Things that go bump in the night

It's late (as in, it's summer time and it's dark outside) and everyone is asleep except me - cause as everyone knows, mama's don't sleep.

Or maybe it's the thumping and pounding and occasional crash coming from BW's room that's keeping me up. Just as my eyelids begin to resist the urge to stay awake and I can feel sleep's irresistible siren song, another crash occurs - making my heart leap and my breathing stop. WTF?

I used to walk with a heavy step. Anyone who knew me from times before I had children will tell you that is the unholy truth. Since having kids though, I've learned the value of the sneak attack. It took me awhile to perfect the technique, but I now cherish the fact that I can sidle up to them and observe them without their knowledge, and when the time is right, scare the hell out of them. It's a small reward for the long days and longer nights.

In pursuing a sneak attack on BW's room, I noticed that there were several wayward legos that had escaped from the grasp of a little boy who should have been asleep a long time ago as he hurriedly snuck to the basement, grabbed the pieces he needed and scurried back to his room.

Near BW's room, I heard scurrying and whispering. As soon as he heard me opening the door, he ran from his closet, jumped into his bed and rapidly covering his head he yelled "You scared me mama!"

The source of the crashing has never quite been solved, but I did notice a precariously balanced combination of Lincoln logs, legos and matchbox cars in his closet that stood about 18 inches high... And by morning... those wayward legos in the hallway had taken cover... their fate also unknown. BW swears that he didn't do anything with them... but. That's what he said about the bumps in the night too.

If it's not the creepies, it's the crawlies.

Saturday night JB apparently sat outside our door in the middle of the night rocking and thumping causing a great deal of noise. Eventually she fell asleep and when Charles tripped over her the next morning she expressed a great deal of concern that she may have woken us up.

I say apparently she sat outside our door, because after falling asleep, not even a roaring train could have woken me.

When Charles assured her that she not disturbed us, she was greatly relieved. When asked what caused her to migrate to our part of the hallway, the reply he got was... no kidding...

"I was afraid of the meatworms."

Seriously, where do they come up with this?

Last night she would only go to sleep after a great deal of assurance that no, meatworms did not in fact, live in Colorado or the United States for that matter. They were only located on a small island just off the coast of Antarctica, green stripes, pink polka dots and all.

I'm wondering what she'll come up with tonight at 4 am... apparently that's when the meatworms think we are the tastiest. And oh, by the way... your elbows are apparently the best tasting part of you, so cover up when you tuck yourselves in for the night.

It's all in Where you Come From

I just found my first grey hair in what has to be the seventh time this year. I'm thinking that its proof positive that they are slowly, but surely killing me.

I can't tell them that. I used to. But then, I spent a few nights in the hospital with a kidney infection. I'll spare the details on that whole saga, but needless to say, I hope that I don't ever have to go through that again. Potassium Drips if you ever have to get them, suck. Dental surgery is a vacation compared to a PD.

It was during that "vacation" that I realized that I'd uttered the phrase "You are killing me" too often when BW and JB were driving me over the edge, just as a casual phrase or as a passing utterance. Kind of like when your little one looks at you in complete frustration and cries "I HATE you!". You know for that moment that they mean it, but they don't really. But, that week in the hospital, BW looked up at me with the widest eyes possible on a 4-year old little boy and said "I'm sorry I killed you. Can you come home soon?"

Thus the phrase Crazytown was born. Instead of "You are killing me" it's now "You are driving me to Crazytown!" That of course has been adopted by everyone. There is now food that is from Crazytown (stuff that looks disGUSTing), Crazytown Driving School, and some of the people we run across (and yes, some of them SHOULD still be in Crazytown!). You get the drift.

I'm not ready for the grey hairs that mysteriously appear overnight. Nor am I ready (at least on this day) for them to be as grown as they are. It is wonderful that they are as in tune with the world around them, they observe, they opine, they whine and of course, they are hungry. They are confident independent and eager kids who want to take on the world they live in and they speak of their thoughts and opinions without fear.

