Monday, December 16, 2013

Vaca

Vaca... not what you think it is when you have children.

Think you are going to have some downtime to watch a movie, or read a book? Silly you - when the children are in school - that's when you race madly about (hoping you don't get a speeding ticket) with all the other mom's in town desperate to get things done before the chaos begins anew.

Alone time? HA! You will be joined even during 'bathroom' time by the family dog who is anxious as to why routine (ie, protocol) is no longer being followed.

Visions of eating whatever you want for lunch? Such a dreamer. The first time the offspring find the remnants of your dining, you will regret revealing you have a hidden stash.

So it is. The book continues to collect dust, the couch forever remains un-dented where my ass was supposed to loll the hours away and the stash never to see the light of day.

But the chaos, excitement in sharing their day and the ensuing zoo make it all worth it. Life is full, and thankfully so.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Monkey Enough

It was bound to happen. Only a matter of time. It's a right of passing, really. These are the things I'll be saying to myself over the next few weeks.

Getting into the car yesterday BW handed me a note and excitedly announced to JB - "GUESS WHAT!!! SOMEONE IN MY CLASS HAS HEAD LICE!!!"

I cringed and then shuddered. My mother escaped this milestone of child rearing, so I've personally never seen these lovely critters... But still, I've read enough to know that this is a battle I don't want to gear up for.

When we got home, the first order of business was checking to see if I would become a member of the 'nit-picking club'. While the saying is slung about with ease, it's meaning has an origin... And again, I cringe.

But, thankfully - so far at least - we can leave the mom description as "highly detail oriented" and leave off the 'nit-picky'. And, *sigh*, I'm hoping that the boy isn't so interested in bugs that he goes out of his way to collect "some specimen".

The minions are, after all, monkey enough as it is. I can't even begin to imagine what they'll be like if we have to process through that experience.




Monday, October 21, 2013

Leftovers

I'm never quite sure what I should make of some of the papers that arrive way home with random streams of consciousness noted on them.

Like this one. I'm not sure what this is or why it was important enough to record. Nor do I think I want to know.




One thing is for certain; according to whichever child wrote it, ants use leftover larvae and for some reason, it was important enough to write that fact down.

Rebellion

I have been resisting the urge all day to randomly burst out (in the library or other somesort of quiet place)


"Good Morning People of Earth!" 



Only, not with such clean language and certainly not in a 'quiet' voice.

Instead I leave my gum wrapper on the counter.

 I am a quiet rebel.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Wha? October!?

Life did it again.  It's OCTOBER?

Last time I looked we were closing in on the end of July, back to school commercials were starting to show up on the tele, and we were all thoroughly suffering from a severe case of Cabin Fever.

Now there are candy corns everywhere, pumpkins are popping up on porches around town and leaves are falling... Christmas decorations are lining store shelves and the weatherman said snow is on its way by the end of the week.  

And wow, my 'Bag of Skittles' has become a fountain.  As each person and my activities are color coded on my calendar - there are weeks in which my schedule is a colorful rainbow of 'fun'.

It's been an awfully colorful fall!  Now that we are six weeks into the semester, things have finally settled down enough that I have been able to carve out a few minutes each week to put pen to paper... I hope, who knows, in the Olson's household, sometimes we are surfing the wave of chaos and holding on tight until the weekend.

It's moments of realization like this that I realize that a 'pause' button would be nice and I'm ever so thankful for coffee!

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Princesses, Princesses

From the moment she was able to talk and bratty behavior made it's appearance by way of stomping feet, and ear-piercing screeching "NO!" I would stop mid-whatever it was and gently correct her by saying "Darling, I love you... but I'm sorry, we do not have princesses in our house... we have ladies. If you choose to be a lady, that's awesome. If you choose to continue to act like a princess, the door to the back yard is right there. Use it."

Ladies are kind, brave, strong, loving and warm-hearted. (Think Cinderella)

Princesses are selfish, demanding and bratty. (Think Cinderella's step-sisters)

Ladies don't mind an honest days work, getting their hands dirty because they need to, or because it is FUN!

Princesses don't.

Ladies enjoy science, bugs, the night sky and all things that fly.

Princesses... not so much.

She's never been a fan of Disney or the Princesses they portray (until along came Brave, and we made some adjustments) and I overheard her tell one of her mates that she would rather be a lady any day of the week.

Little by little words do shape our kids.






Monday, July 29, 2013

A Bagful of Skittles

It was during my Stay @ Home Mom Days (or S@hM days, the 'h' is silent) that the dare came about.

BW and JB were both active toddlers and as the days grew longer and the temperature rose that the challenge of being home all day with little to no adult interaction bean to wear upon my soul. Working through a serious case of Post-Partum Depression didn't help either, but it was the lack of stimulating conversation that haunted me most.

Charles had recently finished his Masters degree and now with the extra time that he normally spent working on his thesis was complete, he used the extra time to pursue the hobbies and interests that he had put on hold while his few free hours off of work and Dad duty was spent programming and finishing his educational and professional goals.

It was during one especially challenging week that culminated into the perfect storm of frustration.

Charles' father and grandfather were scheduled to arrive in a day or two for a couple of weeks and my days were spent trying to prepare the house for guests, keep up with the daily chores while also meeting the needs of the topplers.

The week that his father was to arrive coincided with several invitations from various camping, hiking and cycling buddies, and without realizing the confluence of events ~ he'd said yes to all of them, and I'd agreed that he should go and have fun.

The week had been a peaceful one, which should have been a hint at the ensuing storm... The day before grand and great grand fathers were to arrive, Charles's was invited to hike a 14er. We had been tempting fate, and by accepting the invitation to clime a mountain, Mother Nature must have felt as though she was being mocked.

The morning he left, the house was filled with nervous energy. Bickering, battles of wills involving both children, a sick dog and a literal glass of spilled milk filled the day, and not nearly enough work was completed.

It was the spilled milk that did me in. Flailing toddler arms in the midst of a temper tantrum resulted in a half a gallon of milk flying as though in slow motion in the air, across the dining room and pouring the entirety of it's contents into the carpet.

Charles was late in coming home and the clock was ticking for the relatives arrival and the milk in the carpet was beginning to sour.

I've personally never seen a 'wet hen' but I'm certain that Charles does, as that was what met him when he finally came home.

Once I'd expressed my frustration and had a chance to take a break from the little ones, we quickly readied for our guests and retired for the evening.

After the kids had been put to bed for the 29th time that night, we were sharing stories about our days. I took a moment to apologize for having been so emotional. I mentioned that it was so challenging to be with kids for so many hours in the day without the opportunity to take even a few minutes for myself. (Even the bathroom provided no relief - they sat on the other side of the door, beating it with their little hands, calling for me through the door-jam.)

Charles replied in a very un-Charles like manner.

