Kevin's makeshift workbench that was resting on cinderblocks. I hauled most of it into the house except for the lawn equipment and kids' toys, which are in the backyard. When you walk into my foyer, you are greeted by our second refrigerator. Our dining room is filled with boxes and boxes of garage junk.
2. Degreased, cleaned, etched, cleaned, powerwashed, squeegeed, powerwashed again, squeegeed again, powerwashed a third time, vacuumed the remaining etching dust from, primed, and painted our garage floor. It looks great, but I may have to apply a second coat tomorrow afternoon.
3. Purchased, loaded, unloaded, and assembled the biggest, heaviest garage shelving units I've ever seen. The assembly was kind of fun, actually.
4. Taken care of all the needs and a few of the wants of my children single-handedly, as Kevin is in San Diego enjoying dinner cruises in the bay. Not fair.
5. Gotten up at 6:30 every morning to get us all to church by 8:15 for VBS, where I've spent 4 hours every day running the Preschool Games & Activities for 50-plus squirrelly kids, ages 3-5. Lesson learned for next year: Three-year-olds do not want to play organized games. Also, not all three-year-olds know their names.
6. Dealt with an insanely unwanted ant infestation in my pantry. This required the removal and sanitation of all my plastic storage containers. Why do I have 100 Rubbermaid and Ziploc food containers? The ants are dead, the pantry's clean, and I now have an accurate inventory of the insulin-inducing amount of carbs in there.
7. Gotten by on less than 6 hours of sleep a night.
This entire garage redo is Kevin's belated Father's Day present. He doesn't know I'm doing it, and I'm really hoping he is happy about it all. He was strangely fond of his workbench that he found on the sidewalk, but it was time for something useful and space efficient. Hopefully when he gets home after midnight tonight he will not be upset by the amount of sheer clutter in the house as he tries to navigate his way from the front door to the living room. The garage floor won't be fully dry until Saturday, at which time I will haul everything back and place it all in labeled boxes on the shiny new shelves. Maybe Kevin will have mercy on me and help a little.
For now, I'm going to enjoy my glass of cereal (current favorite? Basic 4) and hit the sack. I've got to be at church in 10 hours.
Why am I so tired? In the last four days I have:
1. Removed everything (and I mean everything) from the garage. This included all the tools, toys, shelves, and Kevin's makeshift workbench that was resting on cinderblocks. I hauled most of it into the house except for the lawn equipment and kids' toys, which are in the backyard. When you walk into my foyer, you are greeted by our second refrigerator. Our dining room is filled with boxes and boxes of garage junk.
2. Degreased, cleaned, etched, cleaned, powerwashed, squeegeed, powerwashed again, squeegeed again, powerwashed a third time, vacuumed the remaining etching dust from, primed, and painted our garage floor. It looks great, but I may have to apply a second coat tomorrow afternoon.
3. Purchased, loaded, unloaded, and assembled the biggest, heaviest garage shelving units I've ever seen. The assembly was kind of fun, actually.
4. Taken care of all the needs and a few of the wants of my children single-handedly, as Kevin is in San Diego enjoying dinner cruises in the bay. Not fair.
5. Gotten up at 6:30 every morning to get us all to church by 8:15 for VBS, where I've spent 4 hours every day running the Preschool Games & Activities for 50-plus squirrelly kids, ages 3-5. Lesson learned for next year: Three-year-olds do not want to play organized games. Also, not all three-year-olds know their names.
6. Dealt with an insanely unwanted ant infestation in my pantry. This required the removal and sanitation of all my plastic storage containers. Why do I have 100 Rubbermaid and Ziploc food containers? The ants are dead, the pantry's clean, and I now have an accurate inventory of the insulin-inducing amount of carbs in there.
7. Gotten by on less than 6 hours of sleep a night.
This entire garage redo is Kevin's belated Father's Day present. He doesn't know I'm doing it, and I'm really hoping he is happy about it all. He was strangely fond of his workbench that he found on the sidewalk, but it was time for something useful and space efficient. Hopefully when he gets home after midnight tonight he will not be upset by the amount of sheer clutter in the house as he tries to navigate his way from the front door to the living room. The garage floor won't be fully dry until Saturday, at which time I will haul everything back and place it all in labeled boxes on the shiny new shelves. Maybe Kevin will have mercy on me and help a little.
For now, I'm going to enjoy my glass of cereal (current favorite? Basic 4) and hit the sack. I've got to be at church in 10 hours.
Monday, June 19, 2006
My Latest Curriculum Passage/Short Story
I vividly remember the first time I realized we were different. Not a different race or religion or anything like that. No, we were different because of our mismatched furniture.
I was in the second grade, 8 years old, and I was having my first sleepover. My mom dropped me off at my friend Gracie’s house on Friday evening. We were supposed to have pizza with her family and then watch a movie. I had just taken a bite of my second slice of pepperoni when it suddenly hit me.
“All your chairs are the same!” I blurted out, my mouth full of melted cheese.
Four pairs of eyes stared at me like I had just sprouted green hair. Mrs. Morgan was the first to break the silence by asking, “What did you say, dear?”
“All your chairs are the same,” I repeated. “The chairs we’re sitting in. They all match.”
Again, the Martin family stared at me with confused expressions. “Of course they match,” Mrs. Morgan said. “The table and chairs are a set. They’re supposed to match.”
“Oh,” I said meekly. I decided to change the topic by asking what movie we were going to watch later. Then, hoping to deflect the attention off me, I took another bite of pizza and pretended to be extremely interested in the pattern of the tablecloth. Nobody brought up the chairs again, and I survived my first sleepover without further embarrassment.
When my mom picked me up the next morning, I waited until we got home before I mentioned the chairs. But as soon as I walked into the kitchen, I saw that yes, indeed, we were different. None of our chairs matched. Instead of a set of six, nicely matching chairs like the Morgans had, we had six chairs of differing heights, styles, and colors. I couldn’t believe that I had never noticed this before. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t realized that this was, you know – weird.
