Nobel Peace Prize nominee, right here people.
"Mom, are we having Thursday this week?"
Optional weekdays. I love it. Brilliant idea.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Mother of the Year Nominee
Gosh darn it if this doesn't get me nominated for Mother of the Year Award, I don't know what will.
My dear first grader marched off to school with his lunch in a normal, brown lunch sack. He came home with his leftovers plus a few traded snacks, in
THIS bag.
Why? "It's smaller and there's lots of them to go around."
Swell, kid. Just swell.
How he got them out of the women's restroom at school I don't care to know. Trying to comprehend the logic of a six year old can't be done without chemical assistance (caffeine, of course). But, he could be on to something. Those little bags do come in handy...
Brown lunch sacks... $1.75
Food for a nutritious and satisfying lunch... $3.25
Watching your kid become the walking advertisement for feminine hygiene...Priceless.
My dear first grader marched off to school with his lunch in a normal, brown lunch sack. He came home with his leftovers plus a few traded snacks, in
THIS bag.
Why? "It's smaller and there's lots of them to go around."
Swell, kid. Just swell.
How he got them out of the women's restroom at school I don't care to know. Trying to comprehend the logic of a six year old can't be done without chemical assistance (caffeine, of course). But, he could be on to something. Those little bags do come in handy...
Brown lunch sacks... $1.75
Food for a nutritious and satisfying lunch... $3.25
Watching your kid become the walking advertisement for feminine hygiene...Priceless.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Confessions of a Civil Rights Flunkie
I wasn't even born when Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. Civil rights? I spent my childhood in the cornfields of the Midwest. Martin Luther King? Sure I studied him in school. Who doesn't know the famous 'Dream' speech? But honestly, that's about all I knew. He fought for equal rights and I got a day off school.
What I couldn't see and feel was what came before MLK. Sure I learned and read about Rosa Parks and segregation and bus rides and protests. But I could not genuinely relate to a cause I couldn't feel in my hands and I couldn't see with my eyes.
I spent most of my life in the Midwest never traveling south of the Mason Dixon line. My high school was featured on a TV special called 'Small Town America.' We walked to the ice cream shop. The basketball team won the state championship.
Seeing the Rodney King beating and the subsequent LA riots in the early 1990's were the first racially inspired conflicts I had ever seen. For a small town teenager, those were traumatizing.
I remember the moment that visual horror tore through me, squeezing the last peaceful breath out of me, replacing it with short gasps, as if those gasps were all I would have from then on. The sheer brutality failed to register in my shallow understanding of human nature.
I read a series of books this summer which I wish I would've read 15 years ago.
The most tangible example of what I had been missing came from Anne Moody's autobiography Coming of Age in Mississippi.
One of the original Woolworth lunch counter sit ins, this is her portrayal of life for a young African-American before and during the Civil Rights movement of the 1960's. It is here in her story I came face to face with what I didn't know and what I need to know still.
You can't read about Mississippi civil rights without reading Medgar Evers:
The Autobiography of Medgar Evers: A Hero's Life And Legacy Revealed Through His Writings, Letters, And Speeches by Myrlie Evers-Williams, Manning Marable (Editor)
The movie Ghosts of the Mississippi touches on his life and the trial of his killer. It's one of the few times I'll recommend an Alec Baldwin flick.
Other reading recommendations:
Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs.
Based on a true story, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl is one of the few full-length slave narratives written by a woman. From the vantage point of her life in New York City after she escapes from slavery in 1842, Harriet Jacobs offers a gripping account of the experiences that fueled her determination to remain hidden in a crawl space for seven years, and tells of her struggles to assure the freedom of her children (scribblingwomen.org).
You can read it free here.
The Annotated Uncle Tom's Cabin.
Like everyone, I read the original in high school. The illustrations and historical documentation are hugely insightful. Seriously, I did not know Harriet Beecher Stowe was a white woman.
How sad is that?
Now when my kids quiz me over Martin Luther King Jr., I can tell them more than I ever knew. It's still not as much as I'd like to understand.