"Well, if you did have an afternoon to yourself, what exactly would you do? It's no like you have any hobbies or anything."

The truth of his words took the breath out of my lungs and it was several days before I was able to think about what had been said without the sting of his words causing tears to spring forth.

In the time since then, I've taken up many different hobbies, returned to school, begun working full time and volunteering at the local hospital and with daughter's persistence, started a Girl Scout Brownies troop and developed several different social groups.

At the same time, BW and JB have found their own hobbies, and we have had a few weeks where we've not been able to sit down for dinner as a family for an entire week.

Not once has Charles' complained about how busy I've become, though I doubt that he would ask what I'd do if given a few free hours.



Sunday, July 28, 2013

Lost Romo


Earlier this summer in the post 'Inadequacy',  I reflected on the fact that summer time is one very long 80 day weekend. As I bemoan summer break, or question my sanity, please help me remember this image.

The boy lost the all-in-one-very-expensive remote sometime Friday afternoon. We couldn't find it even after searching high, low, under, over and behind nearly every object in the house.

The girl found it Saturday afternoon while looking for a snack.

We couldn't find it because we never thought to look IN the bag.

22 days friends.

22 days until the hallowed halls of school once again welcome these little voices in wiggly bodies and sanity returns to the Olson's household.




Sunday, July 21, 2013

A Matter of Timing

"Mama?"

"Yes, JB?"

"Don't you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No.  I'm good."

"No, Mama. I think you need to go to the bathroom. Don't you."

"Really, I'm good."

"No. Mama. you need to go to the bathroom NOW."

"Charles, why does she keep telling me I need to go to the bathroom?"

"She's hungry and she wants to eat."

"What in the world does that have to do with me going to the bathroom?"

"Haven't you ever noticed that whenever we go out to eat, you go to the bathroom and when you return our food is at the table?"

".... um.... maybe..."

"Well, they are convinced that if you go to the bathroom, the food will come."

"Yeah Mama. GO to the bathroom. I'm HUNGRY!"

In an effort to end this ridiculous conversation, I complied, and as I returned to the table our food had been served and both BW and JB were happily munching on their french fries.

Yeah. They might be onto something.




Monday, July 15, 2013

Inadequacy

School supplies have started appearing on store shelves, warm evenings with stagnant air render us fodder for mosquitoes and patience is a virtue lost to days past.

I reach this point nearly every summer, and this one is no different. Too much of everything and everyone else and not enough time to think without interruption. The ability to focus on one item is a distant and evasive memory. It's during these last months of summer vacation that my inabilities as a parent becomes apparent to everyone, not just me.

The loudness of unrelenting noise, bickering and constants in their demands leaves me worn out and grumpy and in a constant state of irritation that is one hair away from a complete temper tantrum (a mommytrum).

I hate that person. I hate everything that she is and actively work to evolving into her, this shadow of a destined fate. While I am successful during most days in the year, it is during summer break that I stumble in this endeavor. I fall and fail in such a grand fashion that the sting of my failure washes away the memory of any accomplishments that I'd made the school year before. And I hate myself for it.

Each night as the children are tucked in, I promise to myself that I will do better, I will be more patient, I will spend more time with them, read them more books and be a better mother. But this is an unrealistic expectation. I work from home, and it is the nature of children that they interact with their mamas at least 30 times in an hour, if not more.

This constant is what does me in. During the course of the school year, their brains and bodies are engaged with learning, practicing and constant stimulation. Weekends are a time of relaxing and having fun and getting caught up on chores that didn't fit in our schedules during the week. Given the shear amount of work to be done at home, even those days are often full and moments to relax are cherished. Once school comes to an end though, the days stretch into one long unending and mind-numbing weekend that lasts 80 days.

Teachers eagerly release wiggly children into the wilds of their homes where their active little minds and bodies are no longer being filled with useful and practical bits of information. No, instead they are filled with boredom and irritation at their limited social life. At least that is the way it works in our home. I've work to do if I want to keep my mind sane and money in my account leaving little time to 'play' cruise director.

We've made the hump, and are now on the down slope of vacation, and though that seems like it should be easy from now until the end of August, these are the longest days. Summer vacation is a marathon. And like marathon the easy part is at the beginning. There is a lot of energy and excitement and the challenge is to find the right pace and stick to it so that you don't crash and burn before you finish.

I thought I had it all worked out, but as the days have melted into each other I've come to the realization that yet again, I was mistaken.

My liver and I need to hold it together for 30 or so more days. School starts in 35, but the week or so before is filled with a flurry of Back-to-School excitement that we all find refreshing, like a salve on skin weathered from having spent too much time in the sun and wind.

As has become our ritual, when BW and BB see me at work on a blog post, they inquire about it. In chatting with them about the topic of summer and how I feel as though I'm not as good a mama as I can be. BW paused deep in thought, and replied "Well, mama. If that's true, then I could certainly be a better child. I think we are all doing it just right. It's just a tough season." BB nodded in agreement and said that she missed the homework too.

Together my team mates and I will slog through the next several weeks and hopefully arrive at the end of the season unscathed.

They did make me promise them two things. To laugh more, and to write more. Those are promises that I intend to keep.




Friday, July 12, 2013

Hard at work, Constantly Moving

BW is off at Cub Scout camp, and now that he is a WeBeLo, will spend an extra day in the mountains using the time to visit the Boy Scout Camp as an introduction to the events and activities that are available once the Cubs have 'bridged' into Boys.

At first I was gleeful at the lack of bickering that would occur between he and JB, but after last evening and this morning, I've come to the realization that I now have Dot's attention - ALL to myself. Level one of Dante's Inferno ~ Check!

She's been requesting for the last several months that I change her nickname, JB. Originally intended as JuneBug, she and others her age identify it as Justin Beiber. While many fawn over this 'superstar singer' JB CANNOT stand him.

BW has taken to teasing her for her initials, and to eliminate this as a 'tool' in his arsenal of taunting I've been attempting to honor Dot's wishes.

But nicknames aren't easy to whip up, and I've been toying with names for the last several weeks. Today, her high spun level of interaction and activity made it obvious what her nickname should be.

She is always moving, working, creating and singing when she's not talking.  She is a breath in talk out kind of girl and I am in love with her. Graceful, witty, clever, intelligent and creative, she has an unmatched ability to make us all laugh when situations become too tense or serious.

This morning, with BW at camp, and Dot focusing her attentions on the only other person at home with her, me, her new nickname came in a literal flash. BB. As in Bumble Bee.  Always hard at work and constantly moving.

She is beyond happy with the name, and she's excited that I share her new name with the world.

Here you go BabyGirl. Loves you!

* Update: BW Threw a FIT about Dot's nickname - that's the name of his beloved pillowpet. So, with the promise of not teasing JB for her name, she's decided to stick with JB.