My mom saw me quizzically staring at the kitchen table and asked what I was thinking about. “The chairs,” I answered. “How come they don’t match?”
“Match what?” she asked.
“Each other!” I said in a tone of voice that usually wasn’t tolerated at my house. “Aren’t chairs supposed to match each other?”
My mom told to me to sit down. I automatically chose my favorite chair -- the ladder-back one with the woven seat. My mom sat in the dark mahogany chair with the wrought iron legs. She folded her hands, sighed, and then asked what I thought of the Morgan’s chairs. I shrugged my shoulders and said they were nice.
My mom pressed on. “Okay, nice,” she said. “But what made them nice? What did they look like?” I didn’t know. I said they were brown, and they matched the table.
My mom said that yes, most people buy chairs and tables in a set and that yes, they usually match each other. She said there was nothing wrong with buying furniture that way. But then she posed this question: "Which one of these chairs is your favorite, Becca?"
That's easy, I thought. I told my mom that I was sitting in my favorite chair.
"Right,” she said. “That’s always been your favorite chair. That was a chair from your grandfather’s store.” My mom reminded me how I used to love going into Grandpa’s store and help him stock the shelves with merchandise. I’d forgotten that, since my Grandpa had retired several years ago and had sold the store. I didn’t realize that I loved this old chair because it reminded me of my grandfather.
“What about the other chairs?” I asked. “Where did they come from?”
One by one, my mother told me the story behind each chair at our table. The green chair was from the restaurant where my dad had proposed to my mom. Just before they got married, my dad went to the restaurant and asked if he could buy one of the chairs. He gave the chair to my mom as a wedding present. Smiling, my mom said the chair always reminds her of how much my daddy loves her.
Then my mom told me about the formal-looking armchair that had an embroidered seat cushion. My great-grandmother had made it. The design had red roses and green foliage and tiny, intricate swirls of gold in the background. She had needle pointed eight seat cushions, exactly the same, and they had been around her dining room table when my dad was growing up. When she died, all the surviving family members took a chair to remember her by. This was my dad’s favorite chair, and now I understood why.
When my mom had finished telling me the history behind all the other chairs, I realized that we weren’t different because our furniture didn’t match. In fact, I wouldn’t want a set of perfectly manufactured chairs like the Morgans had. Their furniture was pretty, but ours had character. Each of these chairs represented a piece of our family history, and that’s something you can’t buy in a store.
I was in the second grade, 8 years old, and I was having my first sleepover. My mom dropped me off at my friend Gracie’s house on Friday evening. We were supposed to have pizza with her family and then watch a movie. I had just taken a bite of my second slice of pepperoni when it suddenly hit me.
“All your chairs are the same!” I blurted out, my mouth full of melted cheese.
Four pairs of eyes stared at me like I had just sprouted green hair. Mrs. Morgan was the first to break the silence by asking, “What did you say, dear?”
“All your chairs are the same,” I repeated. “The chairs we’re sitting in. They all match.”
Again, the Martin family stared at me with confused expressions. “Of course they match,” Mrs. Morgan said. “The table and chairs are a set. They’re supposed to match.”
“Oh,” I said meekly. I decided to change the topic by asking what movie we were going to watch later. Then, hoping to deflect the attention off me, I took another bite of pizza and pretended to be extremely interested in the pattern of the tablecloth. Nobody brought up the chairs again, and I survived my first sleepover without further embarrassment.
When my mom picked me up the next morning, I waited until we got home before I mentioned the chairs. But as soon as I walked into the kitchen, I saw that yes, indeed, we were different. None of our chairs matched. Instead of a set of six, nicely matching chairs like the Morgans had, we had six chairs of differing heights, styles, and colors. I couldn’t believe that I had never noticed this before. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t realized that this was, you know – weird.
My mom saw me quizzically staring at the kitchen table and asked what I was thinking about. “The chairs,” I answered. “How come they don’t match?”
“Match what?” she asked.
“Each other!” I said in a tone of voice that usually wasn’t tolerated at my house. “Aren’t chairs supposed to match each other?”
My mom told to me to sit down. I automatically chose my favorite chair -- the ladder-back one with the woven seat. My mom sat in the dark mahogany chair with the wrought iron legs. She folded her hands, sighed, and then asked what I thought of the Morgan’s chairs. I shrugged my shoulders and said they were nice.
My mom pressed on. “Okay, nice,” she said. “But what made them nice? What did they look like?” I didn’t know. I said they were brown, and they matched the table.
My mom said that yes, most people buy chairs and tables in a set and that yes, they usually match each other. She said there was nothing wrong with buying furniture that way. But then she posed this question: "Which one of these chairs is your favorite, Becca?"
That's easy, I thought. I told my mom that I was sitting in my favorite chair.
"Right,” she said. “That’s always been your favorite chair. That was a chair from your grandfather’s store.” My mom reminded me how I used to love going into Grandpa’s store and help him stock the shelves with merchandise. I’d forgotten that, since my Grandpa had retired several years ago and had sold the store. I didn’t realize that I loved this old chair because it reminded me of my grandfather.
“What about the other chairs?” I asked. “Where did they come from?”
One by one, my mother told me the story behind each chair at our table. The green chair was from the restaurant where my dad had proposed to my mom. Just before they got married, my dad went to the restaurant and asked if he could buy one of the chairs. He gave the chair to my mom as a wedding present. Smiling, my mom said the chair always reminds her of how much my daddy loves her.
Then my mom told me about the formal-looking armchair that had an embroidered seat cushion. My great-grandmother had made it. The design had red roses and green foliage and tiny, intricate swirls of gold in the background. She had needle pointed eight seat cushions, exactly the same, and they had been around her dining room table when my dad was growing up. When she died, all the surviving family members took a chair to remember her by. This was my dad’s favorite chair, and now I understood why.