But part of me misses the smallness of the questions that they have and the fears they express. It sucks really, that you don't know whether you've been successful or not in your childrearing until it's too late and they are grown.

I know that I'll have been truly successful if they reach out to the wide world with open arms and a spirit of adventure, leaving Charles and I to once again experience the kind silence of a clean house, filled with the smell of rich food and the anticipation of a fun evening.

I just hope that I have some color to my hair... If I have any hair left. People who are from Crazytown tend to be bald, you know.

We Flock Together

A night or two ago I had the opportunity to catch up with a good friend, a kindred spirit if you will. We had not had the chance to meet with each other in what seems like ages, when in reality, it had probably only been 3 or 4 weeks.

It was amazing in chatting how much a person's life can change in a very short period of time.

Since we'd last seen each other, the kids finished school, I started volunteering at the local hospital's Emergency Room, School for me started, we planted our garden (well, what little of it we opted to tackle this summer), we've begun what appears to be a bathroom remodeling job (due to a leaky pipe) that won't ever end, and we've been administrating AunT's estate - and oh, the kids are home full time.

She had just as many notable changes to share with me and I hung onto every word she said.

What remains true with her as well as a few other close friends, is that no matter how long it has been since we've last seen each other, we pick up where we left off - as though no time had passed since we'd last talked.

Kindred spirits are like that. There is no awkwardness between them. Whether it's been two days, two months or twenty years the conversation continues as though there was no break in time. They are also the ones you can rely on when sharing news of joys and of sorrows and they love you for who you are, warts, bad moods and all.

It is also true that it is hard to run across and meet up with your kindred, and when you do it's an almost instantaneous recognition. For me it has the benefit of being a joyous occasion - and I feel as though a long lost part of my soul has been found and I am more at ease.

To all my kindreds, I thank you for your friendship. Be you near or far, I love you for who you are and I cherish every moment we have and will share!

Crazytown, let the adventure begin.

This is the seventh Father's Day that we've celebrated. The seventh year of a journey that we never thought we'd be taking.

Before we got married, whenever the the topic of of children would come up Charle's response was that "there are no kids in this camper's future." And he was right. For the first ten years we were married.

But I wanted children. I came from a big noisy family, and I'd always worked with kids through babysitting, teaching swimming lessons, and being with my own family. After six or seven years of trying to have a little one only to be told by several in the medical field that without significant medical intervention, we should consider adoption if we wanted to be parents. I mourned the loss of a child I would never know, and began to enjoy the freedom that comes with the idea of being an aunti to nieces and nephews to come, and spoiling friends kids.

It is amazing how much fun DINKs can have. We had parties with and for friends, cooked amazing foods from around the world - both exotic and spicy types. On a whim we would drop everything for a weekend getaway in the mountains and we purchased some beautiful works of art. In short, we sucked the marrow from the bones of life.

I think we enjoyed ourselves too much. Perhaps, seen as mocking the spirits, we found our lives forever changed one spring day, shortly after my precious greyhound Herman was diagnosed with an in-operable lymphoma deep in his chest, Charles fell and broke his right hand, work for me was crazy busy insane, and we'd just sent off the last payment for a cruise celebrating our 10 year anniversary.

We also found ourselves pregnant.

For real. A combination of medicine, science and stress all culminated into the perfect storm. That was the first Father's day we celebrated and Charles got the biggest, baddest grill we could find. Looking back on it... I'm not sure if we were celebrating the life to be, or saying goodbye to the life of luxury.

Eight months later, BW was born. Seventeen months after that, JB was born. Life has never been the same. It's been a fun ride. And frustrating too. And challenging, and sweet, and... and...

It's on day's like today that I'm reminded of where Charles and I began and of how far we've come. I don't think I'd want to share this roller coaster ride with anyone else. For that I cherish and thank my deepest friend and love.

