In approximately 36 hours, SuperHubby and I will pack the car, wave goodbye to our adorable progeny, and head west for two delightful days and nights all by ourselves.
We are singing at a wedding of some dear friends, and decided that we should turn it into a romantic getaway destination, even if it is to the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania.
Grammy and Grandpa have volunteered to come and sit for the Tominator for the weekend, so we know he'll be in good hands.
Let me just tell you, two whole nights of uninterrupted sleep is sounding very good right now. Especially since I haven't been feeling very well.
But do you know what I'm looking looking forward to the most? Not 12 solid hours of uninterrupted snuggle time with my sweetie. Not restaurant-prepared, planned and served meals. Not even using a bathroom with a full-sized tub.
It's the cable TV. It's sad, but true. We don't have cable, by choice. But man, the cable is the best part of going to a hotel. I get my comedy central/Jon Stewart/HGTV fixes, and I'm gold. I do love to vegetate.
Ahhhh. TV.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Cross-Country Dreamin'
Ok, so turns out it's not only Daring Young Mom who gets to be featured in my dreamlife. Apparently Chilihead wanted in on the action, since she showed up in a classic convertable last night.
We had our very own Thelma and Louise moment, except without the shooting and murdering and the cop chases. Yeah. It was just like that, only not at all.
But we had a really good time driving across country. You may not know it, but Chili is very funny. She should totally have her own stand up routine.
You may be pleased to know that Miss Chili, although stunning in her Groucho Marx glasses, is also really good at keeping her secret idenitity without them. Throughout the entire dream, I only saw the back of her head or the side of her face, so I still don't know what she looks like. Crazy.
So, as much fun as I'm having meeting some of my blogging idols in my dreams, I would love to meet some of them in person someday!
We had our very own Thelma and Louise moment, except without the shooting and murdering and the cop chases. Yeah. It was just like that, only not at all.
But we had a really good time driving across country. You may not know it, but Chili is very funny. She should totally have her own stand up routine.
You may be pleased to know that Miss Chili, although stunning in her Groucho Marx glasses, is also really good at keeping her secret idenitity without them. Throughout the entire dream, I only saw the back of her head or the side of her face, so I still don't know what she looks like. Crazy.
So, as much fun as I'm having meeting some of my blogging idols in my dreams, I would love to meet some of them in person someday!
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Wednesday Joy
This morning, just shy of dawn, I heard my son stirring in his crib. He was chattering sorrowfully to his stuffed duck. I cracked open my heavy eyelids and prayed he'd go back to sleep.
"Just 30 minutes more," I silently begged. "Just 30 minutes more."
But his pathetic conversation continued, and I there was no way I could leave him in his crib when he sounded so sad.
I hauled myself out of bed and down the stairs to his room. He was laying on his stomach in his crib, running his hand along the rails like a prisoner runs a tin cup along the bars of his jail cell.
My half-asleep heart melted.
I bundled him up and carried him and his duck downstairs, where we set up shop on the couch. He promptly snuggled down on my chest and went right back to sleep. And so did I.
What a lovely way to spend my morning - stretched out on my couch, cradling my baby.
"Just 30 minutes more," I silently begged. "Just 30 minutes more."
But his pathetic conversation continued, and I there was no way I could leave him in his crib when he sounded so sad.
I hauled myself out of bed and down the stairs to his room. He was laying on his stomach in his crib, running his hand along the rails like a prisoner runs a tin cup along the bars of his jail cell.
My half-asleep heart melted.
I bundled him up and carried him and his duck downstairs, where we set up shop on the couch. He promptly snuggled down on my chest and went right back to sleep. And so did I.
What a lovely way to spend my morning - stretched out on my couch, cradling my baby.
Friday, September 15, 2006
I Shake My Fist at You, Blogger Beta
So, I switched. And I really like it. Blogger beta has some great features. But today, all of my links to blogspot sites that have not switched to beta do not work. Which makes me very angry, as I like to read my blogs.
Grrrr.
Are any of you other beta bloggers having this problem?
UPDATE:
Now it's working. Funky. But at least I can catch up on my reading.