When my mom had finished telling me the history behind all the other chairs, I realized that we weren’t different because our furniture didn’t match. In fact, I wouldn’t want a set of perfectly manufactured chairs like the Morgans had. Their furniture was pretty, but ours had character. Each of these chairs represented a piece of our family history, and that’s something you can’t buy in a store.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
More Recent Reads
I'm officially done with Karen Kingsbury books. I just read her latest, Even Now. Yet another ridiculous plot! If your daughter runs away from home, and you spend 18 years searching for her, wouldn't you think to go through the box of journals in her room? Maybe, just to find a pertinent clue? No, not in Karen Kingsbury land, where parents conveniently wait until the dad is dying of cancer so we can have a Hollywood reunion scene.
Karen Kingsbury always has something like this in her books. In the Baxter family series, one daughter takes an AIDS test which comes out positive. Instead of getting a second test, even though everyone in her family and doctor's office tells her to do so, she stops living her life, cuts off all her relationships, blah blah blah. Of course she finds out later that the AIDS test was a false positive and all this heartache could have been prevented. But realistically, if you were told you were HIV positive, wouldn't you get a confirmation and then start guzzling AZT drugs? Again, not in Karen Kingsbury land.
On the other hand, I really liked Randy Singer's Self Incrimination. Great courtroom novel about an abusive father who's shot in his home, and the step-daughter confesses. Can't say too much more, but it was highly entertaining even though I figured out the whodunnit pretty early on.
Karen Kingsbury always has something like this in her books. In the Baxter family series, one daughter takes an AIDS test which comes out positive. Instead of getting a second test, even though everyone in her family and doctor's office tells her to do so, she stops living her life, cuts off all her relationships, blah blah blah. Of course she finds out later that the AIDS test was a false positive and all this heartache could have been prevented. But realistically, if you were told you were HIV positive, wouldn't you get a confirmation and then start guzzling AZT drugs? Again, not in Karen Kingsbury land.
On the other hand, I really liked Randy Singer's Self Incrimination. Great courtroom novel about an abusive father who's shot in his home, and the step-daughter confesses. Can't say too much more, but it was highly entertaining even though I figured out the whodunnit pretty early on.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Recent Reads
I'm a bibliophile, so much so that I can't even keep track of what I've read and what I haven't. Just to help my memory a bit, I've started keeping a loose log of the books I've read. In no particular order, here's the short list of what I've read in the last six months or so:
Daughter of the Loom by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller. A historical fiction about the Massachusetts textile mills in the 19th century. I love historical fiction, and this one was pretty good.
So Far From Home: The Story of Mary Driscoll, an Irish Mill Girl by Barry Denenberg. Another historical fiction book about the Lowell, Mass., textile industry.
Cape Refuge, Southern Storm, River's Edge, and Breaker's Reef all by Terri Blackstock
These were four novels in a series about an East Coast island town. Christian suspense, I guess you'd call it. Decent fiction, although a character's name is changed from book one to book two. I emailed the author and she said it was a huge mistake on the editorial side.
Redemption, Remember, Return, Rejoice, and Reunion, all by Karen Kingsbury. The whole Baxter family series. Slightly predictable, but I really liked this series. Always a sucker for happy endings.
Fame and Forgiven, both by Karen Kingsbury. A second series about the Baxters, but this time focusing on their long-lost son turned Hollywood actor. The series is getting pretty cheesy, but I'm still going to finish it when the next few come out.
Dying Declaration, Irreparable Harm, and Directed Verdict, all by Randy Singer. Singer is kind of a Christian John Grisham. These are fun courtroom novels. One of them has a ridiculous character who is a Cambodian refugee who speaks flawless English and uses phrases like "Technicolor." What ESOL Cambodian refugee would know that word? The courtroom scenes are mighty fun, though.
Blink by Ted Dekker. An outlandish plot about a Berkeley genius who can see multiple futures, each one slightly different based on certain actions or inactions. His mission is to save a Saudi Arabian princess who's run away to the States to avoid an arranged marriage to a tyrant. Within a week, both she and the agnostic protagonist find each other and Christ. What lifetime Muslim would so quickly dump her heritage and jump to Christianity? Implausible, for sure.
Hoot by Carl Hiaasen. OK, this is in the juvenile fiction section of the library. Disney just came out with the film version, which I haven't seen. The novel was quirky and fun and definitely has Disneyesque scenes.
I know I've read more, but I'm blanking right now. I'll add more when I can remember what the books were.
Daughter of the Loom by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller. A historical fiction about the Massachusetts textile mills in the 19th century. I love historical fiction, and this one was pretty good.
So Far From Home: The Story of Mary Driscoll, an Irish Mill Girl by Barry Denenberg. Another historical fiction book about the Lowell, Mass., textile industry.
Cape Refuge, Southern Storm, River's Edge, and Breaker's Reef all by Terri Blackstock
These were four novels in a series about an East Coast island town. Christian suspense, I guess you'd call it. Decent fiction, although a character's name is changed from book one to book two. I emailed the author and she said it was a huge mistake on the editorial side.
Redemption, Remember, Return, Rejoice, and Reunion, all by Karen Kingsbury. The whole Baxter family series. Slightly predictable, but I really liked this series. Always a sucker for happy endings.
Fame and Forgiven, both by Karen Kingsbury. A second series about the Baxters, but this time focusing on their long-lost son turned Hollywood actor. The series is getting pretty cheesy, but I'm still going to finish it when the next few come out.