Thank you Charles for being every bit the man that a woman could hope for, and for being every bit the daddy that a child could want and need. And a toast to all the years to come. (Better make it a strong one, we're gonna need it!)

Whisps of glory

My summer physics class started this morning. It was the first time in 20 some odd years that I am a student in an actual classroom. There is nothing quiet like being forced to face your age than being the oldest one in the classroom, well... excepting for the professor. We are probably cohorts actually.

The two classes I took this spring were college level, but they were online. The fact that I did well in both of them is impressive, considering that there was no one to help me along with the subjects, and statistics is difficult when you DO have a lecture class... as well as the other interruptions I had to overcome.

I'm envious of BW & JB's resilience, their lack of knowledge that it IS possible to fail. To them, the world is their oyster and it is there for the taking. It's why they continue to express interest in things they see in the world around them. It's why without hesitation that they try new sports, new clubs, new activities and setbacks don't phase them or diminish their excitement. I am happy for them at their joy in trying new things, and sad in knowing that there will be a time when that eagerness will begin to fade.

I don't remember those days of carefree freedom and I can say with confidence that without Charles, BW, JB and my friends I'm not sure how far I would get on this seemingly impossible journey that I've undertaken.

It is one in which there is a fierce competition for a few coveted positions in the college. Thousands of people apply each year for one of about one hundred coveted spots. These are the states best and brightest if not the countries, and it is my dream to be one of them. Only I'm trying it 12 years after I finished at the university the first time.

It is a journey that is my life's experiences has been preparing me for, and one that I'm terrified I will not be able to fulfill. I'm dreading that I will receive a letter in a few years time that reads something akin to "Thank you for applying, however you have not been selected as a member of the class".

So many resources will be dedicated for just the opportunity to apply, so many months, so much energy, by all of us. As I've gone along I've had a moment or two of self doubt - and it is at those times that Charles has reminded me that nothing ventured really is nothing gained. I will never succeed if I don't try, and I honestly can't think of a better example than this of pursuing your dreams for the kids.

Knowing this, I believe that I've succeeded because I'm at least trying even if I am not accepted into medical school. I am hoping to get back to 'Back'.

Wish me luck... Fingers crossed!

is it Camo or Camel

In getting ready for a field trip, Charles overheard BW call his camouflaged sweatshirt a Camel. Correcting him that it was actually camo, short for camouflage meaning that it was colored and patterned such that if he were in the forest, he could blend in with the foliage of the trees and shrubs.

JB looking down at her pink camo jacket and asked if she could hide in the forest. Charles, looking at JB's pink camo replied "If you were in the sugarplum forest with fairies and unicorns, you too could hide and not be seen."

Dandelions and Dewdrops

One of the most heartbreaking moments of T's death was when we had to tell BW and JB.

We have always had a straightforward approach towards death. It is part of the cycle of life. We live, we breathe, we love, we cry, we laugh, some of us may have offspring, and at some point on this earth, we will die. The lesson that we've taught them is to always be true and to end each day as though it was your last... leaving nothing unsaid, and make sure that those you love have heard those words before the day is over.

BW and JB were first introduced to the concept of death with our greyhound Molly when she became so old and pained by the arthritis in her back that it was the humane and kind thing to say goodbye and let her go. Similarly, we had the responsibility of letting our dearest Rosie go when kidney failure would have meant only more pain and suffering.

It should have been no surprise to me then, but it was when I shared with the little ones that T had passed. That while she was in a hospital with some of the best doctors in the world, they were not able to help her when it was her time. BW took it matter of factly, and he expresses his sadness in a boyish sort of way. The only questions that he's asked have been very matter of fact and emotionally distant.

When I told JB though it was different. Before her passing, T had planned on visiting for JB's birthday - and knowing this, JB had been planning on gathering all of the dandelions in the neighborhood that she could find and presenting them to auntie as a demonstration of her love.