Saturday, July 6, 2013

Whispering Bees

We'd just returned from Taekwondo and after parking the car and bustling about, Charles noticed that the boy was sitting on the driveway near the blooming and actively buzzing lavender in his stark white ghi.

"BW ~ Can you please get up off the driveway and go change into something else. You are going to stain your ghi."

"Sure Daddy.  I'm just talking with the bees at the moment. I'll be in when we're done with our conversation."

"Alright then. Be sure to say hi for me."

"Sure thing Daddy.  But it's not really that kind of conversation."

"Ok, then."

Never a dull moment in the Olson household I tell you what. Maybe that's why we call him Bug Whisperer. 





Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Jackson

It became a habit that started by chance.

As was our tradition, we were seeing an 'Arnie' movie, one of the many Arnold Schwarzenegger thin-storyline-but-lotsa-muscles adventures that we'd become accustom to seeing together. Between my arriving late to his house to pick him up, and his step-mom's fussing and slow travel due to snow, we got a late start to the show. When we arrived at the theater at the last possible moment, we managed to find the last possible parking space in a vast wasteland of asphalt.

Everything was off that evening; energy levels, conversation and timing. Finding this last spot and parking by the sad pine tree that was so reminiscent of the Christmas Tree from 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' it was the virtual cherry on top of the series of mishaps that we'd experienced thus far.

So we laughed. The movie was pretty typical - I think it was the 'Running Man' - and the story was painfully appropriate for the miss-mash of our moods. Neither Jackson nor I were in the sort of light hearted spirit needed for conversation and the drive home was as silent as the one there.

In the years following that night, whenever a new Arnie movie came out, we'd meet up, head to the same theater and park beneath the sparse boughs of THE tree, which I'd christened as Tom along the way.

As the decades have passed, our lives have moved in different directions. Each of us has married and we have our own little families. On rare occasions our paths cross, but never for very long. Most of our conversations center around what we've been up to since we last met, but sometimes on the rare occasion we delve into deeper topics, but my overly inquisitive nature and peppering of questions often drives him away until we meet again.

Neither of us lives in the town we grew up in, and our homes now lie in different parts of the country. Even now though out of habit, after my long drive to work I consistently park in a vast lot in front of a sparse and sad looking ash. And as I do, I can't help but remember that lonely little pine from my teens that has now grown to a massive Douglas Fir (or so it seemed the last time I went home.)

To you my friend Jackson, on this day I wish you a Happy Birthday and thank you for your friendship. I hope that the next time we meet up it will be a long and happy conversation.  Until then, I wish you many viewings of bad Arnie movies and good fortune along the way.

~ Amy



Saturday, May 25, 2013

My Life is a Zoo, Part IV

It wasn't the 6 additional girls and one boy who were over for a birthday sleep over that led to the excitement.  No, that was left to the sparrow that flew into the house via the open deck doors and then proceeded to tour the house in what had to be one heck of an amusement ride.

Birds have inadvertently flown into the glass deck doors, seeing the mirrored image of the clouds and blue skies behind them and mistaking the glass for open air.

We've also had 'gifts' proudly presented in such places as our bed or near the dinner table by two very eager and proud cats. But we've never been sitting at the table casually conversing while the other zoo, the kid zoo, was firmly underway only to have the level of chaos reach a frantic level as when a lone sparrow zipped over our heads and began flying about the room as though he was in an exercise wheel.

Thankfully, our vaulted ceilings provided an area that was safely out of reach of the screeching children, and eventually the bird made it's way to JB's room.

Quietly closing the door after slipping inside, I found the bird perched for dear life on a loose section of the wallpaper boarder near the ceiling.

Spotting me, the bird flitted about the small space, and eventually flew into the mirrored closet doors. (As a side note, every sliding closet door in the house is mirrored. When we first moved into the house, we joked that the previous owners must have been into filming porn or another form of self expression.)

Momentarily stunned from its run-in, the small bird was scooped up in a cardboard gift box and gently carried out to the deck where it could recoup and hopefully fly off. Which it did, eventually flying off into the nearby cottonwood. Later we saw him eating at the bird feeder, and the kids cheered that the little guy made it.

"Mama.  It's certain now. We live in a zoo. Even that poor bird thought it was home."

"Indeed, BW. Indeed."





Saturday, April 20, 2013

Masters with Money

Overheard while undergoing a 'Clean and Clear' Saturday.

"Mama!!"

"What?"

"I NEED YOUR HELP CLEANING MY ROOM!"

"Um, I have the rest of the house to take care of... And I helped you with it two weeks ago.  Pick a corner of your room, start there and work your way around."

"But... But... MA-MAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

"JB! I'll help you if you pay me fifty cents."

"Ok!  I have thirty five cents! Thank you!"

"OK! It's a deal. And! I can make change for you!"

And off they ran to tackle the pit that evolved over the course of the last three weeks.  Monies were exchanged and all was peaceful.  Except for Charles and I who were shaking our heads in steadfast 'Uncle'.

Yes, both identified as math wizards at school, 'geniuses' at counting money.

*sigh*




Wednesday, April 17, 2013

While My Garden Sleeps

A surprise spring snow has come to River City burying us in nearly 18 inches of white stuffs, and it's moments like these that I realize that even though I am ready for my little growing space to wake up, Mother Nature has a very different idea at the moment.

Shockingly this spring my schedule, the gardening bug and my energy level all peaked at the same time this spring and I've successfully started and recently transplanted what I hope to be this years crop of Tomatoes, peppers, eggplants.

Pumpkins, melons, spaghetti squash, cucumbers and the obligatory zucchini have all been planted in their little seed trays, and hopefully sprouts that give rise to ropes of vines laden with fruit will soon be seen.

As mentioned in last years post on garden planning it is while it is bitterly cold outside and the wind howls loud and long that it is time to clean and sharpen tools if that work wasn't done with Autumn's fall, to inventory and pull seeds for the year's planting and replenish supplies depleted from last season's efforts.

This spring has been a wildly warm one with more days in the 60+ temperatures than those at or near freezing. Snow and other forms of precipitation have been noticeably absent this season, and water restrictions for this spring and summer have been announced.

With such a warm spring already in place, it is so terribly challenging to resist the urge to dig into the soil and smell it's freshness and feel the dirt beneath my nails as the sun burns my skin. It's at those moments when my 'Toad list' reminds me of all I've left to do before I can play in the dirt.


Even though it can be a challenge to write down and note all the "shoulda's, woulda's and coulda's" that have been come up during the previous years growing season, and during conversations around 'oh! wouldn't it be nice if...' are cataloged and later drawn upon when the overwhelming urge to dig in too soon strikes.

