Thoughts from the Tundra

It's snowing lovely big, fat flakes right now and Lil' Bit is taking an early nap. Ahhh. Just finished the coffee pot and wish I had some profound thoughts to spatter here but, alas, I got nothin'.

So I'll share a random memory.

Growing up with my younger brother was often a lesson in patience when it came to the dinner table. Josh was the quintessential picky eater in our family. He often turned his nose up at the most simple of meals. I remember (fondly?) the night when my dad warned him that if he didn't finish the rest of his hot dog, by God he was gonna get a spanking. Josh sat for hours with that 'dog stuck in his chaw, after the plates had been cleared, the table wiped down...and eventually in the dark when we all simply left the room. Kid had an iron will.

Anyway, as he got older Josh discovered barbecue sauce. But by "discovered" I mean that it became like his mealtime blankie, something that was required for him to hold a fork in hand. It was often my job to set the table for meals and I frickin' hated when my Mom would ask, a bit anxiously, "did you remember the barbecue sauce?"

As a Southerner, it's a requirement for you to be a fan of barbecue. But after years and years of smelling that crap doused over all kinds of food - eggs, sandwiches, pork chops, tacos - I got to the place where just the slightest whiff of barbecue sauce could turn my stomach. Even long after I had moved away and lived on my own, I still had a bad reaction. Once at Kanakuk, someone saw me turn my nose up at the mention of BBQ and asked, "girl, what kinda person hates barbecue? You must hate kissin', too!"*

You guys have any bad memories associated with certain foods?

*no, indeed kissing is still on my list of favorites.

Misdirection

I'm ashamed to have stayed away from here for over a month. I typically stop reading if someone waits so long to post. I've been thinking about deleting this blog, mostly because I don't know what I'm doing here. The list of blogs I read are mostly family and friends, who may or may not post regularly, then friends of friends who post daily, then mommy/design blogs. Confession: When I read mommy/design blogs (ie: the blogs of other mothers who are crafty, take amazing photos and/or do tutorials on their sites like "how to sew a designer diaper bag") I typically come away with a fair amount of self-loathing and insecurity. I'm lucky to snap a blurry photo of Davy eating dog food taken from my iPhone to put here.

I really, really, really wish that I had an ounce of decorating savvy and that I had enough time/money to redecorate a room and publish high quality shots of the entire event. Because these are the types of things I like to read on other blogs. Then I can compare myself and walk away with that satisfying dose of insecurity and self-pity!

What I do for the majority of my day is sit with people and hear incredible stories or terribly sad incidents or share in the beauty of watching God move in the life of someone who had previously had no presence of Hope in their lives. But I cannot talk about that here. It's all very interesting and even exciting but it needs to stay locked in my office where it belongs. It's safe there and not at all safe if I were I to share it! (Those who know me best know I can be lacking in discretion. Hey! Here's my office number!) But seriously, counseling happens to be one thing I have a talent for - oh how I wish I could use this as an avenue to brag about that! (Note: I'm being sarcastic - it is my belief that good counseling has little to do with the counselor herself...it's a Holy Spirit thing.)

Anyway, this leads me back to the understanding that what I do with my day cannot be shared here and cannot be the purpose for this blog. And because I'm not a super-mommy or even a super-photog, I don't think that documenting Davy's life here is the purpose for this blog.

I do love to read. A lot. In fact, it's one of the reasons I haven't said anything here for awhile. I thought about doing more book reviews. (You'd much rather come here than Goodreads or Amazon, right?!)

Several friends have bugged me to write. As in, get published. Ha! Now, I have a plethora of good stories, mostly because I am a magnet for embarrassing moments of the poop variety. But I don't know if I could be a good writer. I might try to share more stories here....we'll see. There are many moments in a day when I think, "I should blog about this!" But they are fleeting and superficial...and maybe that's what this place needs... If you stop by here, would you stop & offer feedback? What would you like to see?

(I have to pause and point out my codependecy here: "Hey guys? This is my blog. What would you like me to do with it?" Ugh. It's exhausting to be this much of a people-pleaser.

Back From the Grave

I know you've been checking back here repeatedly, dear followers (Mom), and must be curious about my absence. It's nothing exciting. Just a stomach virus. Last Monday night I lived through the one experience that I had been dreading: baby projectile vomiting. I used to see friends posting all the time on Facebook about their child being sick and throwing up all over the place. Each time I read something like that I'd begin furiously praying, "please God no may it never be" over and over.