It's a start even if it's 15 years late.
What I couldn't see and feel was what came before MLK. Sure I learned and read about Rosa Parks and segregation and bus rides and protests. But I could not genuinely relate to a cause I couldn't feel in my hands and I couldn't see with my eyes.
I spent most of my life in the Midwest never traveling south of the Mason Dixon line. My high school was featured on a TV special called 'Small Town America.' We walked to the ice cream shop. The basketball team won the state championship.
Seeing the Rodney King beating and the subsequent LA riots in the early 1990's were the first racially inspired conflicts I had ever seen. For a small town teenager, those were traumatizing.
I remember the moment that visual horror tore through me, squeezing the last peaceful breath out of me, replacing it with short gasps, as if those gasps were all I would have from then on. The sheer brutality failed to register in my shallow understanding of human nature.
I read a series of books this summer which I wish I would've read 15 years ago.
The most tangible example of what I had been missing came from Anne Moody's autobiography Coming of Age in Mississippi.
One of the original Woolworth lunch counter sit ins, this is her portrayal of life for a young African-American before and during the Civil Rights movement of the 1960's. It is here in her story I came face to face with what I didn't know and what I need to know still.
You can't read about Mississippi civil rights without reading Medgar Evers:
The Autobiography of Medgar Evers: A Hero's Life And Legacy Revealed Through His Writings, Letters, And Speeches by Myrlie Evers-Williams, Manning Marable (Editor)
The movie Ghosts of the Mississippi touches on his life and the trial of his killer. It's one of the few times I'll recommend an Alec Baldwin flick.
Other reading recommendations:
Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs.
Based on a true story, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl is one of the few full-length slave narratives written by a woman. From the vantage point of her life in New York City after she escapes from slavery in 1842, Harriet Jacobs offers a gripping account of the experiences that fueled her determination to remain hidden in a crawl space for seven years, and tells of her struggles to assure the freedom of her children (scribblingwomen.org).
You can read it free here.
The Annotated Uncle Tom's Cabin.
Like everyone, I read the original in high school. The illustrations and historical documentation are hugely insightful. Seriously, I did not know Harriet Beecher Stowe was a white woman.
How sad is that?So you're the little woman who wrote the book that made this great war.
-Abraham Lincoln (1809 - 1865), on meeting Harriet Beecher Stowe
Now when my kids quiz me over Martin Luther King Jr., I can tell them more than I ever knew. It's still not as much as I'd like to understand.
It's a start even if it's 15 years late.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
News of the Weird
I'm intrigued by the city of Naples, Italy and their garbage woes. Apparently the Italian mafia is in control of trash collections? The garbage is not being picked up, has no place to go and is burying the city. The city smells like a mozzarella cheese stick.
A recent report said the Italian government appointed a Trash Czar to clean up the problem. Wow. Can you imagine explaining that job title to party guests? That would totally stink. Whatever happened to Sanitation Engineer, Refuse Manager, Director of Detritus or even The Trash Compactor?
Anyway, this has been an ongoing battle. The next time your trash gets picked up without a police riot or clash in the street, thank your local garbage picker upper. Or Trash Czar.
Do You Use Protection?
I read a recent article about a woman in Arizona who sells Tasers at independent home parties, kinda like Tupperware. A taser is a civilian form of a stun gun.
Interesting idea. You can choose fashionable colors like metallic pink, to match your lipstick.
I've wondered and at times wished I carried some sort of weapon or personal protection. My fingernails are about all I have. Still, for for the price of the taser, $350.00, I could buy some really sharp fingernails.
Do We Steal From You???
In other weird news, you may see yourself in popular ad campaigns. According to the Washington Post, major corporations like Microsoft and Vigin Mobile have been accused of stealing personal photos from online sites like Flickr and using them for their own advertising.
You've got to be kidding me!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I'm Christina, I'm 35 and I have a teenager. Is there a self help group for this?