As I learned from a professor many years ago as a student of horticulture, you don't want to work the soil too soon, because it is a delicate eco-system and when you are too eager you can cause so much damage that it will take years for the soil and beneficial microbes to recover and become the source of life you were so eager to create.


Nearly every successful farmer and gardener knows this, but it can be so challenging to keep it in mind when the Chinook winds blow through, the sun is bright and high in the sky and the spring flowers are bursting with color.


Today I am thankful for the snow. Not only for the greatly needed moisture that it provides, but also for the 'pause' it puts into place creating a moment to relax, look at the beauty and appreciate the silence that comes with it as the inches begin to accumulate.

Soon enough spring will truly be here and the free moments in these longer days will vanish with the snow. I will busily transplant happy seedlings into their spot in the garden, or other niches around the house and watch as they grow and mature, offering their gifts by way of fruits and vegetables and other yummy treats.

But until then, I am enjoying this moment, looking out over the blizzard that has formed and enjoying a cup of coffee before having to tend to chores that never seem to end when there are children in the house.

I am truly blessed.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Study Habits

Every now and again I stumble upon a picture that I've taken along the way that so aptly demonstrates the insanity that sometimes rules the house.

One such picture is this. 



Captured on a hellish weeknight while slogging our way through homework, we finally gave up on how studying for spelling 'should be done' and let the boy go about it on his own terms. 

*Sigh* If you notice, the only thing in the picture that is fuzzy is the feet. That's because they were actively waving about, as the child called out each word, letter by letter. 

Considered by Charles and I to be one of the more ridiculous study sessions we've had thus far in BW's short academic career, we all managed to escape without too many bumps or bruises and it seemed to work, for the boy at least.  He scored a 95% on his spelling test.



Thursday, April 11, 2013

The Winding Road

It has been a long trek. One filled with endless hours of studying, countless words strung together, and reams of paper hole punched and hauled about from one class to another.

Recently I received a little book in the mail from an unexpected source and within it's pages I found the following quote to be eerily applicable to the journey I've undertaken as I attempt to move into a field so far removed from that which I trained when I was younger.

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned
so as to have the life that is waiting for us."
- E.M. Forester, British writer (1879-1970)

My quest to move into the field of medicine has been in effect since the Spring of 2010. After many sleepless nights trying to figure out what to do with my life, how to best use my talents and develop my interests I came to the conclusion that the people I was happiest around and enjoyed socializing with were nurses and doctors. So I began to investigate how to become one of them.

After looking into and determining that the best option for myself and my little family was to register for and attend a nearby community college and ultimately acquire an RN.

During a routine checkup with my doctor, (who after so many years, was also a friend) I mentioned to her that after many months of reflection and soul searching that I'd made my decision as to my future career path. I shared that I was going to work towards an RN and hopefully become a valued member of the field. And we began talking about the details and timeline for this goal.

As she was about to leave, she paused with her hand on the opened door, and as she turned she closed it and said. "Amy, I cannot in good conscious leave this room without letting you know that I think that you would make a good nurse but a great doctor. As a nurse you would be fired a lot because you have too inquisitive a mind, and you don't hesitate to challenge others when you think they are wrong and no doctor that I know would be welcoming of that."

Over the next twenty or so minutes (which is precious time for a doctor) she laid out how it was possible for me to attend medical school, pass my boards and begin practicing as an MD. She steadfastly dismissed each of the reasons that I had as to why her suggestion of medical school was not only outlandish, but impossible.

At dinner I mentioned the conversation to Charles, and after some thought, he set his fork down and stated in a matter of fact voice that our friend and health provider Lyn was absolutely correct.

And so began the 'scenic route' that Charles calls the last few years.

I have jumped through hoops, challenged the unquestionable, accomplished what many doubted and gotten up when beaten down. And I've done it for three years.


But today I am tired. And it's hard not to think of all the time, events and experiences that I've missed with my family without an obvious reward to make it all seem worthwhile.

Twice I've submitted applications; twice I've received an impersonal email rejection. It does not matter how eloquent I write my essays, or the quality of the recommendations I assemble or the timeliness in which I submit my application. I have come to the stark realization that even though I have the talent, the interest the endurance and the intellect to become an awesome practitioner of medicine, it is likely that I will never be given the opportunity to do so. But again, I will submit an application over the summer, hopeful that one of the programs I seek to attend will grant me entry.

I'm trying hard to not let the frustration and disappointment turn into bitterness, and on some day's I'm more successful than others. After surviving CNA boot camp over Christmas break, and with great prospects of getting a job at one of the 'nicer' long-term care facilities, I have still not turned in my application for work. The idea that I shot for the moon and landed in... a black hole is just too much at the moment.

I currently have a stimulating job that is just the right level of stress and that I find is intellectually challenging on a regular basis. I've met wonderful people, and developed lasting relationships. I've learned more about myself than the subjects I've covered or the people I've worked with.

I wonder though, how long the social element will let me continue in my position as a captioner. I suspect that at some point I will be wholly rejected by the students that I work with due to my greying hair, sagging skin and warbling voice, not to mention my slowing reflexes when it comes to word processing.

So I wonder what the future has in store for me. At this moment the fire in my belly is but embers, ready to take off and burn hot and strong, or conversely, extinguish.

As one of my favorite fortune cookie sayings goes "fall will see your worries slip away."  I know that time will tell, and that fall might just see my worries slip away, but I sure wish that it would do it sooner rather than later.

My soul has sure taken a beating.





Wednesday, April 10, 2013

My life is a Zoo Part III

Squirt is losing her mind.

Since posting of our last adventures with Ricky and friends, our girl has convinced herself that there is "SOMETHING" living in our fireplace.

Yes friends. A creature of seemingly ill repute is living in our fireplace. But only Squirt is able to detect it, and she has taken to 'guarding' us from the fireplace.

But we aren't entirely sure what she is guarding us from. She was so convinced that something was in there, that she had me going.

Charles and I pulled out the damping material from the insert, got a hoe and dug about the fake 'logs' in there just in case there was anything taking up roost.  There wasn't a single thing. Rodent traps, bird traps and the motion-activated cameras have caught nothing to date.

Unfortunately, while I was digging around in the fireplace, Squirt stuck her head in, sniffed about and let out a series of fierce 'warning barks' only to have them echo back at her and scaring her pee-less and further convincing her that 'It' is in there.

Until the raccoons moved into a neighbors yard last fall, we had never heard her bark (yes, 9 years without a single bark!) ... and now she is fully exploring her new-found voice, leaving me on edge.

I'll be working quietly along on a transcript for Kait and BAM! This giant black streak bursts into the office, and lets 'It' have it. Exhibit 27 is attached.  The Great Defender in action.

Seriously, who needs coffee when random barks of don't-mess-with-me-I've-people-to-protect heart stopper like Squirt's can keep me going?

And here I thought the boy was going to do me in before my time.