Dying Declaration, Irreparable Harm, and Directed Verdict, all by Randy Singer. Singer is kind of a Christian John Grisham. These are fun courtroom novels. One of them has a ridiculous character who is a Cambodian refugee who speaks flawless English and uses phrases like "Technicolor." What ESOL Cambodian refugee would know that word? The courtroom scenes are mighty fun, though.
Blink by Ted Dekker. An outlandish plot about a Berkeley genius who can see multiple futures, each one slightly different based on certain actions or inactions. His mission is to save a Saudi Arabian princess who's run away to the States to avoid an arranged marriage to a tyrant. Within a week, both she and the agnostic protagonist find each other and Christ. What lifetime Muslim would so quickly dump her heritage and jump to Christianity? Implausible, for sure.
Hoot by Carl Hiaasen. OK, this is in the juvenile fiction section of the library. Disney just came out with the film version, which I haven't seen. The novel was quirky and fun and definitely has Disneyesque scenes.
I know I've read more, but I'm blanking right now. I'll add more when I can remember what the books were.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Lessons I've Learned This Week
This has been a very frustrating couple of weeks, and now that I'm past it I need to reflect.
A quick summary: Sweet Caelyn's birthday was on May 15. She was turning 5 and really wanted a party. I planned on May 13, but her friend Casey had already planned her party for the same day. So we switched to May 20, but her friend Olivia had already planned her's for that morning. So, we settled on the afternoon of May 20. Not the best timing, since this was going to be an outdoor party and it would likely be 90+ degrees, but Caelyn's other friends had trumped our plans.
I handed out the invitations, and didn't hear from most people. Two people called to say they were coming (thanks, Mrs. James and Mrs. Mayo). Some gave me a verbal thumbs-up. Most just didn't respond. It's very difficult to plan party activities and favors if you don't know who's coming.
The day before the party, we heard from two people who now couldn't come even though they previously said they could. We heard from one person who said they'd be arriving late. On the day of the party, one person called to back out.
I tried not to be upset, but I was really frustrated with the whole situation. Individually, most of these people had valid excuses for not being able to come after all. Cumulatively, though, it felt like Caelyn was getting shafted. Only 5 of her friends came, four of which she'll never see again because they were pre-school friends and they'll all be at different schools next year. Only one of her church friends came.
So, here's what I've learned.
1. Always call to RSVP to a party. If you can make it, say so. If you can't, call early enough so the hostess can actually make plans.
2. If you say you're going to be there, don't back out at the last minute unless it's a true emergency. (I'm not speaking to you, Amy. And I appreciate your phone call.)
3. Caelyn has the ability to have a great time no matter what the circumstances. She missed her friends who couldn't come, but she was a great little hostess to her friends who did.
Maybe this was payback for me being a poor RSVPer in the past. In college I was invited to leadership dinner at the Vice President for Student Affair's house. I never got around to RSVPing, and at the last minute my friends convinced me that I should go and it would be OK for me just to show up. I did, and Dr. Grissom made a public joke about me being a party crasher since I hadn't RSVPed. I was wholly embarrassed, but I learned my lesson.
A quick summary: Sweet Caelyn's birthday was on May 15. She was turning 5 and really wanted a party. I planned on May 13, but her friend Casey had already planned her party for the same day. So we switched to May 20, but her friend Olivia had already planned her's for that morning. So, we settled on the afternoon of May 20. Not the best timing, since this was going to be an outdoor party and it would likely be 90+ degrees, but Caelyn's other friends had trumped our plans.
I handed out the invitations, and didn't hear from most people. Two people called to say they were coming (thanks, Mrs. James and Mrs. Mayo). Some gave me a verbal thumbs-up. Most just didn't respond. It's very difficult to plan party activities and favors if you don't know who's coming.
The day before the party, we heard from two people who now couldn't come even though they previously said they could. We heard from one person who said they'd be arriving late. On the day of the party, one person called to back out.
I tried not to be upset, but I was really frustrated with the whole situation. Individually, most of these people had valid excuses for not being able to come after all. Cumulatively, though, it felt like Caelyn was getting shafted. Only 5 of her friends came, four of which she'll never see again because they were pre-school friends and they'll all be at different schools next year. Only one of her church friends came.
So, here's what I've learned.
1. Always call to RSVP to a party. If you can make it, say so. If you can't, call early enough so the hostess can actually make plans.
2. If you say you're going to be there, don't back out at the last minute unless it's a true emergency. (I'm not speaking to you, Amy. And I appreciate your phone call.)
3. Caelyn has the ability to have a great time no matter what the circumstances. She missed her friends who couldn't come, but she was a great little hostess to her friends who did.
Maybe this was payback for me being a poor RSVPer in the past. In college I was invited to leadership dinner at the Vice President for Student Affair's house. I never got around to RSVPing, and at the last minute my friends convinced me that I should go and it would be OK for me just to show up. I did, and Dr. Grissom made a public joke about me being a party crasher since I hadn't RSVPed. I was wholly embarrassed, but I learned my lesson.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
These Are A Few of My Least Favorite Things
In an homage to The Sound of Music...
Waiting in long lines at Target or Walmart
Squeaky loose wheels on my HEB cart
Discovering my car door is covered in dings
These are a few of my least favorite things
Wasting two hours in the doctor's office
Only to find out that it's just a virus
Searching through trash cans to find my lost ring
These are a few of my least favorite things
E-mail spam and annoying chain letters
Getting a snag on my brand new silk sweater
Roasting in carpool when it's ninety degrees
Things are a few of my least favorite things
Toenail fungus, toddler tantrums,
TV shows that are crass and impure
When I'm depressed by my least favorite things,
I ask God to bring the rapture.