*My oldest, Jackson, turns 13 tomorrow. I didn't think I'd have a hard time with it, but it turns out I do.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, holding you in my arms. You sleep. I watch your eyelids float up and down. I watch your sweet, toothless mouth form a smile. I smile back at you. You make me laugh. I breathe in your new baby smell and feel your oh, so soft breath. It’s satin against my face. You remind me of a closed, white rose; smooth and pure and perfect.
Your contented sighs are promises of things I can’t even imagine. Every flicker, every twitch, every wrinkle, every curve, I know. I study you while the world functions without my participation.
My involvement is right here, on this couch where I sit, holding my world. I ignore the phone, the doorbell and the TV sits in silence. I listen carefully for a deep sigh or gurgle or the rare whimper.
This is my new world, the one my mother told me about. My understanding is clear now. Yesterday I saw in the mirror dimly, but now face to face. I’m so filled with richness through this child.
Because of this child I can become a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend.
He is my firstborn, the one who will teach me how to be a mommy.
You walked into the kitchen yesterday. “I’m almost 13. Doesn’t that deserve a great, big party?” You grinned.
Yes, yes it does. Thirteen years? How I’ve squandered those years! Fussing over the dirt you tracked in or the messy bedroom. I only have a few years left with you. I want to pause, to slow life down, to somehow pick and choose which moments I want you to remember about us.
When did you learn to do things without me? You used to need my help to climb stairs or take a bath. Now you talk about soccer and games and girls. And you definitely don’t want my help in the bath.
If only I hadn’t taken those moments for granted. If only I could sit on the couch and hold you and watch you sleep. If only you needed me to hold you.
Yesterday I yelled at you to get your stinky soccer shoes out of the kitchen.
You found a book. Freight Train by Donald Crews. You remember it, you said. You remember me reading it to you. I remember it too.
Tonight you left your stinky soccer shoes in the kitchen again. They’re bigger than my own shoes. I picked them up and carried them to your room.
I watch you sleep. It’s my breath I hear now. I’m panicked. I can’t control this burdensome passage of time. It can’t be 13 years ago that you called me to you with a small cry. I was all you needed.
I watch you sleep. I try not to cry. I don’t want to wake you.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, holding you in my arms. You sleep. I watch your eyelids float up and down. I watch your sweet, toothless mouth form a smile. I smile back at you. You make me laugh. I breathe in your new baby smell and feel your oh, so soft breath. It’s satin against my face. You remind me of a closed, white rose; smooth and pure and perfect.
Your contented sighs are promises of things I can’t even imagine. Every flicker, every twitch, every wrinkle, every curve, I know. I study you while the world functions without my participation.
My involvement is right here, on this couch where I sit, holding my world. I ignore the phone, the doorbell and the TV sits in silence. I listen carefully for a deep sigh or gurgle or the rare whimper.
This is my new world, the one my mother told me about. My understanding is clear now. Yesterday I saw in the mirror dimly, but now face to face. I’m so filled with richness through this child.
Because of this child I can become a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend.
He is my firstborn, the one who will teach me how to be a mommy.
You walked into the kitchen yesterday. “I’m almost 13. Doesn’t that deserve a great, big party?” You grinned.
Yes, yes it does. Thirteen years? How I’ve squandered those years! Fussing over the dirt you tracked in or the messy bedroom. I only have a few years left with you. I want to pause, to slow life down, to somehow pick and choose which moments I want you to remember about us.
When did you learn to do things without me? You used to need my help to climb stairs or take a bath. Now you talk about soccer and games and girls. And you definitely don’t want my help in the bath.
If only I hadn’t taken those moments for granted. If only I could sit on the couch and hold you and watch you sleep. If only you needed me to hold you.
Yesterday I yelled at you to get your stinky soccer shoes out of the kitchen.
You found a book. Freight Train by Donald Crews. You remember it, you said. You remember me reading it to you. I remember it too.
Tonight you left your stinky soccer shoes in the kitchen again. They’re bigger than my own shoes. I picked them up and carried them to your room.