Grrrr.
Are any of you other beta bloggers having this problem?
UPDATE:
Now it's working. Funky. But at least I can catch up on my reading.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Stop
He used to let me rock him to sleep, so I could catch a faint whiff of lavender when his hair brushed my cheek.
He used to let me rock him to sleep, and I would marvel at the perfection of his hands as his head lolled against my shoulder. We would read Good Night Moon and The Velveteen Rabbit, and somewhere in the middle, about when the Skin Horse is explaining how Nursery Magic works, he would drift off.
He used to let me rock him to sleep, but now he wants to lay down, big-boy style, and toss and turn until he’s perfectly comfortable.
My boy is growing up, and I should have seen it coming, but somehow it snuck up on me. We celebrated his first birthday last month. He decided he’d had enough of the nursing and self-weaned just barely a week later.
He knows more than a dozen baby signs, although clearly spoken words of any variety still elude him.
One day recently we were playing the kiss-kiss game. “Mommy’s gonna kiss you!” I teased, leaning in to give him a smackeroo on the lips. “Mwwwwwwah!”
He laughed. So I did it again. And again. When I went back for a fourth kiss, I was stopped a few inches from his face.
“’Top,” he said, smacking his hands together to let me know that my kisses were no longer welcome. “’Top.”
He used to let me rock him to sleep, and I would marvel at the perfection of his hands as his head lolled against my shoulder. We would read Good Night Moon and The Velveteen Rabbit, and somewhere in the middle, about when the Skin Horse is explaining how Nursery Magic works, he would drift off.
He used to let me rock him to sleep, but now he wants to lay down, big-boy style, and toss and turn until he’s perfectly comfortable.
My boy is growing up, and I should have seen it coming, but somehow it snuck up on me. We celebrated his first birthday last month. He decided he’d had enough of the nursing and self-weaned just barely a week later.
He knows more than a dozen baby signs, although clearly spoken words of any variety still elude him.
One day recently we were playing the kiss-kiss game. “Mommy’s gonna kiss you!” I teased, leaning in to give him a smackeroo on the lips. “Mwwwwwwah!”
He laughed. So I did it again. And again. When I went back for a fourth kiss, I was stopped a few inches from his face.
“’Top,” he said, smacking his hands together to let me know that my kisses were no longer welcome. “’Top.”
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
I Have Learned ...
to always close the baby gate.
I was typing away at my computer, and I noticed the Tominator's raspberry-blowing sound effects growing quieter as he toddled onto the sun porch. "Brrrbrrrbrrr," I heard. It was quiet for a minute, and my mommy spidey sense began to tingle.
"Clink, WOOOSH, (pause) hahahahahaha," echoed from three rooms away.
I was out of my seat in a flash, fast enough to watch my son tipping the remainder of the water in the stainless-steel dog bowl into his mouth. Most of the water, thankfully, was on his shirt or the floor. The very soggy carpeted floor.
I was fast enough to see him put the bowl on his head, but not fast enough to grab the camera before he'd moved on. So I offer the Babies-Gone-Wild Tominator (spring break babes, watch out.)
to resist the urge to let my strung-out dog help with the KP.
Later that evening, as I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Coltrane decided to help with the prewashing, by licking the surplus food off the plates already stacked in the dishwasher. Normally, this doesn't bother me too much, since the dishes will be cleaned and sanitized once they are put through the wash cycle.
"Chank, ting" went his dog tags against the silverware. It was a peaceful sort of rhythm to compliment the clinking of the glasses as I stacked and carried them to the sink.
Suddenly, the rhythm changed. Cole began trying vainly to pull away from the dishwasher.
"Chankchankchank, tingtingting," went his tags. And then a screech. A crash. Coltrane bolted from the room.
The lower basket of my dishwasher was sitting in the middle of my ceramic tile kitchen floor. A bowl was upended on the floor. Silverware was scattered in every direction. A single dinner plate was split down the middle, the two halves rattling dejectedly as they settled on the floor.
But I'm not angry. That's what I get for letting the mutt who looks like he stayed to long at a Phish concert help with the dishes.
