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Showing posts from April, 2009

Caller number one

I was caller number thirty eight out. They were looking for number 96. I suppose this can be some kind of metaphor for life - something about trying but still missing the mark. Or about persistence even when the odds are stacked against you. Or maybe about giving a half effort and yielding half results.

Funny thing is, I don't even know what the prize was. I suppose this can be a metaphor too. Something about never knowing the results of our efforts. Or things not turning out the way we planned/thought/hoped. Maybe it is just as simple as relying on faith that the outcome will be good.

Maybe I just wasn't meant to win. Maybe I already have enough.

I suppose you can learn a lot from radio phone-in contests. If you want to.

The Twenty-Ninth of April

Eric sent me a text message this morning
"2 years ago to the day"
And, half asleep I didn't know what he was talking about.
Two years ago in April 

Today was a sunny day

It was Sunday
The house was quiet
Carly was still asleep
Josh was on the couch, playing in his quiet self-absorbed way
Eric was at the hospital
With his dad and brother
Watching his mother slip away
By now, on that day, they had already called to tell me she was gone

By now, I had already told Joshua
By now, my heart had broken into sharp pieces and reassembled itself in the 'after' configuration.
Today, it's sunny again
Carly is playing with the dog
Eric is at work
Josh is at school
So many things have changed
And many remain the same
The march of time
Never ceases, never slows, never pauses to remember
2 years ago to the day.

Nutin honey

I've been trying to think of stuff to say.  Stuff that might be interesting, or at the very least non-coma inducing.  
Trouble is, there is not much to say.  I mean you've all heard about the new house (which occupies pretty much every thought I have these days outside of the basic needs of existence).  You've all heard about adoption, and ADD, and napping.  My brother Ben thinks I am so under stimulated that all I do is nap.
I don't only nap Ben, I blog too.  Sometimes.  So there.
I've tried to be funny.  I've been seriously self centered and depressed.  I've been mad and sad.  I am sure, at this point, a good portion of my faithful few readers have stopped reading.  I guess that makes them just few readers and no longer faithful.  How unfortunate for me.
So, in order to create a more perfect blog that you might care about I give you pictures.  AKA the lazy woman's way of posting when she has nothing to say.




I know, I know, I better find something to talk a…

Some of you are just dying to see it

Ok so maybe just Eric...

Clicky Clicky on the Pic-y

That's what little girls are made of

Most days I don't think about adoption at all.
Then there are days, like today, when adoption is part of every other thought.  When adoption fills my brain up so much that it whizzes and rattles and burps the idea.  
Not that I want to adopt again.  Most of me doesn't, this little tiny part of me does but it is very, very small.  
But today I am thinking about my need to justify Carly's existence in my life.  The explanation that pops to my lips (I often bite it back) when I see people looking at her just so.  The look where people are being too polite and don't want to say out loud 
"She's black."
I can see it in their eyes though.  I can see their brain walking down the road and drawing conclusions.  
When it is just Carly and I, most people assume my husband is black.  They assume my older son is black.  I suppose that is a good thing because that means she fits very naturally in my arms.  And I rarely, if ever, correct their assumption.
First, because it is …

BTW

Oh, ya, hey!  For all of you none-comment-readers:
We accepted the counter-offer from the seller.  We're buying ourselves a house!
(Going to pop over and take pictures tomorrow and will post for all the interested parties.)

Pop!

My heart is thrumming in my chest.
My baby girl is sleeping on the floor beneath a red stripe-ed blanket.
Outside the sky is dotted with so many stars you can not possibly count them.  And we picked one out to name it Carly's Star.
My cheeks are warm from a day spent in the sun, climbing up and down stairs, opening closet doors and turning on faucets.
My belly is full of tamales and sopapillas.
My signature is inked and dotted, the T's crossed, boxes checked because we did find a house.  An almost perfect house with everything we need and most of what we want.  No SpArKlEs but definitely some flair and a room Carly approves of for her own.
My heart is thrumming as I wait to see if our offer was accepted, as I wonder if this is really happening or if it is just a fancy soap-bubble dream.

I don't ask for much

WTB:
A sparkly house (Carly's request)
With 3 bedrooms and an office space OR 4 bedrooms
A fenced yard
Not too much work needed (read: none)
A living room and family room, will settle for a large living room
Trees
Clean

A dining room or large kitchen
More than 1 bathroom
And I need it all by Friday.
Oh, and cheap would be good.

Dear Heather,

There is magic in a blog, all wrapped up in these words and thoughts and feelings.  There is the binding power of friendship and family in a blog, wisdom and choices at the cross roads of life.  There are common experiences and words that could have come from my own heart.
Maybe sometimes we write about nothing at all.
Maybe sometimes the stories we share aren't funny to anyone but the person who typed it up.
Every now and then we make each other gag on the sweetness of cute kids or we annoy each other with our snarkiness.
But mostly, there are smiles and laughter and an exchange of troubles for joy.
That's why you should keep blogging.
Love,
Me

The Post In Which I Wish for a Time Machine

Or white-out for my mouth
This morning Josh had to write down his spelling list for his spelling test. Sounds complicated, right?

Spelling is not Josh's strong point. He has a difficult time getting words from the brain to the pencil to the page. It's that whole ADD thing. It is NOT that he can't form ideas, he is very verbally articulate and always has been. He has a raging imagination and comes up with some brilliant stories and ideas. Getting them down onto paper, however, is like...How can I explain it?

It's like trying to get Carly to sleep all night long in her own bed.

OR

Trying to get a cat to take a bath while retaining all your skin.

OR

Trying to walk, chew gum and blow bubbles all at once.