I watch you sleep. It’s my breath I hear now. I’m panicked. I can’t control this burdensome passage of time. It can’t be 13 years ago that you called me to you with a small cry. I was all you needed.
I watch you sleep. I try not to cry. I don’t want to wake you.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Freebies!
Breaking News! I found some great web sites that offer giveaways! I know to most of you, this little revelation is akin to saying, "I found something called Velcro shoes" or "Have you ever tried something called a Big Mac?"
Nevertheless, sweetnsimpledesign.com is giving away a free blog design until January 31st. Can you imagine not using a template? I found the contest here.
I saw a delightfully carefree design I would love to have, with whimsical curves and scrolls in peaceful, placid colors like coral and sage. It reminded me of a warm bubble bath; relaxing yet informative.
My blog design is blech. It's rigid and stagnant and it looks like hummus.
It feels like a hummus bath.
Nevertheless, sweetnsimpledesign.com is giving away a free blog design until January 31st. Can you imagine not using a template? I found the contest here.
I saw a delightfully carefree design I would love to have, with whimsical curves and scrolls in peaceful, placid colors like coral and sage. It reminded me of a warm bubble bath; relaxing yet informative.
My blog design is blech. It's rigid and stagnant and it looks like hummus.
It feels like a hummus bath.
Parenting Tips from American Idol
Imagine life in the times of *Nero. The Roman Coliseum is filled with blood thirsty fans, chanting, frenzied, awaiting the public humiliation extravaganza a year in the making. The excitement is palpable; dusty air mixes with hairspray and stage makeup. Instead of Nero in the box seat, it's Simon Cowell, Paula and Randy-I have-a-limited-vocabulary-Jackson.
With wicked anticipation, America awaits the first volunteer gladiator. How disappointing if it turns out to be someone with real talent!
Seriously people, we are the reason Jerry Springer will never go off the air.
What is it about enjoying someone's embarrassment that is so darn fun? I swear every year I'm not going to get sucked into watching it, but sure enough, the tap dancing George Michael gets me every time.
Is it really evil and malevolent to laugh if the guy voluntarily steps onto the nationwide stage to perform Islands in the Stream with sign language?
Shame, shame on you! These are mere children we're talking about. Perhaps you ought to examine your motives for watching the American Idol auditions, and cleanse your impure thoughts. But do it during a commercial break.
Educationally speaking, I can justify my decision to watch the American Idol auditions. Perhaps unwittingly, the producers provide a vibrant example of parenting gone wild. Good parenting class material.
Example 1: Teach your child to obey, happily. If Simon says get out, you get out. Maintain some dignity and release the security guard.
Example 2: If you don't get your way, accept that decision, STOP WHINING. And for Pete's sake, leave Paula alone. You're not even old enough to remember the '80's.
Example 3: If you don't get your way, keep your mouth shut, you little %$#@!. Nobody wants to hear that kind of language.
Example 4: Unless you've given birth to a verified vocal phenom or Charlotte Church, don't let your kids grow up thinking they are ALL THAT.
Sooner or later they will face Nero and it won't be pretty.
*History disclaimer. I don't that Nero actually sat in the coliseum, it just sounded good.
With wicked anticipation, America awaits the first volunteer gladiator. How disappointing if it turns out to be someone with real talent!
Seriously people, we are the reason Jerry Springer will never go off the air.
What is it about enjoying someone's embarrassment that is so darn fun? I swear every year I'm not going to get sucked into watching it, but sure enough, the tap dancing George Michael gets me every time.
Is it really evil and malevolent to laugh if the guy voluntarily steps onto the nationwide stage to perform Islands in the Stream with sign language?
Shame, shame on you! These are mere children we're talking about. Perhaps you ought to examine your motives for watching the American Idol auditions, and cleanse your impure thoughts. But do it during a commercial break.
Educationally speaking, I can justify my decision to watch the American Idol auditions. Perhaps unwittingly, the producers provide a vibrant example of parenting gone wild. Good parenting class material.