Waiting in long lines at Target or Walmart
Squeaky loose wheels on my HEB cart
Discovering my car door is covered in dings
These are a few of my least favorite things
Wasting two hours in the doctor's office
Only to find out that it's just a virus
Searching through trash cans to find my lost ring
These are a few of my least favorite things
E-mail spam and annoying chain letters
Getting a snag on my brand new silk sweater
Roasting in carpool when it's ninety degrees
Things are a few of my least favorite things
Toenail fungus, toddler tantrums,
TV shows that are crass and impure
When I'm depressed by my least favorite things,
I ask God to bring the rapture.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
A Random Reading Passage
I have nothing interesting to write about, so I thought I'd share one of my latest reading passages. This one is for the State of Pennsylvania's 3rd grade achievement test, so keep in mind the intended audience is 9 years old.
The Street Vendor
Saturdays are the best. I get to sleep in, and I always wake up to the smell of pancakes. When I finally get up, Daddy’s sitting at the kitchen table. “’Mornin’, sleepyhead,” my Daddy always says. On Saturdays I get to put as much syrup as I want on my flapjacks. Daddy pretends not to notice how my pancakes are drowning. He just winks and sips his coffee.
Later in the day, I have to go to my piano lesson. Daddy holds my hand as we walk through the city. Mrs. Kutz’s studio is seven blocks from our apartment. I have my lesson while my dad read his newspaper. After an hour, Mrs. Kutz always says, “Bravo, Amelia! You are playing nicely!” My dad smiles, folds up his newspaper, and holds out his hand. Arm in arm, we walk home.
My favorite part of Saturday is walking through the city. Sometimes I close my eyes and let Daddy’s hand guide me. When my eyes are closed, I can hear things I don’t usually notice. I can always hear the cars honking and the people shouting. But when my eyes are closed, I notice how the pigeons talk to each other while they sit on the benches. I notice how the bell on Wilson’s Grocery door sounds different than the bell at the hardware store.
Sometimes when I listen real close, I can hear the squeaky wheels on the Hot Dog Man’s cart. The Hot Dog Man is a street vendor. He has a cart on wheels with a big, striped umbrella for shade. He stands next to his cart on the corner and shouts, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!”
Every Saturday on the way home from piano lessons, we stop at the Hot Dog Man’s cart. When the street vendor sees us coming, he stops shouting. He smiles at me and says, “’What’ll it be, little lady?” This seems like a silly question to me. I ask for a hot dog and Daddy gets one too. I like mine plain, but Daddy puts mustard on his. We sit down on a bench and eat our lunch.
One day after eating our hot dogs, I had a thought.
“What’s the Hot Dog Man’s name?” I asked my dad.
“I don’t know, sweetie. Why?”
“Because we talk to him every Saturday, but we don’t know his name,” I said. This bothered me because I know everyone’s name. The boy who delivers the newspaper is Harold. The mail carrier is Anna. I even know the name of the lady who cuts my hair, and I don’t like getting haircuts.
I thought and thought, and finally I decided to find out. I marched right up to the Hot Dog Man. He was yelling, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!” But when he saw me, he leaned over and said, “You still hungry, little lady?”
I took a deep breath and asked, “What’s your name?” The Hot Dog Man looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows, and then he burst out laughing. Finally, he shook my hand and said, “The name’s Gary, little lady.” I smiled and ran back to Daddy.
We still see the Hot Dog Man every Saturday. We always buy two hot dogs, and we always sit on the bench to eat them. The street vendor still calls me “little lady.” But now, I can say, “Thank you, Gary,” when he hands me my hot dog. Then Gary always winks at me, like we have a secret.
The Street Vendor
Saturdays are the best. I get to sleep in, and I always wake up to the smell of pancakes. When I finally get up, Daddy’s sitting at the kitchen table. “’Mornin’, sleepyhead,” my Daddy always says. On Saturdays I get to put as much syrup as I want on my flapjacks. Daddy pretends not to notice how my pancakes are drowning. He just winks and sips his coffee.
Later in the day, I have to go to my piano lesson. Daddy holds my hand as we walk through the city. Mrs. Kutz’s studio is seven blocks from our apartment. I have my lesson while my dad read his newspaper. After an hour, Mrs. Kutz always says, “Bravo, Amelia! You are playing nicely!” My dad smiles, folds up his newspaper, and holds out his hand. Arm in arm, we walk home.
My favorite part of Saturday is walking through the city. Sometimes I close my eyes and let Daddy’s hand guide me. When my eyes are closed, I can hear things I don’t usually notice. I can always hear the cars honking and the people shouting. But when my eyes are closed, I notice how the pigeons talk to each other while they sit on the benches. I notice how the bell on Wilson’s Grocery door sounds different than the bell at the hardware store.
Sometimes when I listen real close, I can hear the squeaky wheels on the Hot Dog Man’s cart. The Hot Dog Man is a street vendor. He has a cart on wheels with a big, striped umbrella for shade. He stands next to his cart on the corner and shouts, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!”
Every Saturday on the way home from piano lessons, we stop at the Hot Dog Man’s cart. When the street vendor sees us coming, he stops shouting. He smiles at me and says, “’What’ll it be, little lady?” This seems like a silly question to me. I ask for a hot dog and Daddy gets one too. I like mine plain, but Daddy puts mustard on his. We sit down on a bench and eat our lunch.
One day after eating our hot dogs, I had a thought.
“What’s the Hot Dog Man’s name?” I asked my dad.
“I don’t know, sweetie. Why?”
“Because we talk to him every Saturday, but we don’t know his name,” I said. This bothered me because I know everyone’s name. The boy who delivers the newspaper is Harold. The mail carrier is Anna. I even know the name of the lady who cuts my hair, and I don’t like getting haircuts.
I thought and thought, and finally I decided to find out. I marched right up to the Hot Dog Man. He was yelling, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs here!” But when he saw me, he leaned over and said, “You still hungry, little lady?”
I took a deep breath and asked, “What’s your name?” The Hot Dog Man looked surprised. He raised his eyebrows, and then he burst out laughing. Finally, he shook my hand and said, “The name’s Gary, little lady.” I smiled and ran back to Daddy.