And yet - it happened. I was putting D to bed after a normal day and a normal bedtime routine. While I was wrapping her blankie around her she softly coughed, spat out her pacifier, and proceeded to go all Exorcist on me. Wow. A wall of chewed tomatoes, corn, string cheese, yogurt, blueberries and milk sprayed across the bed, missing the bed entirely (small thanks) and landing on me and the floor. I was stunned. I was literally frozen while it happened, much like I'd imagine most folks are during extremely traumatic moments.*

Anyway, it happened um, around 11 more times that night so after 5 loads of laundry, 3 sessions of floor mopping, and two more baths, I knew I had been baptized into a more mature level of motherhood. That's the worst that motherhood gets, right? RIGHT? Okay, whew.

On a not so funny side note, both Russ and I got sick as well. Only Russ got sick hardcore, as Russ has been known to do - summer of 2007 anyone?* 8 And now, even though he's better, he's losing weight as if, oh, say he's training for a half marathon. Only he's not. But I am. But I have lost jack diddly and am starting to think about secretly adding mayonnaise to everything I cook for him. Can anyone tell me why this happens with men? I can't figure out how I can run 25 miles a week and still hold onto weight like my body is some toddler clutching her toys to her: MINE!

*Yes, I just compared my child throwing up to the trauma of say, refugees in a war-torn nation or surviving cancer. Don't you want me for your therapist?

**Ugh. I don't even like remembering the summer that Russ had some impossible to diagnose virus that made him run a high temp for 3 months and zapped all strength from him. Everyone avoided us like the plague and I had to mow the yard. THE TRAUMA I'VE ENDURED, PEOPLE!

Misplaced

via Don

A few years ago our friends, the McKeaiggs, told us they were contemplating a move to Portland, OR. We felt a little shocked, as we'd begun to imagine hanging out with them for a few more decades. As we sat and casually listened to their thoughts about the possible move, nodding and "hmmming" as they reasoned with us, I was silently warring with myself. In my mind, I leaned over and grabbed fistfuls of Emily's blond locks and screamed, TAKE ME WITH YOU!!!

Sometimes I just don't feel at all like I *fit* in Dallas. I mean, I got tears in my eyes watching that video, people. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love the family and friends in our life here but I think about moving away probably several times a month. I suffer from a severe case of "grass is always greener."

I will now console myself by remembering that Portland has nothing like the State Fair of Texas.

This One's For My Mother

Thanks, Facebook.

"Dude, I Just Twoted!"

This is so true...me included. I don't even understand why I Twitter.

Thanks to Amber...

Things I Swear By: Tanning Lotion

A few folks have asked about my tan legs, so I thought I'd share my secret here. I used to be a sun addict. I've had three surgeries to remove skin cancer (Basal Cell Carcinoma) to prove it. Like all other sorority girls at Texas Tech in the 90s, I had a tanning membership. During my twenties I worked at a summer camp teaching water skiing and rarely used sunscreen. I know, I know. Absolutely terrible. So I am not allowed to be in the sun these days without SPF 900. But I'm also a firm believer in the old adage, "tan fat looks better than pale fat."

Enter my daily self-esteem saver:

Okay, listen: you need to get the Medium to Dark kind and it is important that you apply a small amount. I usually put less than a dime-size into my palm for one leg. I DO NOT apply on my knees but rub in the lotion until my hands feel dry. The lotion will go on like any normal lotion, leaving no streaks or orange places so you will need to rub it in well, leaving no place "un-lubed." I use sparingly on my chest and arms but it's the legs that I'm typically most concerned with. The great thing about this specific Jergens lotion (NOTE: Natural Glow Express) is that in 3 days you look as if you have a very natural tan. It's much better than the regular Natural Glow lotion.

ps: please, after application, wash your hands extra carefully, paying special attention to the spaces in between your fingers!

pps: Katy, I hear you already complaining about the smell...it smells NICE!

Bizkit Needs a Helmet

(via Dooce)

This is for my aunt Diane and for Michael Page, who didn't know I had a blog.

Nemeses

We all have a Debbie in our lives.

A Little Lackluster

I'm a little tired right now. I think I'm recouperating from the sick family from last week. Everyone is almost all better now, by the way. So due to my lack of anything interesting to say...I give you Binocular Soccer!