Example 1: Teach your child to obey, happily. If Simon says get out, you get out. Maintain some dignity and release the security guard.
Example 2: If you don't get your way, accept that decision, STOP WHINING. And for Pete's sake, leave Paula alone. You're not even old enough to remember the '80's.
Example 3: If you don't get your way, keep your mouth shut, you little %$#@!. Nobody wants to hear that kind of language.
Example 4: Unless you've given birth to a verified vocal phenom or Charlotte Church, don't let your kids grow up thinking they are ALL THAT.
Sooner or later they will face Nero and it won't be pretty.
*History disclaimer. I don't that Nero actually sat in the coliseum, it just sounded good.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Allergic to Sleeping?
Here's the thing about having allergic reactions: usually you know what you're allergic to! It's taken a good three days to recover from my last phantom allergic reaction. Paging Dr. House...
For the medical record:
1. I didn't eat anything different.
2. I didn't touch anything weird or out of the ordinary, except cabbage.
3. I didn't breathe, snort, sniffle, or inhale anything different.
This time it happened in the middle of the night, so I went from sleeping beauty to anaphylactic shock in three and a half minutes. Not pretty.
So anyway, two Epi pens and a handful of Benadryl and I'm livin' life in a purple haze.
As with any physical ailment, from ingrown toe nails, to MRSA, my mother recommended an appointment with her chiropractor.
For the medical record:
1. I didn't eat anything different.
2. I didn't touch anything weird or out of the ordinary, except cabbage.
3. I didn't breathe, snort, sniffle, or inhale anything different.
This time it happened in the middle of the night, so I went from sleeping beauty to anaphylactic shock in three and a half minutes. Not pretty.
So anyway, two Epi pens and a handful of Benadryl and I'm livin' life in a purple haze.
As with any physical ailment, from ingrown toe nails, to MRSA, my mother recommended an appointment with her chiropractor.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
No BCS Title, No Blog Title
I blame myself. It was the Lucky Charms. They're jinxed. I'm not bitter, it's just humiliating being de-pantsed in front of the entire nation for the third time in two years, twice by smarmy Florida (basketball)and now LSU. But when your mascot is a giant nut, somethings are bound to happen. Next year...
Anyway, in watching the game I became intrigued by a few regionalisms around LSU.
One, the southern roster is resplendent with Creole and southern names like Ryan Perrilloux, Stefoin Francois, Ricky Jean-Francois, Early Doucet and my personal favorite: T-Bob Hebert. T-Bob is a very big white boy.
Two, dancing along with the marching band were a group of Southern Belles dressed in flashy, leotardy, sequiny things with full length gloves and big hair. I thought to myself, what are they? What kind of dance numbers are those, because one looked like patty cake with an invisible friend.
Now, before you go saying I'm jealous and petty, let me just say, Of course I am! You try breastfeeding five babies. There's nothing left but a memory.
They are the LSU Golden Girls but not as in Estell Getty and Betty White.
One must audition for the Golden Girls. Their website audition info has these guidelines:
1. Must have a 2.0 grade point average in order to audition for the line.
2. All girls selected for the line are expected to maintain their audition appearance and or that which is prescribed after acceptance on the line.
3. Weigh-ins are held periodically during the fall semester and are under the direct
supervision of the Associate Director of Bands.
4. Make-up and hair style should be worn in a fashion which accents and flatters facial characteristics (i.e. “Pageant” style. Please avoid wearing your hair/make-up as if going to the gym to workout.).
How can someone volunteer for a job which requires you to hop on the scale every Monday morning??? Forget about the academics, keep that butt toned. OK, I take it back, I'm bitter.
In case you missed #4: Pageant style hair and make-up.
It's required. REQUIRED.
Tradition is one of those things that from the outside looks goofy, but to the insider is a thing of pride.
One LSU tradition is marching into the stadium with the Golden Girls. I found a picture.