Tuesday, April 9, 2013

RIP Roger Ebert

There is nothing like seeing the announcement of the death of one of those you admire to put a dent in your day.

I was crunching along on Kait's lectures with impressive focus and speed when the news flash about the passing of Roger Ebert came across my screen. And with a snap, my motivation was gone.

As with many of my age, I grew up with Roger Ebert seeing him on TV as my parents watched his weekly show 'At the Movies' where he and Gene Siskel reviewed the latest movie releases and gave them either a thumb up, or a thumb down.

Later as an adult, Charles and I came to rely upon Ebert's movie reviews to decide if a movie was worth spending what few dollars we had on date night. He was also the one we looked to when, after watching a movie and having a 'what was THAT all about' moment to see if his words could provide any clarification. We became so reliant on Ebert's opinion, that even now we ask 'What did Roger say?' before settling on a movie to see at the theater.

Charles's is an avid reader of Ebert's blog and his twitter feed. Over the years, Charles has sent me links to those entries that he felt explained something he felt, or that he thought was particularly insightful or touching.

Over the course of our life together there has been one question that remained unanswered. That was, until Charles sent me an email with the following link and the simple statement...

"The words that Roger uses are far better than anything I could ever come up with to answer your question of why I love and am in love with you."


Many tears have been shed since learning of Ebert's passing. For the words that will be left unwritten, sentiments unexplained and observations or controversies to be documented. We have also shed tears for Roger's wife. Our heartfelt condolences are with her and her close ones and we wish her strength in the long days ahead of her, and the ability to mourn when she is able.

Now that he is no longer with us in body, we hope that his spirit lives on through his website rogerebert.com and the legacy that he leaves behind.

You are already missed Mr Ebert. I hope that you and Siskel are busily at work catching up with each other now that you are rejoined. Perhaps that will be the new reasoning behind the thunderstorms that so heavily populate Colorado's summer nights.


~ Amy






They don't smell so good

When the Vet's tech tells you "Um, not those ones, they don't smell so good." Take her word for it.

It turns out that while Squirt was 'busting a move' in the snow a few weeks ago, she pulled her iliopsoas - a teeny tiny muscle in the inner thigh that stabilizes the hip. When pulled, the pain is breath-takingly bad, is easily re-injured and generally takes forever to heal. As a result, we need to give her meds for the course of her healing.

The only problem is that Squirt doesn't 'do' meds.

 Hide them in whatever edible you wish, she will gingerly nibble away each bit of the treat and spit the pill across the room, with the same level of interest as an old man spitting chaw into a spittoon.

On a whim, and not looking forward to the battle of the meds, I asked about the Greenies Pill Pockets that were on display, opting to try them since we'd tried everything else. They had three flavors available; chicken, beef and duck with pea.

Asking which was the most popular, the Cheryl, the tech replied that "Dogs really seem to enjoy the duck, but they don't smell so good."

Heck, if the dog gobbles them down and takes her meds, how bad could the duck really be?

I should have paid more attention to the look on the Cheryl's face when I checked out.

We tried them with Squirt when we got home, expecting her to once again spit out her meds, but she didn't. Drooling, she sat, raised her paw to shake, and tried every trick in the book, begged for another.

Charles and I were too amazed to notice anything but what the dog was doing.

JB and BW came into the kitchen asking what we were giving Squirt. Showing them the bag, we asked why.

"It smells,” they said, "and not in a good way."

"Well, the Tech said they don't smell so good."

"Mama," JB said "When the Tech says they don't smell so good, I think that is polite for 'they smell like... well, like..."

"Ass" contributed BW.

"Yes, ass." confirmed the girl.

Indeed. We've discovered over the last few weeks that Squirt goes crazy for them; with the slightest rustle of the bag and she's awake and running to the kitchen, ribbons of slobber forming at her mouth.

But the smell.

Oh my god the smell. It just won't leave, no matter how many times you wash your hands, or the air freshener that you use. It is only a matter of time before the smell discipates, or you become numb to it.

It's not the dog who dreads med time anymore.  I'm just hoping the beef one's aren't so 'memorable'.






Monday, April 1, 2013

My Life is a Zoo, Part II

Some days, it's a miracle that the never ending wave of chaos doesn't sweep me off my feet and onward to the nuthouse.

Our newest 'guest' ala Mother Nature has been christened 'Ricky' by JB. She was the first to see him hanging out on the deck by the grill, waiting for the opportunity to raid Squirts rawhide basket.

We had noticed that Squirt was going through them more quickly than usual, and she was continually
searching for 'just the right one' to no avail. We had figured that she was dropping them off in hidden corners of the yard, waiting for them to develop just the right blend of flavors. Never did it cross our minds that Ricky and friends were making good use of them.

After a couple of nights where Squirt woke us with barking and a seriously strong 'attack mode' posture and we found the deck furniture moved about, we set up an infrared camera to see if we were able to identify our newest friend.

Only, it wasn't one friend, it was three. (The third is hiding behind Ricky and isn't seen in this photo, but the bugger is there!)

None of them paid any attention to either the camera which we were able to monitor and control remotely, nor Charles or I when we went to take a closer look at them and made no attempt to be quiet when doing so.

Rather, they began to paw at the glass deck doors as if to try and find a way into the house and join us for a midnight snack.

Two weeks later, Charles came into the house, and mentioned that I really shouldn't leave my garage open past sundown.

It seems that just as the sun tucked itself into bed, one of the buggers had made its way across the yard, over the fence, around the front of the house and into the garage on the faint hope of snagging some of Squirt's dog food.

Running at nearly $2 per pound for our pampered pet (Greyhounds have hideous teeth and horribly gassy digestive systems), this 'friendly' pest has good taste. Sadly for him, Charles foiled his plans and the bastard was run off before he was able to dine in style.

But not to worry. I happen to know that the older couple who lives three doors down has quite the assembly of foods set out for Ricky and friends.

They, unlike us, think he's 'cute'.




Sunday, March 31, 2013

In a Knot

Carrots from the Garden as intertwined as C& I
Oh, my darling Charles. I love you.

Thinking about you puts a smile on my face and lets my soul relax... just a bit, for a moment or two.

Especially on those afternoons when JB and BW are at each other's throats, bickering incessantly and calm evades the house, or when BW is having an especially difficult time adjusting to life and the changing days.

Thank you for being you, and for all that you do. I would be a shadow of who I am and what I am able to conquer without you in my life.

It was 21 years ago that we stayed up all night, talking, sharing memories. Learning about each other; of who were, used to be and our hopes and fears of 'The Future'.

One of my favorite memories with you thus far in this crazy hectic life is of you walking me home on your way to church so that you could play violin for the service.


Who ever knew that two people could spend more than 10 hours doing nothing but talking? 

Happy Easter my love. 