When told that T was gone, JB burst into tears and said whist fully that now she would never be able to give T the bouquet of dandelions that she'd gathered. In an effort to comfort JB we talked about what the dandelions meant and that we would plant a garden for auntie (despite Charles' grimace - he'd worked for the last several years to eradicate all of the dandelions!).

Since that conversation, I've noticed that the blooming of the dandelions tends to come in waves. Never just one or two flower in the grass... It's more like dozens upon dozens at a time... not unlike the memories that wash over you with a sudden wave of emotion.

For days on end, you will go about your life in a normal fashion as though nothing has changed, and then suddenly a wave of memories all tied together by an intangible web, flow through your mind, one after another until your entire being can't help but grieve in an exhausting manner.

Grieving for a dream unrealized, the death of a loved one, a past hope unfulfilled, the loss of an opportunity, or a love that has been lost.

I believe that the dandelion is now my favorite of flowers even though it is common - so much so that it is a 'weed'. It is steadfast and it will never be notable, yet it has a simple beauty that most do not see.

Bones, Blood, Barf & Bugs

A few nights ago, from the backyard I heard that all indicative I'm-having-too-much-fun cackle-laughter-giggle that BW makes when he's doing something that he KNOWS he shouldn't be doing.

These days, I close my eyes, sigh deeply, and summon all my strength, and enjoy one last quiet moment before I burst out with "BbbbWWWwwww!" and the associative can of "Whoop-ass" that Charles relies upon when they are out of control. It happens more often than I'd like...

Now that the kids have gotten older and are spending more time outside without overwhelming direct supervision (ie, hover parenting), we have become the ONE thing that Charles has always feared. THOSE neighbors.

The ones who have the kids running wild, like a pack of feral dogs. Bikes, scooters and race carts, chalk and miscellaneous toys lie haphazardly around the driveway, sidewalks, grass and occasionally in the street. Our corner of the world is the one where the concept of inside vs outside voices has no meaning. Yes, my friends, we are the circus of the neighborhood.

Thankfully, our pride has been limited to an offspring of only two, and though the numbers are small, their damage is mighty. I honestly believe that the neighbors, upon hearing their voices come to the windows to see what they'll do next.

On this particular night, BW managed to find a portable bike pump and the pump needle for the soccer ball. Perched in one of those larger than life resin outdoor toys, he was squealing in delight at having discovered a really fun toy. One we all know as Lawn Darts.

Yes, my friends. Lawn darts. The metal tipped lawn toy that we had so much fun playing with in our own time that they were banned in 1988 because they were found to cause serious or fatal injuries. Considering the contraption he'd put together, the Lawn Darts of our generation were much safer as those metal tips had a large enough circumference that skin had a chance to resist being punctured. Not so with a ball pump needle.

Thankfully I caught him before he'd had a chance to improve his aim enough to actually hit the dog, who was lying in the grass - attempting to get one last nap in before going to bed for the night.

My liver and my nerves are going to need a vacation after the next 10 weeks. August 17th is the first day of school in our corner of the world and I am counting down the days!

Green Things Grow, Dead Things Don't

When people walk by the house, I often hear the compliment that I have a green thumb - and with the mixture of flowers that are blooming, the plants that are growing, someone might get that impression.

But I know better. I... I...

I have an addiction. I love plants! When at the grocery store or garden center if I see the cart of near dead plants that are on sale, or if it's the end of year perennial plant sell off - I can't resist nosing through them. Charles asks half joking, what am I going to kill now. It's the truth though. I kill plants. I kill LOTS of plants, and I'm really really good at it. But it's not as though I enjoy killing them... I'm just good at it. It's keeping them alive that is the challenge my friends.

Over the years, after snuffing out hundreds (I'm almost certain that at this point it's thousands) of plants and getting a bachelor of science in the subject, I've learned a few tricks that make it appear that I know what I'm doing, and hopefully it's benefited those who have the gumption to try and an eagerness to learn.