I was typing away at my computer, and I noticed the Tominator's raspberry-blowing sound effects growing quieter as he toddled onto the sun porch. "Brrrbrrrbrrr," I heard. It was quiet for a minute, and my mommy spidey sense began to tingle.
"Clink, WOOOSH, (pause) hahahahahaha," echoed from three rooms away.
I was out of my seat in a flash, fast enough to watch my son tipping the remainder of the water in the stainless-steel dog bowl into his mouth. Most of the water, thankfully, was on his shirt or the floor. The very soggy carpeted floor.
I was fast enough to see him put the bowl on his head, but not fast enough to grab the camera before he'd moved on. So I offer the Babies-Gone-Wild Tominator (spring break babes, watch out.)
to resist the urge to let my strung-out dog help with the KP.
Later that evening, as I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Coltrane decided to help with the prewashing, by licking the surplus food off the plates already stacked in the dishwasher. Normally, this doesn't bother me too much, since the dishes will be cleaned and sanitized once they are put through the wash cycle.
"Chank, ting" went his dog tags against the silverware. It was a peaceful sort of rhythm to compliment the clinking of the glasses as I stacked and carried them to the sink.
Suddenly, the rhythm changed. Cole began trying vainly to pull away from the dishwasher.
"Chankchankchank, tingtingting," went his tags. And then a screech. A crash. Coltrane bolted from the room.
The lower basket of my dishwasher was sitting in the middle of my ceramic tile kitchen floor. A bowl was upended on the floor. Silverware was scattered in every direction. A single dinner plate was split down the middle, the two halves rattling dejectedly as they settled on the floor.
But I'm not angry. That's what I get for letting the mutt who looks like he stayed to long at a Phish concert help with the dishes.
Under Construction
Renovations, renovations. We all love a little home improvement. While I may not be Ms. Rocks and her amazing paper bag walls, I am working on changing a few things around here at Wishful Thinking. I'm giving Blogger Beta a try. And I'm futzing. So, please bear with me through the construction. This shouldn't take more than a week ... or two.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Surely, This is a Sign
Because Daring Young Mom will not stay out of my bedroom.
No, not like that. Ewww. Go wash your brain out with soap.
Back in March, I posted, rather sheepishly, that the inimitable DYM had appeared in two of my dreams. While I was flattered that such a big blog celebrity would take the time to fly clear across the country to visit me in slumberland, I was a bit perturbed. I mean, she was nice and all, but I don't even know the woman. Slumberland is kind of an intimate place for introductions.
But last night, she decided to up the ante. Not only did I have the prime opportunity to visit with DYM, Daring Young Dad was there, too. (He's cool, in case you were wondering.)
We were hanging out in their new house, looking at photo albums. And they were both really, really nice. And funny. We did not, however, have a freestyle rap battle. My poor brain would have been too self-conscious, I think. I am not so great with the insta rhymes.
And, because I know you are wondering, their house is really gorgeous. At least the one in dreamland is lovely. It had a lot of beautiful blond hardwood in my dream. Very open, with a loft type space over the great room. It was neat.
And here's the weirdest part ... DYM was mother to Mopsy's kids. Or Mopsy's kids were living at her house. I'm not entirely sure, but I think this may be a sign that I am spending too much time reading blogs and not enough time with actual people. At least actual people over 3 feet tall. Hm.
So, thanks for the visit, DYM. It was fun. But next time, lets meet for lunch, k?
No, not like that. Ewww. Go wash your brain out with soap.
Back in March, I posted, rather sheepishly, that the inimitable DYM had appeared in two of my dreams. While I was flattered that such a big blog celebrity would take the time to fly clear across the country to visit me in slumberland, I was a bit perturbed. I mean, she was nice and all, but I don't even know the woman. Slumberland is kind of an intimate place for introductions.
But last night, she decided to up the ante. Not only did I have the prime opportunity to visit with DYM, Daring Young Dad was there, too. (He's cool, in case you were wondering.)
We were hanging out in their new house, looking at photo albums. And they were both really, really nice. And funny. We did not, however, have a freestyle rap battle. My poor brain would have been too self-conscious, I think. I am not so great with the insta rhymes.