Hilar

So for Christmas my mom got me The Best American Non-Required Reading which is a collection of works of fiction & nonfiction. One section lists the Best American Facebook Groups and some of my favorites are as follows:

I Thought You Were Hot Until I Clicked on "View More Pictures"

Disney Gave Me Unrealistic Expectations About Love

I Like Texting in Awkward Situations (oh, amen)

If You're OCD and You Know It Wash Your Hands!

I Love How We're Friends on Facebook, but We Don't Actually Talk in Person

I Wasn't Aware That Sexy Ever Left

...and my favorite...

Eighth Graders Need to Back Off Ninth-Grade Guys Especially Other People's BFs

The Wrong Side of the Bed

I think I have started at least 6 different posts this week, all to no avail. This is due in part to the fact that every time I sit down to write, Davy either started fussing or I was simply too brain dead to get my thoughts down. Davy has been sick all week with a bad cold and I've gone from having a cute, chubby baby to one of those snot nosed kids that you hold at arms length for fear of them smearing you with their germ warfare.

I think I'll just barf all my random thoughts out now:

We had an ice storm in North Texas and I can never get over how the news stations go buckwild over the school closings and traffic situations. They will override all the major news shows and even the soap operas that don't come on until later in the morning because OH DEAR GOD THE STREETS ARE SLIPPERY and IT'S ALMOST CLOSE TO FREEZING WE'RE AT 34 DEGREES NOW! The newscasters whip the whole city into a frenzy. It's truly hilarious if you have any understanding of how the northern states work during freezes...which is to say, like clockwork.

So...I kind of feel like I'm back in the 2nd grade and Jessica Wakefield is having a slumber party and everyone's totally excited and did I hear that her mom is gonna let them watch "Gremlins"? but...I didn't get invited. Every time I turn on the news the Obama fever is palpable, the whole world seems to feel as if the greatest party ever is about to be thrown. I get jazzed, too! It's wonderful, all this change. Except for certain things.
I'm looking forward to some changes the President is making but I am very, very leary of the celebrity status that he is gaining. I do not blame this entirely on him. But I think we should all watch our government very closely, praising the good and actively fighting the bad. And Obama's moves on abortion are gonna get really bad. If you care about this like I do, we need to stay alert.

On a lighter note, last night while I was watching Family Guy, I laughed myself to tears when they spoofed Rocky Dennis, God rest his soul. I love the movie "Mask" and once when Katy and I were in the check out line at Target, we saw a People magazine that had a story about Rocky Dennis, except there were no photos of the real Rocky Dennis. Only Eric Stolz' character. When I complained, "maaaaaaan, I wanted to see a real picture of Rocky," Katy gave me a sympathetic smile. "I know you did," she said softly. She knows my deep desire to see pictures of things that are disturbing. Since I can't find that Family Guy clip online, I'll post another politically incorrect clip instead:


Forgive me, Rocky & Helen Keller.

Mine Fuhrer, the Twelth Man

Well, this just made my day. (Thanks, Kent!)

ps: please forgive me Johnna!

Kismet?

A baby who typically is never fussy suddenly cries inconsolably and in pain for over an hour leading her mother to take her to the doctor around 1:45pm. This baby has never been to the doctor for anything but a check-up in her 5 months of life. The doctor finds nothing wrong with said baby and mother and child are free to go.

En route home, around 3pm, this same mother and child are sideswiped by a teenage girl who also begins to cry inconsolably. The teenager's car is marred only by scuff marks and a lost license plate on the front end. The fussy baby fusses even more due to the absence of pacifier and, thankfully, not to any physical trauma. Her mother's car, however, suffers greater peril.

That same car has been paid off...for two weeks.

Whattya gonna do? That car is Your car, Lord.

The Road Goes Ever On and On...

I changed my blog layout. If you don't get it then I question our friendship. I mean, do you even know me at all?

Over the Christmas holiday I spent an evening with Russ, my mom, a good family friend and a bottle of red zin playing this. Did I mention there are 1200 questions?

My dog is named Fatty Lumpkin. Comment if you know the origin of that name (not you, Mom or Katy).

Certain parts of my house are decorated with Bag End in mind. I blame it mostly on Russ.

Russ and I toyed with buying ourselves pipes for a season. We satisfy the desire by asking, "they come in Pints?" whenever drinking a beer. That's how we roll.