The secret to being a green thumb is quite simple. If something doesn't work, don't hesitate to try again. And, of you know someone who has a knack for keeping plants alive, ask them how they do it. Most gardeners are more than happy to share the wealth of information they've picked up over the years. I am. I love to share really, and I love finding out that an answer is helpful.

I'm almost certain that I've killed my share of plants, enough really, to be able to answer many of the questions you may have. I'm not afraid to say that I don't have an answer, but I'll do the research to see if I can find one for you...

Over a cup of coffee....

I'm sitting on the deck enjoying a few quiet (no, not Quiet) moments watching the squirrels and birds, listening to the chatter and waking up slowly with a cuppa joe and thinking.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, since the passing of my sis/dot/friend AunT. I miss her and our near daily conversations. As expected tho, I have regrets that I wasn't able to be there for her more...

I also know that I did all that I could with what I had. It lead me to the thought that it is important to put the past to rest so that the ghosts and regrets of yesterday don't haunt my today or my potential for tomorrow.

Perhaps it is appropriate that she died in the beginning of spring, so that as the season turned to spring, I could experience the overwhelming new life around me, and not forget that she is everywhere. Where ever I look, I see a memory of the two of us working together in the yard, her pushing the kids in the tire-swing, and her sitting patiently in the garden talking with me while I puttered in the dirt.

She is gone, but she isn't. Anyone who's lost a close loved one, be it by death or distance, knows the feeling.

And knowing that I'm not alone in this pain is a comfort.

Daffodils and Dandelions

For most, April 15th is a dreaded day, since that is the day that tax returns and potential payments to the IRS are due. For me, Charles, BW, JB, my siblings, their families and my parents this day, this year forward has a far more heart shattering meaning.

It was on the 15th of April, 2010 that my baby sister, who was three weeks from turning thirty, suddenly and unexpectedly passed away from a bi-lateral pulmonary embolism. It resulted from a series of blood clots which had broken free from a larger one in her lower left leg. She survived a necessary surgery to remove a non-malignant brain tumor located on her brainstem, and was doing impressively well with her therapy, so much so that the Doctors and other staff members were talking about releasing her early.

Sadly, though. That was not to be. Instead of congratulating her on her gumption, Charles and I were on a plane, flying to Boston to close out her apartment, sort through her belongings and bring her home, one last time.

I've survived many, many trials, and a few other tragedies. They have all turned out for the best, and from each period of strife I've learned an important lesson or received some survival skill that has proven to be useful and as a stepping off point for the next phase of life...

I'm not sure where this journey is going to take me, but I know it's going to be awhile before I get there.

Hands Free is not all its cracked up to Be

The other day I was walking past the 'kids' bathroom, the one that has been specifically reserved for them, and should in all sense of the word be deemed a bio-hazard zone.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the slightest movement coupled with stifled giggling from the dark room, and against my better judgement decided to investigate.

In turning on the light I found BW standing in front of the loo with his hands stretched way up in the air, shorts buckled down at his ankles, relieving himself. 

Turning his whole body to face me mid-stream he LOUDLY announced "Look MoM! I'm Hands Free, just like with a cell phone!"

I hate cleaning their bathroom.

Silence is not always Golden

There are two types of 'silence'... But until you are a parent, or spend a significant amount of time with small humanoids, you have the fortune of not having the awareness of such a thing. As a parent or work with children wonder, you know exactly what I'm talking about; Silence vs. Quiet.

Silence, something that is experienced at libraries, book stores, confessionals and for some reason at post offices, is a reprieve from the regular world when things grow too hectic and a small break is needed. It is this type of silence that S@HMs (and stay at home dads) crave... when the last nerve has been strummed and the wave of insanity is about to break.

Silence's cousin Quiet, on the other hand, is feared and dreaded by parents, young and old alike. He takes a little bit of time to recognize, and even longer to judge. In reality though, every person knows Quiet, they met him long ago when they themselves were young. But they know Quiet as a rambunctious, fun and gleeful friend. Sadly as time goes by, as the child grows older he forgets about Quiet. Quiet, recognizing that he's lost his friend goes dormant and evolves... and looks for another friend.