Friday, March 29, 2013

What Happened to 'Omni'

Whether we realize it or not, each of us has an influence on those around us, even if we have never actually met or if we are completely unaware of those who stumble into our lives.

One who's writing guided my blogging efforts and helped me to define my personal limits of what I share in this little space was a woman of who blogged under the name of Omni.

While I remember many of the details of her blog, of the stories she shared of the life she led, her family and the devastation of an injury she received from a careless developer who backed into her car with a construction vehicle due to his in-attention and later shirked his duties in taking responsibility for his actions, I am unable to remember the name of her blog.

After the death of AunT, I stopped reading blogs for a long while, instead focusing on life here in our corner of the world; school, the needs of the kids, supporting Charles as he navigated the wasteland of administering an estate, and trying to put the puzzle pieces together of the loss we'd suffered.

Once life regained a new balance, I tried to find Omni, to find her blog and catch up with what she was doing. But it was for not - she was lost to the whims and temporary nature of the Internet.

Should YOU remember reading her works, of her life, her husband and two sons, the garden she grew and the grove of fruit trees she and husband took care of, please let me know.

This life is but a temporary plane, but it is longer lasting than the virtual one we sometimes share, and I'd like to let her know that she is missed.

~ Amy


Thursday, March 28, 2013

Evelyn's Eggs

At first, we thought it was all hype - the glowing reports about organic urban eggs. The gushing that we've heard from foodie friends and across blogs we read.

But now that we've been eating eggs that our friend Evelyn's brood lay, we are sold, and with deep snow, cold temperatures and no eggs it's hard to go back to those you get at the store.

So, here goes the bandwagon speech... bear with me.

The yolks are so... creamy.  Unlike the every-egg-is-the-same-yellow color from egg to egg that you find in the grocery store, back yard organic ones are all such a bright orange the contents of each one is like a little surprise. You can almost tell which hen laid which egg by the color of the yolk as no two hen's eggs have the same colored yolks! It is the weirdest thing to experience - especially after having eaten nothing but store-bought eggs for all of my life, save the last month or so.

The whites are thick and firm, and the shells are rock hard, they can really take a pounding - they are not at all like the thin shelled variety found in the market.  And, looking at the eggs, you can see a pattern of similarity between them. The colors, the shapes and the size - each little present ...

Some are dark brown, others a soft beige and still others are speckled, as though they've spent a wee bit too much time in the sun.  We've not yet had any green ones, nor have we had white ones. While those are the ones most often found in the Grocery, they aren't as common in home flocks.

Evelyn's eggs have been so yummy that I've spent this spring break reading about and learning as much as I can about hosting our own little brood.

Charles's thinks that it is very nearly a possibility as well. He is adamantly against the minions and I getting a hedgehog... but chickens... Well, he seems to be ok with that.

So far at least. He's even started sharing coop ideas and plans. Is this reverse psychology at work though? I guess we'll see when it comes time to break ground.




Tuesday, March 26, 2013

This sucks

As I wrote in my post on Squirt, she is a not-so-easily-forgotten character. She greets every person she meets with enthusiasm, love and such affection that they are left feeling idolized and welcomed regardless of their affinity of dogs or how long they have known her.

We have rarely met anyone who has NOT remembered Squirt after only a brief introduction. She is a goofy, talkative, used to be lickative greyhound.

Since moving to River City many, many, moons ago, we have visited the same vet. She helped us with our kitties Rosie and Gertie, our first greys Molly and Herman, and now Squirt, as well as any other critters that came our way and needed attention. Given Squirts personality, we are no longer surprised that the staff at our vet's office rarely remember who we are, but they have yet to forget her. Even when out and about if they see us, it is our goofy girl that they recognize and we need to reintroduce ourselves.

Our vet has known and treated our crazy puppy through all of her insane adventures since the first day she came into our lives at 4 months old. And it hasn't always been easy.

Greyhounds as a breed can be incredibly docile and in adulthood they sleep for an average of 14 hours a day. The reason, we learned through Squirt, was because they wear themselves and everyone around them out their first three years of life. With our pal Squirt though, she didn't grow into her 'adult' stage until she was nearly 5-1/2 years.

It was near the end of her fourth year that we had our first major visit with Dr Cat.  

Our back fence is made of 1x6's that are staggered and offset by 2x6s tipped on their side. A distinct design feature from the 70's, it is impressive that this structure still stands. And, for Squirt, it is fortunate that it is.

While running madly about the yard, she lost track of where she was in her racing loop and ran full speed, head first into the fence. It was fortunate that the slats of the fence were offset because her shoulders hit the fence with a sickening crunch at full force while her head and neck took only part of the brunt as it met the back slats.

Had the fence not had the offsets, we would have lost our goofball at that moment.

It took nearly 6 months of medications and limited movement before she was completely back to normal, and even then we've had spells where her neck aches and she can tell is that the weather is changing.

It was during one of her flareups, as we've come to call them, that we noticed she was having difficulty getting up in the mornings, and that after racing about the back yard, that she wasn't able to walk until after a long rest.

Several X-rays and thorough physical exams revealed that our poor girl was far more stoic than she ever let on.  Over the course of time, her lumbar and sacrum had begun to meld into each other, causing the vertebra in her back to pinch her spine and the nerves that control her legs resulting in her difficulty in walking for long distances or after short intense bursts of sprints about the back yard.

Our girl is now nearly 10 years old, which is old age for an NGA racing greyhound. On most days our girl thinks and acts as though she is only about six, but those days where she creaks and moans, and feels pain are becoming more common place.

Usually they are at night, when the cool winter temperatures settle over the house and she needs to get up to rearrange herself. But this last weekend a cold, wet snow fell and with it moist air and cold winds blew through town. 

Sunday was the first time that BW and JB had seen and heard the struggle that our girl suffers from. She'd pulled a muscle deep in her thigh that caused a pain strong enough to cut through her meds. After tending to our puppy and calming the kiddos down, Charles and I began to digest the one thought we've not yet had about our girl.

Our house is going to be very quiet when our over sized puppy has crossed 'The Rainbow Bridge'.

It is the one thing that we are not prepared for. To answer the question of 'Is it time?" We are fortunate in that our prior Greys have led us down this path before, but it truly sucks to have to share this experience with the kids. They've never not known Squirt.

She's always been there to welcome us home, to enforce our daily schedule - herding us to go to bed at a particular time or giving us 'the stare'. She patiently waits for her dinner (the kids uneaten ones) and will actively beg for food when she feels as though she's forgotten. She sleeps on the couch as soon as Charles has gone to work, and moves faster than lightening off of it when she hears his car in the driveway. And every spring, she digs a deep, wet hole in the very middle of the back yard, as though she and Charles are working at odds with each other over the state of the grass.