Don't mock my layout. Just embrace me for the complete dork that I am.

At this stage in the game, I'd be in the beer closet.

this made me giggle.

Stuff Rattling Around Up There

This just sort of stopped me cold the other night.


For a long time I had avoided reading an email in my inbox. It was from my church. My pastor had spent several Sundays talking about the Democratic Republic of Congo. I had skipped church. "10 new emails." Hmmm, not that one...I'll read it later.

I read it the other night. And now I feel like there is a thorn in my brain. I can't stop thinking about these women...about these children, these families. Please watch that video. It will probably upset you. I think it should.

I sent the link to quite a few folks the other night. One person responded. But her one response was like tossing a lit match into a tinderbox. She was UPSET. And it was all I needed to be pushed forward to do something. So I commit to do something.

More to come...

Saddened for the Travolta Family

As I pulled Davy into bed with me this morning to watch the first few minutes of the Today show, I was heartbroken to see the news that John Travolta's son Jett died this weekend after suffering a fall during a seizure.

I know there's a lot of hub-bub surrounding the issue of whether or not Jett displayed signs of Autism, and know, sadly, that Scientologists regard this disorder as psychosomatic -they believe that all mental illness must be treated by spiritual healing as the individual is considered "debased." There are reports that the Travoltas refused to seek help for their son. I find this so sad. I think one of the most frustrating tenets of Scientology is the legalism of it mixed with the notion that a person can reach god-like status and "heal themselves." And as a mental health professional, it's heart-breaking to see folks suffer under the shame and isolation of a treatable condition.

But all of my feelings about that false religion aside, as a parent I feel so much sorrow for the family. I'm praying that God will be close to them, wooing them through tragedy and revealing Himself to them in the obscurity of this dark night.

7 Swans a- breaking into a million pieces on my floor

Yesterday I arrived home from running an errand to find a large box on our front porch. Isn't that one of the joys of Christmastime? I immediately began wondering which relative had sent us something from Williams-Sonoma. As I furiously tore at the packaging I realized it was a gift from Russell's company. Ooooohhh! Nancy Richards has great taste! They had given us the Twelve Days of Christmas plates as our present this year. Having no previous Christmas plates and being very jealous of Johnna's recent acquisition of Christmas Spode, my mind was all atwitter with where I could display this glorious collection.

I was flying around, using some of the plates as a table setting, putting two on the mantle because the Lords a-leapin' and Pipers pipin' were so festive...and then I thought I'd hang four next to a mirror in our dining room.

Folks, I ain't really blessed with the gift of decorating but it is a gift I desperately desire. Having been married to Russ for the past three years, I have learned that when hanging something, be anal about it: measure twice, use proper hanging tools, find wall studs, etc. But I just wanted those cute plates up! And my daughter only gives me so much time to do these tasks in a day!

I thought they looked fabulous. Until last night at dinner an unbelievably loud crash caused me to choke on my peas..."NOOOOOOOOOOO!" The tears immediately sprang to my eyes! Day Seven, the aforementioned Swans a-swimming, was in broken shambles on the floor, much like my desire to have a perfectly decorated house. The nail I had used (alone, with no hook) had slid downward causing the plate holder to shift off...causing my dreams to come crashing down. Sigh.

I was reminded of once hearing a friend's mother lament, "I cain't have nuthin' nice!" about her children's rough-housing (Yankee relatives translation: "horsing around") in the house and breaking something.

Update: Momma Kay just arrived and told me about www.replacements.com - they have it!

Holy Chotchkie!

This will seriously annoy my Aunt Diane but before I post photos from Thanksgiving & the subsequent birthdays, I was wondering if any of you out there know where I can find a nativity or manger scene that doesn't look like Missus Claus barfed all over it. I'd love to find one that isn't the classic ceramic scene but that also isn't the plastic Precious Moments one either. (No offense meant to anyone who owns the aforementioned...I just have a different idea in mind.) So if any of you out there in cyberspace know of a sweet, simple Nativity that I can buy, please let me know in the comments!

Thanks, internet!

(Davy fix...coming soon)

Update: not long after posting this here and on facebook, I heard back from 3 reliable sources (my sister in law, Johnna; Janet -see comments; and my old running buddy Melissa). All 3 immediately recommended the Willow Tree set. Thanks y'all!