He found him in your offspring.

Every time you stop, listen and whisper to yourself "What are they up to?" you can be sure that Quiet has returned. He first reappeared when you carpet caterpillar began putting foreign objects in his mouth. When the ONE outlet you failed to put the child lock on was discovered, or the lone exposed lamp cord was chewed upon with glee.

A favorite activity Quiet likes to introduce your child to is the magic of unraveling (and if you dear parent are REALLY lucky, flushing) an entire roll of two-ply toilet paper. Another is discovering and exploring the contents of each and every container in your refrigerator on your newly mopped kitchen floor. Yes... this is the influence of the dreaded Quiet.

Quiet visited our house one day when JB found a wayward chunk of sidewalk chalk. She and Quiet came to the conclusion that mama's car was in dire need of embellishment. And embellish they did... JB, Quiet and the chalk.

Quiet met Silence when mama was presented with said embellished car.

Thankfully Reason took over and by some small miracle, the car survived unscathed. It was at that moment I realized just how much a member of the family Quiet had become... And we certainly don't ask "What next?" because THAT is just asking for trouble.

Of Soap Operas and Bons Bons

When I was a 'professional career person' working as a landscape architect and horticulturist, it wasn't unusual to juggle multiple projects of various phases of completion (read crisis). I found it invigorating, challenging, and it gave me a bigger buzz than any cup of coffee or bottle of diet coke I'd ever had. I was literally jazzed on the prospect creating new spaces, exploring the look of plant combinations, learning about adaptive and naturalized eco-systems, meeting with people and working as a team to meet and conquer new challenges and seeing just how close to an impractical and impossible deadline we could finish the product. Jazzed... simply jazzed. That was before I had children.

After BW was born, I experienced all of the success and more. I also found a new sense of comfort in the work. In spite of the new challenges and responsibilities of the colicky spawn of the devil, I still had the ability to create and to manage. Somehow I not only managed, but I thrived on juggling an infant, a full time job, a house, volunteering, working out, and before I knew it, being pregnant again. I was accomplishing the feat of being a "super mama".

I can admit it now that in my youthful inexperience and naivete I thought that having a second little one would be just as easy as the first one, only there would be 'a little more work'. My error was thinking in terms of addition. Upon hearing this, ANY mother with more that two children will just laugh, nod and smile. The effort required after the first child isn't in terms of addition, it's exponential. I can't explain it. It makes no logical sense what so ever, but that is the way it is. You will feel like you will never sleep again (you will). The laundry will never be done again (really, it won't). And unless you have a cleaning service comprised of someone other than your spouse, your house will never recover from the chaos that ensues. But no one can understand that without experiencing it first hand. Since having had JB, I too have joined the club of the smile and nods.

I also thought that without the job it would all be much easier. When JB was born, it all seemed to be too much. Too much stress, too much laundry, too much unanswered mail, too much laundry, too much to do. I found myself distracted by the exponentially increasing length of the todo list for home, and the pace at work was slowing to the point where it became obvious to one and all that I needed to retire for a few years and as charles puts it "open up a can of whoop ass" and get the kids, the house, the life in a manageable order again.

To think that it would be easier without a job is a terrible, terrible mistake. It is in no way easier. It's just different. Obstacles exist in both lifestyles, they are just different. Would I change how things have been? Absolutely not. But, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'm anxious to be working on getting back to Back.

In fact. I can't wait.

And Toad Makes 6

Almost a year ago our neighbors (who, by the way are lovely people and we've really enjoyed getting to know!) completed a beautiful landscaping project. Their last task was to spread the massive pile of washed river rock in the landscape beds, and like other parts of the project this task was quickly completed. Since BW finds it impossible to respect boundaries unless they are marked by 6 foot razor wire fences, he of course (with JB in tow) went to check out the rocks... And that, my friends was when the number of occupants in our house grew by one.