And, because I know you are wondering, their house is really gorgeous. At least the one in dreamland is lovely. It had a lot of beautiful blond hardwood in my dream. Very open, with a loft type space over the great room. It was neat.
And here's the weirdest part ... DYM was mother to Mopsy's kids. Or Mopsy's kids were living at her house. I'm not entirely sure, but I think this may be a sign that I am spending too much time reading blogs and not enough time with actual people. At least actual people over 3 feet tall. Hm.
So, thanks for the visit, DYM. It was fun. But next time, lets meet for lunch, k?
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Private First Class Aaron J. Rusin
Pfc. Aaron J. Rusin, 19, had only been in Iraq for a month when he was shot during an Oct. 10, 2004 attack on his military convoy outside of Baghdad. Rusin, of Johnstown, Pa., died Oct. 11. He was assigned to the 44th Engineer Battalion, 2nd Infantry Division, Camp Howze, Korea, and had joined the Army in the tradition of his father, grandfather and three uncles, who all served.
Before joining the Army, Rusin volunteered with two fire departments."He was awesome. He was one of those kids who would do anything. You never had to ask him twice," said Barry Emerson, assistant chief for the Jackson Township fire department.
Pfc. Rusin, we thank you and your family for the sacrifice you have made in service to our country. We will remember.
Sources: The Associated Press; Fallen Heroes of Operation Iraqi Freedom
The ladies over at Some Gave All are hoping to have all the tributes posted by Labor Day 2006, but you might squeak one in if you get hopping.
This is especially important to me as a dear family friend is about to start his third tour in Iraq with the Marines. His name is Corporal John Davis; please say a prayer for him if you have a moment.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sandy Boy
Oh Sandy Boy, the beach, the beach is calling ...
Ok, I've got to stop that, or y'all are going to think I'm going to start all my posts with lame made-up verses to famous songs.
Right.
A few weeks ago, just after his first birthday, the Tominator landed on the Delaware coast, prepared for a sandy invasion.
I was pretty sure he would like the beach, since his sandbox is a source of endless amusement. What could be better than a giant sandbox? Especially a giant sandbox where you can fall flat on your face, get covered in sand, and get up and keep going? Oh, and in case you aren't sandy enough, I highly recommend a sand sandwich and a handful or two of sand chips. They are apparently delicious.
While my boy loved the beach, it took him a little while to warm up to the water. He wasn't too sure what to make of it at first, and figured ingesting handfuls of the beach in between chasing the seagulls was just more fun than anyone should have.
Pretty soon, though, he headed for the water. I had imagined that he might just play at the edge of the waves. You know, nice and quietly.
Ha ha.
The Tominator LOVES the ocean. He loves it so much that he repeatedly pulled out of my grasp and ran pell-mell directly into the breakers. The water would crash in his face and he would smack his lips and chortle. And try to run farther into the surf.
I knew if I called him "little dude" often enough as an infant he would grow up to be a surfer.
Ok, I've got to stop that, or y'all are going to think I'm going to start all my posts with lame made-up verses to famous songs.
Right.
A few weeks ago, just after his first birthday, the Tominator landed on the Delaware coast, prepared for a sandy invasion.
I was pretty sure he would like the beach, since his sandbox is a source of endless amusement. What could be better than a giant sandbox? Especially a giant sandbox where you can fall flat on your face, get covered in sand, and get up and keep going? Oh, and in case you aren't sandy enough, I highly recommend a sand sandwich and a handful or two of sand chips. They are apparently delicious.
While my boy loved the beach, it took him a little while to warm up to the water. He wasn't too sure what to make of it at first, and figured ingesting handfuls of the beach in between chasing the seagulls was just more fun than anyone should have.
Pretty soon, though, he headed for the water. I had imagined that he might just play at the edge of the waves. You know, nice and quietly.
Ha ha.
The Tominator LOVES the ocean. He loves it so much that he repeatedly pulled out of my grasp and ran pell-mell directly into the breakers. The water would crash in his face and he would smack his lips and chortle. And try to run farther into the surf.