We still see the Hot Dog Man every Saturday. We always buy two hot dogs, and we always sit on the bench to eat them. The street vendor still calls me “little lady.” But now, I can say, “Thank you, Gary,” when he hands me my hot dog. Then Gary always winks at me, like we have a secret.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
An April Fool's Anniversary
Today is the 13th anniversary of Kevin's and my first date. We were working at the Trinitonian, our college newspaper, and I was pasting down an ad for AMC Theatres. (On a side note, I really miss that old wax machine that we used to paste down the galleys. The melted wax smelled so good! But, I digress...) I was bemoaning to my coworker Lisa that I hadn't been to a movie in ages, and Kevin pipes up, "Yeah, we should go to a movie sometime." I didn't really think he was asking me out, so I didn't exactly respond. I just finished up my work and went back to my dorm room.
A couple hours later, Kevin called and officially asked if I would see a movie with him that night. I was a little surprised, and I said I already had plans with my suitemate. Kevin sounded rather crushed and I felt sorry for him, so I said I could cancel my other plans. He said he'd come pick me up after his Catholic Student Group meeting, around 8 p.m. he thought.
Kevin called after 8 to say his meeting was running extremely long. He said he'd get there as soon as he could. I think he finally showed up sometime after 10, maybe closer to 11. I was annoyed, but again, I felt sorry for him. We ended up watching "Sneakers" in my room sitting on the floor. It was hardly what I call a date, and I certainly wasn't overwhelmed with affection and admiration for Kevin at the time! Still, that's the story of our beginnings. The fact that it was on April Fool's Day is just an ironic symbol of our entire relationship since, I think!
A couple hours later, Kevin called and officially asked if I would see a movie with him that night. I was a little surprised, and I said I already had plans with my suitemate. Kevin sounded rather crushed and I felt sorry for him, so I said I could cancel my other plans. He said he'd come pick me up after his Catholic Student Group meeting, around 8 p.m. he thought.
Kevin called after 8 to say his meeting was running extremely long. He said he'd get there as soon as he could. I think he finally showed up sometime after 10, maybe closer to 11. I was annoyed, but again, I felt sorry for him. We ended up watching "Sneakers" in my room sitting on the floor. It was hardly what I call a date, and I certainly wasn't overwhelmed with affection and admiration for Kevin at the time! Still, that's the story of our beginnings. The fact that it was on April Fool's Day is just an ironic symbol of our entire relationship since, I think!
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Fallout from the Doctor's Visit
It seems Caelyn and David picked up a virus from their visit to the doctor last Friday. Both of them were up last night urping. It was a loooong night! Looks like it's gonna be a laundry day.
When she wasn't shrieking, Caelyn actually had a great attitude during her sickness. Favorite quote after one urpy episode: "At least it didn't get in my nose that time!"
When she wasn't shrieking, Caelyn actually had a great attitude during her sickness. Favorite quote after one urpy episode: "At least it didn't get in my nose that time!"
Monday, March 27, 2006
Happy Birthday to Me!
Yesterday was my 35th birthday, a minor milestone. Kevin surprised me with a new laptop computer, something I've always wanted. Now I can write my articles while reclining on the couch -- yippee! At church I had to teach the 3-year-old kids, so my adult Sunday school class serenaded me in the hallway. I've never cared for the Happy Birthday song, but I enjoyed having my friends sing to me. And last night Kevin surprised me again by having the Thomases join us for a scrumptious dinner at The Vineyards, one of our favorite restaurants. All in all, a very joyous birthday! And happy birthday to Martin Thomas, whose birthday is today.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
David stuck a bead up his nose
If I had written about little David a week ago, I would have bragged about how well David is developing. He's had a language explosion and his vocabulary is increasing daily. He's no longer having separation anxiety about going into his nursery room at church. And, even though he's just 2 and a few months, he can already identify five or six colors. But, today I get to share about my goofball son who had to get a bead extracted from his nose on Friday.
Kendra and David were watching TV on Friday morning when David started crying about how his nose hurt. Kendra thought he might have a neener (our word for booger), so I tried to help him out. David started having a fit whenever I touched his nose. I thought he might have something stuck up there, but I couldn't get him to sit still long enough to find out. Eventually his shrieks of "No Mommy!" made me decide that traumatizing him wasn't a good idea.
Three hours later, we're at Chick-fil-A some friends having lunch. I mentioned to Kim Lewis that David had a nose problem that morning. Sweet Kim, who is a nurse, coaxed David into looking up at the ceiling. Kim took a quick peek up his nostril and announced that something purple was indeed up there. I got on the cell phone and (laughing) called the doctor who said to come in after lunch. Why rush? It had already been up there for nearly four hours.
It took three people to wrestle David to the exam table. The nurse held his arms over his head, I pinned his legs down, and Dr. Howelton leaned over his torso while holding some rather long needlenose pliers. It only took 30 seconds of blood-curdling screams before Dr. Howelton presented me with a damp purple bead. And in typical Dr. Howelton fashion, she dryly says to Caelyn, "Do you want to put that bead on your necklace?"
Apparently shoving objects into facial orifices is a rather common childhood experiment. The nurse said someone else had called about it the day before, but the child eventually snorted it up and coughed it out -- ew! My parents once had to get several peas out of my sister Jamie's nose. She didn't want to eat them and her nose seemed like the most logical place for disposal. I'm just hoping David remembers not to do that again.
Kendra and David were watching TV on Friday morning when David started crying about how his nose hurt. Kendra thought he might have a neener (our word for booger), so I tried to help him out. David started having a fit whenever I touched his nose. I thought he might have something stuck up there, but I couldn't get him to sit still long enough to find out. Eventually his shrieks of "No Mommy!" made me decide that traumatizing him wasn't a good idea.