She is big, she is old, and she is starting to break down and complain. And it really sucks that we have reached our time with her that we need to start creating her list of 5.  Five things that she loves and enjoys. Five things that she wakes up for in the morning. And we know that as time goes by we will slowly reduce the contents of that list.

Though we are so very grateful that it is only a pulled and worn muscle that needs time to heal and we are likely to have many more years of irritation, stories, vet bills and laughter over this four legged wonder, we are also all too aware of the limited time that we have left with our first baby.

And last night, after BW and JB went to bed, the only thing I could say to Charles as we made our list of five, was "This sucks."

And he agreed.

And Squirt exhaled and moaned deeply as if in agreement before falling asleep for the night.





Friday, March 1, 2013

Husbandry


Poor Charles.

I am certain that when we married nearly 20 years ago, he was painfully aware of my passion for gardening. He steadfastly assisted me in turning springs soil, weeded summer's abundance and then held the bags open as the slimy spoils of falls frost were disposed of.

Year after year he patiently maneuvers around the cookie sheets precariously balanced flat surfaces in the dining room that hold tiny pots where little sprouts of green will hopefully appear and then grow into the seedlings for the years garden.

He then overlooks the crumbs of garden soil that trails across our deck, the carpet and the floor of the kitchen and sink and the children and I haul in the harvest.

But, it is our newest interests that he is ever so weary about. Bees. (and chickens). While Squirt has her moments, and is known to drive us all crazy in trying to keep us rounded up and in tow (she has a serious herding streak), she is the one thing that is currently keeping the kids and I from delving in whole-heartedly into setting up a hive this summer, and building a coop in the fall.

So long as we have a dog, we won't be able to have bees. (or chickens).  Charles is rooting for the dog. Who, as it turns out, is turning 10 in April.  That is mighty old for a Greyhound. But don't tell her that. She still thinks she's 5 or 6.  




Without Lines

It was one day, many years ago, when we were driving about, running our standard fare of errands when BW's little voice called out from the back seat "Mama, did you know that without lines there would be nothing?"

At the time I was racing the clock, trying to complete the bane of every mother's existence - the ToDo list - before it was time to pick JB up from preschool. So it was with a distracted, "You are right about that, love" that I responded.

It was recently, while in the midst of a therapy session with BW that the therapist presented us with a thin stack of blank paper and a pen asking us if we had ever played the game 'squiggle'.

The instructions were simple; playing in pairs, one person draws a line, whatever they wanted, and it was up to the other player to use that line to make a drawing.

It was while looking at the clever doodles created as BW, Charles and I took turns drawing simple lines, curves and squiggles that the profound nature of what BW observed at the young age of 3 or 4 took hold. Without lines, there would be nothing.

As the session drew to a close, BW couldn't wait to share this enchanting little game with JB. And later that night the two spent hours drawing, laughing and playing with each other.

It is though, his latest question that has me puzzled, and I am not entirely certain as to go about answering it for either him or myself. Even one of the professors I worked with last semester, and an expert in his field, was unable to completely wrap his mind around it.

Perhaps it is up to BW himself to determine if life is possible in the absence of vibrations of any kind.







Wednesday, February 27, 2013

The Leaf

After struggling for several years with BW's challenging personal and rigid preferences, Charles and I have reached a point where the books we've read, the skills we learned from BW's preschool and seminar's we've attended and the University's child development classes mastered through hours of study in efforts to help our child have been tapped.

Our energies are exhausted and our souls are worn. After asking many, many friends and searching  for someone to provide us with some sort of conformation that we are not, in fact crazy, and that the boy does have honest to God issues, we have for the second time in his short life had the fortune of stumbling upon someone we hope can help us.

The first time we found someone who had the skills and experience to put into words all that we'd observed, lived through and tried to express, BW was nearly 4 and he was placed into a program established for developmentally challenged kids. After some progress, we were told that he was ready to 'grade out' to a typical kindergarten class. But even then, we noticed that many of his idiosyncrasies remained unexplored and unaddressed.

We are not 'Tin Hats', Charles and I. Our son, for all of his intellect, his profound thoughts and his inquisitive nature has never been a predictable or even profoundly odd child. It is for his lack of reliability in what will initiate his outbursts or odd behavior that he has not been diagnosed or given some clear direction as to how to best support him.

The issues he suffers from most greatly align with that of Asperger's, and it is with children who have confirmed cases that he is most himself with. It is with the similar quirky children that he does not have to exhaustingly work at identifying the popular child and follow their social queues with the hope that the other children will be accepting of his being. It is with these similarly rigid children that he doesn't have to fear the rejection and outward isolation because no matter how hard he tries, he is simply unable to break the illogical rules of emotion and social play into identifiable steps that he understands.

But, BW, while very similar to children diagnosed with Asperger's, is not one of them. No. BW is 'somewhere in the middle'. And as much as people whom we have met along the way and who have talked with and been impressed by BW want to help, they are limited by what little funds they have to work with, or by the limitations their program guidelines have to offer.

Our forays into the Feingold diet have been extremely helpful in tempering his outbursts, yet there is far more going on in his little body than diet alone can correct.

Children are not like machines. They cannot be broken down into parts and pieces that can be arranged into logical and researchable mechanical devices. And it is BW's misfortune that he was programmed to think in this way, to understand only the black and white of facts and findings, of how gears and pieces fit together.

These talents will serve him well in his adult life once he makes it through the rapids of teendom, but it is the challenges of the simplest social interactions that render him sadly and frustratingly alone. Separated from the children he spent his first school years with in the sand box because they are no longer entertained by his eccentric nature or tolerant of his demands.

While his classmates glide through the social consternation of their youth BW is left behind in a world of confusion, and overwhelmed by his lack of social fluency and betrayed by his own overly sensitive nervous system. A typical day at school renders him stressed and over stimulated by the constant stream visual queues, noise of the built environment, the bright lights that are in place to help he and his classmates focus, and the roughness of his jeans or other typically fashionable clothing.

On the rare occasion when I've let the more raucous of my views on BW come to light on Facebook, there is always bound to be one person who stands in judgment of my humor, my brief outpouring of frustration and my unspoken begging for support. Without knowing of the conditions under which I've posted, they chose to admonish me and offer suggestions as to how I can be a better mother. And then they unfriend and block me because they don't want my perceived 'negative attitude' in their spaces and places.

It remains to be seen if we have met and begun working with someone who is able to help BW turn a new leaf, or if we will continue to more closely analyze the current one. But one thing is for certain. It is good to know that we aren't in fact suffering from overly active imaginations and that the boy does indeed suffer from some sort of hypersensitivity condition.

In spite of the fact that we continue to have a challenging road yet to travel and a great deal of work to be done, that simple confirmation has been far too long in coming.

Some days are certainly more challenging than ever. But there should never, ever be even the slightest doubt that BW is so very, very much loved.