I knew if I called him "little dude" often enough as an infant he would grow up to be a surfer.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
How Great Thou Art
So beautiful, when from your box you'd risen
to shine your light on blogging worlds again.
I saw the sun, I heard the angels singin'
Thy wide-screen: host to all that man has made.
Then sings my soul, my favorite Dell to thee,
How great thou art
How great thou art
Then sings my soul, my favorite Dell to thee,
How great thou art
How great thou art.
Meet Zoe. She is my new baby. She arrived on Monday, and although she is still keeping me up nights, I am one happy mama. One happy, blogging mama.
And, may I just say, I love Dell.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
An Open Letter to the Tominator
Dear Tommy,
It's so hard to believe that just one year ago, you were such a tiny little guy, so angry at being evicted from your nice warm home under my heart. You were such a strong baby, and such a good sleeper (how I wish we could see that trait again!)
I didn't know how lucky I was the day you were born. I'd been in early labor for a week, and to be honest, I was just grateful to have you out.
Once I actually held you, I marveled at your tiny fingers and your squinched-up eyes. In fact, I was a little worried that you might not actually have eyes, since I didn't personally see them open until you were at least three days old.
Over the past year, you have grown and changed so much. My tiny boy who used to snuggle for hours in the sling now careens around the house, wreaking havoc wherever he goes. I have watched you study everything with careful precision, before learning exactly how to complete a task. The doctor used to comment on your serious expression, joking that you were figuring out a solution to bring world peace. She said you would probably be President some day.
I said you can be anything you want, as long as it's not a politician.
But you're not all thoughtful studiousness. Like your father before you, your smiles light up the room.
Your Aunt Sheryl sent you this ball pit for your birthday, and it is truly your favorite gift. The look on your face when you came downstairs was priceless.
Your MegaBlocks wagon was another favorite gift. Pops has spent hours pushing you around, while you grin and giggle like a madman.
But best of all, even though you are growing up, you still love to give bear hugs and snuggles. Sometimes you cling to me so tightly that I don't even have to hold on to you. I feel like the mother of a very strong chimpanzee when you do that, but it makes me very proud.
I love you so much. Happy birthday, my son.
Love,
Mama
It's so hard to believe that just one year ago, you were such a tiny little guy, so angry at being evicted from your nice warm home under my heart. You were such a strong baby, and such a good sleeper (how I wish we could see that trait again!)
I didn't know how lucky I was the day you were born. I'd been in early labor for a week, and to be honest, I was just grateful to have you out.
Once I actually held you, I marveled at your tiny fingers and your squinched-up eyes. In fact, I was a little worried that you might not actually have eyes, since I didn't personally see them open until you were at least three days old.
Over the past year, you have grown and changed so much. My tiny boy who used to snuggle for hours in the sling now careens around the house, wreaking havoc wherever he goes. I have watched you study everything with careful precision, before learning exactly how to complete a task. The doctor used to comment on your serious expression, joking that you were figuring out a solution to bring world peace. She said you would probably be President some day.
I said you can be anything you want, as long as it's not a politician.
But you're not all thoughtful studiousness. Like your father before you, your smiles light up the room.
Your Aunt Sheryl sent you this ball pit for your birthday, and it is truly your favorite gift. The look on your face when you came downstairs was priceless.
Your MegaBlocks wagon was another favorite gift. Pops has spent hours pushing you around, while you grin and giggle like a madman.
But best of all, even though you are growing up, you still love to give bear hugs and snuggles. Sometimes you cling to me so tightly that I don't even have to hold on to you. I feel like the mother of a very strong chimpanzee when you do that, but it makes me very proud.
I love you so much. Happy birthday, my son.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Works for Me Wednesday: Chore Chart
I'm going to piggy back of another WFMW poster and tell you all about my chore chart. SuperHubby actually came up with the first draft of this after the Tominator was born. SuperHubby had volunteered to take over the household chores for a while so I could get used to being a mommy, and he made a weekly list that he could hang on the fridge. Whenever he completed a chore, he would cross it off so that I would know it had been completed.