Three hours later, we're at Chick-fil-A some friends having lunch. I mentioned to Kim Lewis that David had a nose problem that morning. Sweet Kim, who is a nurse, coaxed David into looking up at the ceiling. Kim took a quick peek up his nostril and announced that something purple was indeed up there. I got on the cell phone and (laughing) called the doctor who said to come in after lunch. Why rush? It had already been up there for nearly four hours.
It took three people to wrestle David to the exam table. The nurse held his arms over his head, I pinned his legs down, and Dr. Howelton leaned over his torso while holding some rather long needlenose pliers. It only took 30 seconds of blood-curdling screams before Dr. Howelton presented me with a damp purple bead. And in typical Dr. Howelton fashion, she dryly says to Caelyn, "Do you want to put that bead on your necklace?"
Apparently shoving objects into facial orifices is a rather common childhood experiment. The nurse said someone else had called about it the day before, but the child eventually snorted it up and coughed it out -- ew! My parents once had to get several peas out of my sister Jamie's nose. She didn't want to eat them and her nose seemed like the most logical place for disposal. I'm just hoping David remembers not to do that again.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Yesterday's Irony
Yesterday I was running errands and I remembered to pray for my friend Amy who wants to stop watching TV at night. I asked God give her the self-discipline not to turn the TV on and to bless her with some special family time.
The irony: Last night I wasted three hours watching TV. Kevin had a meeting at church and then had to deal with a broken-down car (another story), so I turned on the TV for company. Three hours later, I had TiVoed my way through two episodes of American Idol, an episode of Dinner for Five, and some other show that I can't even remember right now. Entertaining, yes, but a complete waste of time.
My name is Chelsea, and I'm a TVaholic.
The irony: Last night I wasted three hours watching TV. Kevin had a meeting at church and then had to deal with a broken-down car (another story), so I turned on the TV for company. Three hours later, I had TiVoed my way through two episodes of American Idol, an episode of Dinner for Five, and some other show that I can't even remember right now. Entertaining, yes, but a complete waste of time.
My name is Chelsea, and I'm a TVaholic.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Not My Home
A brief conversation with Kendra after I did a basic-training class at the gym...
Kendra: Why do you work out at the gym?
Me: So I can be healthy and strong and live a long time.
Kendra: Why? I thought you just wanted to get to heaven and be with Jesus.
Kendra: Why do you work out at the gym?
Me: So I can be healthy and strong and live a long time.
Kendra: Why? I thought you just wanted to get to heaven and be with Jesus.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
I Feel Smart Today
For those who know me, it's no surprise that I'm a total geek and love puzzles. Not jigsaw, but word and logic puzzles. I subscribe to not one, but two uber-nerdy puzzle magazines — Games and Games World of Puzzles. Each month I get happy when the very nice postlady brings me a new puzzle magazine.
Games has monthly contests which are always incredibly difficult. There's no answer key, and if you can solve the puzzle you can submit a postcard with the solution to be entered into a drawing for $500. I feel smart today because I actually solved the monthly contest BY MYSELF and a little help from my American Heritage dictionary. I'd tell you the answer, but that would lessen my odds for winning.
Like I said, I'm a geek. But if I win, I'll be a geek with an extra $500.
Games has monthly contests which are always incredibly difficult. There's no answer key, and if you can solve the puzzle you can submit a postcard with the solution to be entered into a drawing for $500. I feel smart today because I actually solved the monthly contest BY MYSELF and a little help from my American Heritage dictionary. I'd tell you the answer, but that would lessen my odds for winning.
Like I said, I'm a geek. But if I win, I'll be a geek with an extra $500.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Yoga Free Verse
open the chest open the mind
try not to giggle at panpipe music
forward bend feel the stretch
down dog feel the headrush
chaturanga fancy name for pushup
can't do a pushup fall to the ground
up dog or cobra what's the difference?
warrior pose balance on weak ankles
arms are numbing tingling
like an endurance challenge on survivor
warrior two more like ballet
angle the arms pretend it's drill team
20 minutes later finally getting the rhythm
grab a towel stretch your legs
discover that legs are freakishly long
can't balance can't focus try not to giggle
instructor says lie down amen! amen!
stretch out hamstrings feel the burn
tilt leg left stranger's foot is near face
resist the urge to tickle stranger's bare feet
lotus position are we supposed to meditate?
straighten spine feel taller
next day feel pain
try not to giggle at panpipe music
forward bend feel the stretch
down dog feel the headrush
chaturanga fancy name for pushup
can't do a pushup fall to the ground
up dog or cobra what's the difference?
warrior pose balance on weak ankles
arms are numbing tingling
like an endurance challenge on survivor
warrior two more like ballet
angle the arms pretend it's drill team
20 minutes later finally getting the rhythm
grab a towel stretch your legs
discover that legs are freakishly long
can't balance can't focus try not to giggle
instructor says lie down amen! amen!
stretch out hamstrings feel the burn
tilt leg left stranger's foot is near face
resist the urge to tickle stranger's bare feet
lotus position are we supposed to meditate?
straighten spine feel taller
next day feel pain
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Invisibles
This is just for sheer fun. At Thanksgiving my brother-in-law showed me some of these Invisibles on his laptop. Here's the idea: These are scenes from films, but the people's faces and other body parts have been digitally removed. You have to figure out which movie the scene is from. Highly entertaining, even if you aren't the biggest filmgoer.
http://www.filmwise.com/invisibles/index.shtml
http://www.filmwise.com/invisibles/index.shtml
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Kendra, my little Holy Spirit
The scenario: It's after dinner and the kids and I are playing a round of Disney Candy Land. Everyone is happy, we're all taking turns, and even David is enjoying the action. Then Kendra picks the card that sends her back to Cinderella's Glass Slipper, which is at the beginning of the board. She throws a fit saying she's going to lose and she's quitting, and then she crawls off and hides behind the rocking chair.