They have capes. And a security detail and pageant hair. Yet, they have to carry their own gym bags?? What's in those bags? I bet it's a parasol. That's the only thing missing. They twirl parasols, I betcha.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Word of the Day
Word of the Day
perfervid \puhr-FUR-vid\, adjective:
Ardent; impassioned; marked by exaggerated or overwrought emotion.
Yesterday, I vowed to spend today in a serene state of fasting and prayer for a Buckeye victory in tonight's National Championship game. I fasted until breakfast. I'm evidently not the perfervid fan I claim to be.
In anticipation of the showdown tonight, I've been nervous and jittery all day. Or it could be the four bowls of Lucky Charms I ate yesterday. Hey, I was stocking up, I thought I was fasting.
**On a more helpful note, I found Mommy Doodles, a purveyor of craftiness and cookery in easy to understand language.
perfervid \puhr-FUR-vid\, adjective:
Ardent; impassioned; marked by exaggerated or overwrought emotion.
Yesterday, I vowed to spend today in a serene state of fasting and prayer for a Buckeye victory in tonight's National Championship game. I fasted until breakfast. I'm evidently not the perfervid fan I claim to be.
In anticipation of the showdown tonight, I've been nervous and jittery all day. Or it could be the four bowls of Lucky Charms I ate yesterday. Hey, I was stocking up, I thought I was fasting.
**On a more helpful note, I found Mommy Doodles, a purveyor of craftiness and cookery in easy to understand language.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Do You Bleed Scarlet and Grey?
Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I don't like that attitude. I can assure them it is much more serious than that.
Bill Shankly, In Sunday Times (UK) Oct. 4 1981
One more day. The 2008 BCS National Championship. Few thought we'd be here again. After last year's (wince with pain) championship game against smarmy Florida, who thought we'd be here again? But my beloved Buckeyes have fortitude and Vernon Gholston.
With stealth like zen and a little bit of weird football karma, they are in the national championship game, again.
I don't know much about LSU, except it's in Louisiana. Louisiana has Kate Chopin, one of my favorite authors. They also have things like Cajuns, gumbo, jambalaya, voodoo, zydeco, Mardi Gras, bayou, Creole and Britney Spears.
I won't sleep tonight. I might even pray and fast.
GO BUCKS!
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
All Roads Lead to Body Fluid
Trying to converse with a 10 year old:
Me: Have you seen my winter coat?
Dylan: What's it look like?
Me: It's a black pea coat.
Dylan: A pea coat? Does it have a built in catheter?
Y-e-a-h. Why do I bother?
Me: Have you seen my winter coat?
Dylan: What's it look like?
Me: It's a black pea coat.
Dylan: A pea coat? Does it have a built in catheter?
Y-e-a-h. Why do I bother?
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Blog Reality
I've finally taken the time and had some semblance of desire to start a blogroll. It's not that I don't read other blogs, I do, but I have the technical capabilities of a slug. I know, I should have asked my six-year olds to do it for me.
I have one complaint about some of the mom blogs I've read. For instance, I like to read Big Mama. I thought we might have something in common, what with a name like Big Mama. But when I saw her picture, she looks like a Victoria's Secret model. False advertising! I'm thinking she could at least italicize or put quotes around "Big." I was greatly disheartened but she's delightful so I'll keep reading.
I'm thinking of starting my own mommy blog ring for those who don't look like Claudia Schiffer. I'm going to call it The Portly Mommas Blog Ring. You can only join if you haven't lost all that baby weight, even if it's been 15 years since you had a kid.
Also you can only join if:
Your girdle is as essential to you as underarm deodorant.
If you've never been mistakenly confused for a supermodel.
If you've ever asked your husband if you look FATTER in an outfit, because the looking fat part was a given.
If you think Pilates is an Italian dessert.
If the thought of banning chocolate is an act of terrorism.
If on New Year's you resolved not to lose weight, but to not get any fatter.
If you are stick thin, you may join but you better have something else wrong with you, like, say, a goiter.
If you'd like to join PMBR please submit your URL and a recent photo. Include height and weight ratio.
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