I liked the idea so much that I took his list and tweaked it (and, much to his chagrin, added Clip Art) and now I have a great chore list on my fridge. I currently just print a new list out every week, but if I were smart, I'd laminate the sucker and just tic off the completed chores with a dry-erase marker.
Here's the list, and it works for me!
I liked the idea so much that I took his list and tweaked it (and, much to his chagrin, added Clip Art) and now I have a great chore list on my fridge. I currently just print a new list out every week, but if I were smart, I'd laminate the sucker and just tic off the completed chores with a dry-erase marker.
Here's the list, and it works for me!
Friday, July 21, 2006
Clean Sweep
A few days ago, while shoveling a path through the junk piled up in front of my washing machine, I wished recklessly for the Clean Sweep team to come to my house and just help me get rid of everything. "I need someone to help me!" I thought desperately to myself.
On Friday, my help arrived - in the body of an 18 year old, who was supposed to be watching the Tominator so I could clean. The Tominator was, of course, asleep when my helper - let's call her "Maria" - arrived. She was eager to help. I was eager to let her, since I had company arriving on Saturday.
Now, to be clear, my house wasn't in that bad a shape. Sure, there were tufts of dog hair on the carpet, and a few things out of place, but it wasn't overrun by stacks of paper or anything. So maybe Tom's car was in the middle of the floor, and his set of Playschool Peek-a-Blocks were scattered around. His Waffle Blocks were piled in a corner in a fluorescent green milk crate that looked horrid with our decor. But really, it was nothing a quick dusting and vacuuming wouldn't fix.
Maria had other ideas.
"Goslyn," Maria said to me in her best drill-sergeant voice, "You really need to organize this stuff. You have too many things sitting out! I will get to work on it."
I can't complain about her work. She busted her behind and reorganized and condensed all of the Tominator's toys so they now fit neatly in the little baskets under my coffee table. She dusted and vacuumed and even did the baseboards.
Around dinner time I offered to take her home, but she insisted on staying because she hadn't yet cleaned my back porch, which was a complete disaster. Pretty soon, she had that looking like a new space as well. She had taken all the little bags of potting soil I was stashing behind the recliner and combined them, so that I could take that one larger bag to the garden shed. She cleaned out my collection of plastic grocery bags and frowned at the pile of paper recycling stored under the library table.
"Goslyn, I can't do anymore with this stuff here," she sighed. "I guess I'll have to quit until you get more organized."
What they don't show you on Clean Sweep is how completely embarrassed the people are when all their stuff is taken to the curb and gone through - with most of it ending up in the garbage can. They producers edit out the parts where the happy couple is frustrated and angry at all these people who come in and criticize the way the couple keeps house.
I know I should be thankful for the help, but how embarrassing to be taken down a notch in the cleanliness department by a teenager. So I guess the moral of that story is "be careful what you wish for ... you just might get it."
On Friday, my help arrived - in the body of an 18 year old, who was supposed to be watching the Tominator so I could clean. The Tominator was, of course, asleep when my helper - let's call her "Maria" - arrived. She was eager to help. I was eager to let her, since I had company arriving on Saturday.
Now, to be clear, my house wasn't in that bad a shape. Sure, there were tufts of dog hair on the carpet, and a few things out of place, but it wasn't overrun by stacks of paper or anything. So maybe Tom's car was in the middle of the floor, and his set of Playschool Peek-a-Blocks were scattered around. His Waffle Blocks were piled in a corner in a fluorescent green milk crate that looked horrid with our decor. But really, it was nothing a quick dusting and vacuuming wouldn't fix.
Maria had other ideas.
"Goslyn," Maria said to me in her best drill-sergeant voice, "You really need to organize this stuff. You have too many things sitting out! I will get to work on it."
I can't complain about her work. She busted her behind and reorganized and condensed all of the Tominator's toys so they now fit neatly in the little baskets under my coffee table. She dusted and vacuumed and even did the baseboards.