My reponse: I thoroughly raise my voice and chastise her. I tell her that you don't quit just because you're losing, and the whole point is just to have fun spending time with your family. (The irony meter was inching higher at that statement.) I tell her that she's not quitting, she will come back and finish the game, and I threaten her with a loss of priveleges if she doesn't obey. Kendra returns and sullenly plays with us.
A few minutes later, Kendra asks this: "Mama, how come you're nicer to everyone else than you are to your own family?"
Ouch.
Thankfully, I didn't react in anger, which would have only emphasized her point. But it's true, I am nicer to my friends, to strangers, and sometimes to random solicitors on the phone than I am to my own kids and Kevin. I tried to explain to Kendra that I get frustrated because I expect my kids to obey, to treat each other kindly, etc. When you don't act the way I expect, I said, I sometimes (often) get upset and angry and shrill. I pointed out that she's often nicer to her friends than to her sister and brother, too.
The sad thing is, we were having a much better day today than the last few weeks! We laughed more, baked a batch of Easy Bake Oven cookies, played outside in the sunshine, and I didn't lose it and scream like a banshee once. There was a lot of correcting, but apparently Kendra wants me to be a whole lot nicer about it. Honestly, I'm not sure I can be a full-time nice mom and train my kids well. Something to think on/pray about.
My reponse: I thoroughly raise my voice and chastise her. I tell her that you don't quit just because you're losing, and the whole point is just to have fun spending time with your family. (The irony meter was inching higher at that statement.) I tell her that she's not quitting, she will come back and finish the game, and I threaten her with a loss of priveleges if she doesn't obey. Kendra returns and sullenly plays with us.
A few minutes later, Kendra asks this: "Mama, how come you're nicer to everyone else than you are to your own family?"
Ouch.
Thankfully, I didn't react in anger, which would have only emphasized her point. But it's true, I am nicer to my friends, to strangers, and sometimes to random solicitors on the phone than I am to my own kids and Kevin. I tried to explain to Kendra that I get frustrated because I expect my kids to obey, to treat each other kindly, etc. When you don't act the way I expect, I said, I sometimes (often) get upset and angry and shrill. I pointed out that she's often nicer to her friends than to her sister and brother, too.
The sad thing is, we were having a much better day today than the last few weeks! We laughed more, baked a batch of Easy Bake Oven cookies, played outside in the sunshine, and I didn't lose it and scream like a banshee once. There was a lot of correcting, but apparently Kendra wants me to be a whole lot nicer about it. Honestly, I'm not sure I can be a full-time nice mom and train my kids well. Something to think on/pray about.
Monday, January 02, 2006
My New Year's Philosophy
Here we go . . . I've officially succumbed to peer pressure and have become a blogger. Paul Soupiset's been pestering me for some time now to blog, and my main argument was that I didn't want people to be privy to what goes on inside my head. But as my dear friend Christi Grooters once told me, people already know that I'm crazy.
I'm not a big proponent of New Year's resolutions, but this is what I've been thinking about lately. I spent December doing things that people expected me to. Did I really want to write a Christmas newsletter and send out cards? Not so much, but certain people would be upset if they didn't get a card. Did I really want to sew four donkey costumes for Caelyn's Christmas pageant? Again, no, but I did it because I want her teacher to think I'm a good mom and because I was the only mom with a sewing machine. Instead of enjoying the celebration of my Savior's birth, I spent December trying to fulfill an imaginary quota of good deeds.
As a result, I've decided that I'm only going to do what I really want to do this year. I may falter, but I'm not going to let guilt or unrealistic expectations force me into making the same poor decisions that I did last year. The key question is: How do I want to spend my time this year? Writing more? Probably. Reading more? Always. Shopping more? Ew.
One thing's for sure: I definitely want to focus more on eternal things and not foolishly waste my time. Which means no more Pengapop on Kewlbox.com. Oh, and I want to have an ongoing book review section.
By the way, this wasn't my first choice for a blog name. Typography was taken, as was CaivanoFamily. That really surprised me, as there aren't that many Caivanos around. So I settled on CraftyCassie, which is my eBay name. My college nickname was Cassie (based on my maiden name initials), and I'm crafty, so there you have it. Not too original, but I didn't feel like spending hours trying to think of the perfect name. Perfection is overrated.
Happy New Year to my friends and family. I love you all!
I'm not a big proponent of New Year's resolutions, but this is what I've been thinking about lately. I spent December doing things that people expected me to. Did I really want to write a Christmas newsletter and send out cards? Not so much, but certain people would be upset if they didn't get a card. Did I really want to sew four donkey costumes for Caelyn's Christmas pageant? Again, no, but I did it because I want her teacher to think I'm a good mom and because I was the only mom with a sewing machine. Instead of enjoying the celebration of my Savior's birth, I spent December trying to fulfill an imaginary quota of good deeds.
As a result, I've decided that I'm only going to do what I really want to do this year. I may falter, but I'm not going to let guilt or unrealistic expectations force me into making the same poor decisions that I did last year. The key question is: How do I want to spend my time this year? Writing more? Probably. Reading more? Always. Shopping more? Ew.
One thing's for sure: I definitely want to focus more on eternal things and not foolishly waste my time. Which means no more Pengapop on Kewlbox.com. Oh, and I want to have an ongoing book review section.
By the way, this wasn't my first choice for a blog name. Typography was taken, as was CaivanoFamily. That really surprised me, as there aren't that many Caivanos around. So I settled on CraftyCassie, which is my eBay name. My college nickname was Cassie (based on my maiden name initials), and I'm crafty, so there you have it. Not too original, but I didn't feel like spending hours trying to think of the perfect name. Perfection is overrated.
Happy New Year to my friends and family. I love you all!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