These things are technically possible but take some skills. Mad skills.

We went over the list earlier this week and he missed maybe 3 out of 20. Pretty good for a start, I thought. Surely he will be going over the list at school, I thought. We don't need to study every day, I t…

Dear April

Where are your beaming rays of sunshine?
Your budding flowers?
Your baby tree leaves?
When did "April Showers" become the rule
Rather than the exception?
I had hoped that gray skies were reserved for
Winter
But here they are again.
You tease me with sunshine
Trickling through my window early in the morning
And gone by afternoon.
You tempt me with blue skies on Sunday
Then rip my heart from my chest on Monday
With cold, damp clouds.
Dear April,
How about some spring?

Apply at will

A True Story

There's a bird pecking on my picture window, trying desperately to get in.

Peck, peck, peck.

He keeps smacking his wings against the window as he flutters his wings. From time to time he falls off the ledge onto the soft grass, bounces across the lawn as if he meant to do it, sheesh! And he fiddles around in the grass looking for a snack.

Smack, smack, smack.

I think it must hurt to beat his head and wings against the window, so. There is not a giant bowl of birdseed on my table inside, or a wriggling worm. Nothing worthwhile in here to tempt him in. Perhaps he is just curious about the difference. Still he keeps trying.

Peck, peck, peck.

Very metaphoric, don't you think?

And then I felt like I might throw up

I did it!

I submitted the short story. It's not perfect but I hit the 'submit' button before I could chicken out. (And there is no place to go vote Lacey, but thank you for the encouragement!)

Now excuse me while I go try my best to forget it ever happened.

Operation Creation

It isn't really the thought that counts. It's the doing.

Case in point - I have been thinking about this contest that I want to submit a short story to. I have thought about it a lot. I have run over the story line in my head, rehearsed scenes in my imagination, and I have even gotten a few of them out on paper.

I have 2 more days.

2 days to tie the threads together. 2 days to read the fine print, correct the many typos and grammatical errors, 2 days to sully up my nerve and actually submit the thing.

I already know I'm not going to win the short story contest. I can only imagine how many brilliant submissions they are going to get, how many will dwarf mine with their fluid style and clever puns. So there's another thought that's bouncing around in my head.

Why

Even

Bother?

But, it's not the thought that counts. It's the doing.

Stolen moments

A Story in Pictures By Josh and Carly







You're it.

thirty two

Today is the big day, the day when I roll over from 31 ( just barely old) to 32 (aka old and can't deny it).
The funny thing is, I don't feel 32. I feel just like I did at 22, just maybe a little less scared. There are a few gray hairs tucked in the brown, there are a few wrinkles under the chubbiness of my 'baby face'. I can't say that I'm feeling the aches and pains of a body weighed down by years. I don't. Except perhaps my ankles which are stiff in the mornings from my bad habit of tripping on my own feet. The march of years is fairly kind to us, I think. We feel the same though our bodies keep climbing that mortal hill.
Today I'm going to celebrate being alive. I'm going to eat good food, share good company, laugh while I tickle my kids. I'm going to take a long nap (hopefully) and just be glad for one more day, one more week, one more month, one more year.
Oh, and I'm going to sport this super cute and sassy hair cut curteousy of my sis…

Probably the funniest conversation I've ever had with my son

went something like this:

Me to Josh: Come here!

Josh to me: Just a second, I am getting clean underwear.

Me: What?

Josh: I am getting some clean underwear.

Me: Why?

Josh: Because I want some clean underwear on.

Me: Why do you need clean underwear?

Josh: I just want clean underwear.

Me: {snickering, laughing out loud, chuckling}

Josh to me: I'm not coming over there if you're laughing at me!

Domestic Engineering

It's Monday morning and I have a whole house to clean. It's a daunting task, but it is seriously overdue. The living room, typically the most clean room in the house (probably because we don't use it much), needs to be vacuumed, dusted and just generally tidied up. That's how messy the house is today.

Here is my to-do list. It feels longer than it actually IS.

-Dust, vacuum and tidy up the living room.
-Sweep, mop, clean off all counters, put away dishes in the kitchen.
-Vacuum, dust, put stuff away in the family room.
-Tickle Carly.
-Strip sheets and blankets.
-Bring the basket from downstairs, wash, fold, put away laundry. {shudder}
-Tidy up 2 bathrooms.
-Tickle Josh.
-Convince children to clean their rooms, vacuum floors.
-Clean my room.

I feel a lot like Carly, who was just sent up to her room screaming "I don't want to! I don't want to go to sleep!" (she fell asleep within 2 minutes).

I just really don't want to do it all.

But I suppose that is how we got …

Four for Friday, It's Not All Rainy Days and Mondays Edition

Four reasons I feel better today:
1. This is what I had for dinner last night



2. Eric went to the store and brought me home some of this



3. I slept like this


4. Outside there is

April Fool

I inexplicably feel like crying. Although I am proud of the fact that I can use the word 'inexplicably' in a sentence correctly, that doesn't change the fact that I just don't feel well.

But I'm not sick.

And I have more things to be grateful for than I deserve.

Shall I run over the list again?

No, I didn't think so.

Today, I took a nice long nap with Carly. She woke up first. She is three years old. That means she probably won't stuff small toys in her mouth anymore and choke on them. That means I feel a little more secure about letting her skip around the house while I doze off. Because sometimes, like today, I am just not ready to pull my too-large self out of bed when she is.

Today, after my nice long nap and while I was still drifting in and out of slumber, Carly made the house her wonderland of wonderful things. She:

- gave herself a dose of cold medicine. (One of the kiddy, melt in your mouth strips.)

- used a scoop of foot cream on herself and …