Around dinner time I offered to take her home, but she insisted on staying because she hadn't yet cleaned my back porch, which was a complete disaster. Pretty soon, she had that looking like a new space as well. She had taken all the little bags of potting soil I was stashing behind the recliner and combined them, so that I could take that one larger bag to the garden shed. She cleaned out my collection of plastic grocery bags and frowned at the pile of paper recycling stored under the library table.
"Goslyn, I can't do anymore with this stuff here," she sighed. "I guess I'll have to quit until you get more organized."
What they don't show you on Clean Sweep is how completely embarrassed the people are when all their stuff is taken to the curb and gone through - with most of it ending up in the garbage can. They producers edit out the parts where the happy couple is frustrated and angry at all these people who come in and criticize the way the couple keeps house.
I know I should be thankful for the help, but how embarrassing to be taken down a notch in the cleanliness department by a teenager. So I guess the moral of that story is "be careful what you wish for ... you just might get it."
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Technical Difficulties and a Hiatus
Remember me? Maybe not.
You may have noticed a certain lack of well, posting, as of late on this site.
Reason #1 is that we've been having some technical difficulties on our rapidly-aging computers. We have three computers in our household - and the newest one is more than six years old. It was a pretty good computer until its memory filled up. Now it is slower than molasses in January.
The laptop that has been designated "mine" (a 1998 Toshiba) was a very fine computer in 1998. Not so great in 2006. It is so old that I literally cannot connect my camera to download pictures. Thus, no pictures. And so much of what I have to say would be better with photo illustrations.
Anyhow, my blogging will be limited or maybe non-existent until we make a decision on a new laptop. We have been contemplating this maneuver for a while now, but very few things happen quickly in the SupperHubby universe. We are researchers. We are comparison shoppers. (Seriously. We have a paper and an online subscription to Consumer Report). We take a loooooonnnngggg time to do anything that involves spending reasonably good-sized chunks of money. So, it could be a while.
Reason #2 is that I find more and more that I have very little to say that doesn't involve my adorable offspring, and I am convinced that the Tominator cannot possibly be all that interesting to my 12 or so regular readers. So ... until I come up with something to say and a machine on which I can say it with reasonable speed ... I am going to take a break.
I do have access to a nice, new, speedy computer at work. If, by some miracle, I have a moment or two to post from work, I will. I hope you all will come back to see me when I return.
Until then, I will just have to read up on all your lives.
You may have noticed a certain lack of well, posting, as of late on this site.
Reason #1 is that we've been having some technical difficulties on our rapidly-aging computers. We have three computers in our household - and the newest one is more than six years old. It was a pretty good computer until its memory filled up. Now it is slower than molasses in January.
The laptop that has been designated "mine" (a 1998 Toshiba) was a very fine computer in 1998. Not so great in 2006. It is so old that I literally cannot connect my camera to download pictures. Thus, no pictures. And so much of what I have to say would be better with photo illustrations.
Anyhow, my blogging will be limited or maybe non-existent until we make a decision on a new laptop. We have been contemplating this maneuver for a while now, but very few things happen quickly in the SupperHubby universe. We are researchers. We are comparison shoppers. (Seriously. We have a paper and an online subscription to Consumer Report). We take a loooooonnnngggg time to do anything that involves spending reasonably good-sized chunks of money. So, it could be a while.
Reason #2 is that I find more and more that I have very little to say that doesn't involve my adorable offspring, and I am convinced that the Tominator cannot possibly be all that interesting to my 12 or so regular readers. So ... until I come up with something to say and a machine on which I can say it with reasonable speed ... I am going to take a break.
I do have access to a nice, new, speedy computer at work. If, by some miracle, I have a moment or two to post from work, I will. I hope you all will come back to see me when I return.