Friday, February 22, 2013

No, it's snot

As a child, my brothers and I could reliably drive our mother over the edge of sanity in record time by getting into the noitsnot verbal altercation.  Running those words together resulted in the imagery of snot, a disgusting, slippery and illness inducing fluid.

This winter tho, the snot had taken on a new meaning. Heavily influenced by the arguments of my youth, the newest definition of snot is used when a disappointing snowfall emerges.

Having grown up in the north, I am used to actual snowfalls with accumulations of typically 3 to 4 inches in a night. Over the course of a week or so, enough snow would fall that sledding parties spontaneously developed, seeing people cross-country ski to work or for exercise was not uncommon, and teens looked forward to learning how to drive in vacant parking lots (tho, their parents - not so much). 

This winter has been an odd mixture of hot and cold, primarily dry and snowfall has been largely absent. 

As JB and BW point out, though, we have had a few snowfalls. To them I pointed out no, it's not; it didn't stick around thru the morning, so it doesn't really count.

"I think you are right Mama."

"How so?"

"Well, it's not like snow, that crunches under our feet and feels comfortable to walk on.  It IS more like snot. It's slippery, it makes you sick when you fall down and you get hurt, and you just don't like seeing it."

So, now when we have a disappointing snowfall, where we KNOW that the walks and roads are going to be covered with the thinnest, slickest layer of ice, it's a 'snot storm'.

Oh, the original term still applies. I can't think of a single person who hasn't seen a teeny-tiny with a sad little runny nose that hasn't cringed. 

But in our little corner of River City, when the flakes begin to fall from the night sky, you can bet that you'll hear one of us wistfully voice "I hope it's not a snot storm."



The Truth

When I see signs like this out and about campus after a snotfall or rain, I have the urge to pick up a ginormous sharpie and correct it to read what it really means.

That would be WARNING, 'Fall on your ass zone'.

'Wet Floor' just does not convey the true likelihood that you are going to land on your keister and hobble about the rest of the day.


Friday, February 8, 2013

Walk in their shoes

I stood on the sidewalk watching for the slightest peek of them, wondering fearfully if they were ok; my mind developing the most awful of scenarios. At the final moment before I was to give up and go searching for them, there they were on the horizon. Seeing them run towards me with their outstretched arms, I felt the tears well up in my eyes as my heart beat faster and swelled with pride.

This moment, this simple event that's repeated countless times every day, was one that I'd held off for as long as I could... too long if you were to ask them.

My little ones, my babies, walked home from school for their first time. Without me. Without Charles.

JB and BW traversed every step of the one-half mile between our front door and that of their school without the oversight, protection or guidance of 'big-jobbers'. And when they arrived home, they could not contain their pride in this accomplishment.

And so it is that they have proven themselves in their maturity and their abilities. It is one more step towards their independence which is both celebrated and mourned.

At some point in this journey called life, I will no longer be needed as their guardian; the one that has been given the charge of protecting them from the outside world in addition to themselves and the fool ideas they come up with.

Seeing them soar, exceeding their own expectations is miraculous. Sharing their celebration is a blessing, and knowing that Charles and I provided the guidance that enabled them to these accomplishments without claiming their success as our own is the greatest gift that I can give them.

I know that when the time comes that they are ready to leave our home and move on to bigger and greater adventures that it will be challenging for all of us, but it is one that we welcome, because it means that Charles and I have been successful in guiding these two little people into becoming amazing adults.

I look forward to the miles ahead.

I love you mostest bubblie and punkin'pie.






Monday, January 28, 2013

Chatterbox

During those moments as a child when I would talk non-stop driving my mom to the edges of sanity she would ask me "Who put a nickel in your mouth?"

I drove the poor woman insane with my ceaseless chatter, and now Karma, or what goes around comes around is now in effect.

JB is sitting across the table from me working on her art, and the words are falling out of her mouth so fast that my brain simply REFUSES to understand what she is saying.

I'm not even sure if the language she is using is English... perhaps it is the variant 'teentobe'?


Tuesday, January 1, 2013

My Life is a Zoo

Not to be outdone by a Sharp Shinned Hawk, we have an extrovert of a squirrel who's taken roost in the ginormous cottonwood just behind the house. This is the same cottonwood that nearly caused our house to burn down after we found tent caterpillars in it.

Chipper, as we call him because he is very talkative and grumpy if we are on the deck, has become all too familiar with the deck, the furniture and the birds hanging about. Usually he makes some attempt at feigning fear of humans, but today he didn't even try.


Bastard tried to get into the house this afternoon.

We are going to have to have a talk.





Holiday Eggnog

One of the last times my parents joined us in River City for Christmas, we asked if there were any special requests for food, drinks or items that would make their stay more enjoyable.

My mom, Doris, emailed the following Eggnog recipe and asked if we could make it for her. As one of the local dairies has their own fantastic recipe for eggnog, we'd never had a reason to make our own and we were excited to try it out.

Reading through the recipe, it seemed straight forward, but as we purchased the fortified ingredients, we became somewhat concerned of the sober status of anyone enjoying too much of this eggnog.

With great anticipation everyone gathered around the bowl (the mixture was such a great volume, more than the 1 gallon yield indicated, that a vat would have been a better choice) and waited impatiently for Charles to serve them. Those who received their concoction first held it closely, breathed in its aroma and wondered aloud how it would taste. Only after Doris received her cupful of nog did we all take a drink.

While the creamy beverage tasted good, the alcohol content rendered us all good candidates for a band of street performing flame blowers. By the end of the night, we were a rowdy and incoherent bunch but a good time was had by all.

It also clarified to us the references that friends from The South have made about getting 'nogged', or warnings about having too much nog. Should you choose to try this recipe, please enjoy but use it at your own risk.

As with all things merry and bright - I hope that your New Years was a memorable one, and that 2013 is filled with peaks and not too many valleys.

- Amy


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

HOLIDAY EGGNOG

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INGREDIENTS:
1 dozen eggs
1 lb. sugar, superfine
1/2 qt. brandy
1/2 qt. dark rum (Meyers)
1/2 qt. vodka or flavored brandy
1 qt. light cream
1/2 gallon vanilla ice cream
3 qt. whipped cream
nutmeg
cinnamon, ground

DIRECTIONS:
Whip eggs and superfine bar sugar together until sugar is dissolved. Add liquor (try apricot or other flavored brandy instead of vodka) and whip well.

Add light cream. Break up ice-cream up into 2 -3 inch cubes. Add 1/2 of the ice-cream and 1/2 whipped cream to the mixture and stir in well.

Float remaining ice-cream and whipped cream on top.

Grate fresh nutmeg and cinnamon over top lightly. Serve with butter cookies.

Yield: Makes about 1 gallon
http://www.thedailyrecipe.com