After a suspiciously quiet period of time, the kids burst into the house with squeals of delight and screams of terror. Somehow between the shrieks and madness of two small excited children talking at the same time, BW managed to lift his hand and proudly display his trophy... a small, but very wriggly .... *sigh* ... toad.

Now, we live NOWHERE near a toad's habitat. We live in a suburban community. There are lots of green spaces and green ways - and thusly we have lots of wildlife... raccoons, skunks, geese, squirrels, foxes, birds galore and the occasional garter snake, but no lizards, frogs or toads.

In the spirit of science and adventure and for the sake of being a good mama, we kept the ever-so-creatively named 'Mr. Toad', thinking that during the few weeks the thing managed to survive, we'd learn a lot about nature, revisit the topics of life and death, and go on our merry way after a brief interruption to the normal chaos.

Visiting all of the thrift stores in town that day gained us an appropriately sized tank, the pet store garnered crickets and a pile of leftover topsoil from the neighbors gave us the native soil that we think toad came from. Of course, toad's new home was not complete without a pile of rocks that BW 'found' to build a 'house' for the dude.

After hours of research we determined that Mr. Toad is most likely a rocky mountain toad, and when he hopped into our lives, was probably only a week or two old... meaning that we wouldn't find out if it was a 'he' or a 'she' for several more months, if it lived that long... which we didn't expect... which, it has. This is one of those times where you can't quite decide if you should pat yourself on the back for a job well done, or cringe because you've done such a good job when you didn't mean to.

Now that a year has passed, BW and JB are sad because "Mr." toad hasn't begun croaking yet. Now, months ago, after a process of elimination I'd pretty much determined that "Mr."" toad was actually a "Ms." toad, and was doomed never to croak... well, in a fashion meant for attracting a mate, at least. But, since we've assumed all along that he was a he, not a she, we continue on with the gross error.

We have found tho, that in following the trends of toad, that he is extremely accurate at predicting bad weather and massive storms. Over the course of the fall and winter, if we noticed that he had snuggled himself into the moist soil, we'd pull out the stormy wardrobe. If we noticed that he buried himself, we'd batten down the hatches and stock up on perishables. If we couldn't find him, we'd stock up the liquor closet and hope the blizzard didn't last longer than the stupor. And the dude was nearly always right... Not that it helped our wallet much... it was a long winter, but we were well prepared.

So, as we celebrate one year with Mr. Toad, we'll get him an extra box of crickets, a fresh pool of distilled water, yell at BW to let the dude have one day of peace, and go about the chaos... and maybe one day, we'll get our end table back.

File # 13...

In trying to come up with something to blog about last night I discovered that there are many many funny, sad and juicy stories to share, but most of them are too 'something'.

Too revealing, too harsh, too judgemental, too invasive and so on.

It increased my respect for the blogs I've followed for years; those that provide a reprieve for everyone else often at the sacrifice of their own privacy, for those that are a distributor of information on how to do things 'better', those that have stumbled upon a common thread of ridiculousness of the human condition, and those that are a cooperative site where many writers come together and share bits and pieces of their lives.

Or maybe I'm not as open about myself as I'd like to think I am...

How far does one go for a hobby?

The f'n Flower Spoon

At the moment my 5 and 6 year old are arguing about who gets the 'Flower Spoon'.

Really.

Let me explain.

17 years ago when Charles and I got married, one of our gifts was a set of everyday tableware. Meant to be a touch classier than the usual, it included a jam spoon, which was distinguishable from the standard spoon by the scallop of the bowl itself.

For years, it laid neglected, unused and in a somewhat pristine state in the silverware drawer. In the 'junk' slot. Then, one day. BW found it. Wondered aloud 'What is that cool spoon?' which of course drew the attention of his sister.

Since that day, 3 years ago, the spoon has been fought over at nearly every snack, meal or occasion that features food. Which, of course, is nearly every moment of every day.

I never knew I left working in a highly competitive field to open a buffet.