Until then, I will just have to read up on all your lives.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Grand Canyon Haiku (Or, How I Spent My Summer Vacation)
Jagged rocks edging
clear blue sky, condors floating
high searching for food
Warning signs: drink water
Eat salty snacks, rest often
Don't feed the condors
Sizzling sun too
strong for sprayed-on sun screen
cool breeze soothes hot neck
Awesome rift, ten miles
from side to side. God has carved
limestone with water
Created with help
from a Great Flood, ranger says
Intelligent work
Of Creator's hands
Crimson rock slicing blue sky
breathless I wonder
People everywhere
Yet silence echos throughout
This canyon Grand
Sheer drops no
Railing and sheerer terror
Sister stays well back
Backpack baby sleeps
On foot and tram, at campfire
But not in the tent
Midnight snuggles in
Big black Chevy Surburban
Jim Weiss lulls to sleep
Six hours home with Robots,
Crocodile Hunter, Jonah
and SpongeBob; great trip
*Hat tip to Mopsy, from whom I stole this Haiku idea.
clear blue sky, condors floating
high searching for food
Warning signs: drink water
Eat salty snacks, rest often
Don't feed the condors
Sizzling sun too
strong for sprayed-on sun screen
cool breeze soothes hot neck
Awesome rift, ten miles
from side to side. God has carved
limestone with water
Created with help
from a Great Flood, ranger says
Intelligent work
Of Creator's hands
Crimson rock slicing blue sky
breathless I wonder
People everywhere
Yet silence echos throughout
This canyon Grand
Sheer drops no
Railing and sheerer terror
Sister stays well back
Backpack baby sleeps
On foot and tram, at campfire
But not in the tent
Midnight snuggles in
Big black Chevy Surburban
Jim Weiss lulls to sleep
Six hours home with Robots,
Crocodile Hunter, Jonah
and SpongeBob; great trip
*Hat tip to Mopsy, from whom I stole this Haiku idea.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
SuperHubby Forgot to Tell Me ...
That he is expecting. But apparently he remembered to tell the folks at Nestle Good Start.
Today, he received in the mail a very nice thick packet of formula coupons and helpful tips for dealing with newborns. Here's how the cover letter read:
"Dear Mr. SuperHubby,
We know that you've never been busier, so we've designed this package to help. Look inside to...
Save $12.00 on Nestle Good Start Supreme Infant Formula.
That's just the beginning of your savings!
Save 50% on the PLAYSKOOL TUMMY TIME TOGETHER GYM toy
Save 10% on the baby-size Snug Tub at RIGHT START stores
When you deliver, ask the nurse for your FREE very best baby BACKPACK!
An $89 value, it's the bag with features that experienced mom's prefer.
Apparently, the marketing people at Nestle think my husband is this guy. Although he has many child-rearing related superpowers, SuperHubby does not yet have the ability to give birth. Although, come to think of it, maybe I will delegate that responsibility the next time around ...
These folks at Nestle may be on to something.
Nah.
Today, he received in the mail a very nice thick packet of formula coupons and helpful tips for dealing with newborns. Here's how the cover letter read:
"Dear Mr. SuperHubby,
We know that you've never been busier, so we've designed this package to help. Look inside to...
Save $12.00 on Nestle Good Start Supreme Infant Formula.
That's just the beginning of your savings!
Save 50% on the PLAYSKOOL TUMMY TIME TOGETHER GYM toy
Save 10% on the baby-size Snug Tub at RIGHT START stores
When you deliver, ask the nurse for your FREE very best baby BACKPACK!
An $89 value, it's the bag with features that experienced mom's prefer.
Apparently, the marketing people at Nestle think my husband is this guy. Although he has many child-rearing related superpowers, SuperHubby does not yet have the ability to give birth. Although, come to think of it, maybe I will delegate that responsibility the next time around ...
These folks at Nestle may be on to something.
Nah.
Jesus in My Enemy
This morning's post is about torture, ladies. I don't often attempt political posts - one, because I am never sure I am as well-versed in a subject as I need to be to open myself up to flaming - and two, because this is first and foremost a mommy blog. I welcome open and vigorous discussion on this topic, but flaming will be deleted.
But this morning I was listening to yet another segment on NPR about our current policy of torturing prisoners-of-war. NPR has done a fairly balanced job of presenting both sides of the argument, but it breaks my heart that my country has stooped to this. I understand the need for interrogation. I understand the need to take prisoners. But torturing them in the name of "greater good" is unconscionable. Torture is vengeance, and God is pretty clear on who has the right to exact vengeance.
Tip: it ain't us.
This is Romans 12:18-20:
18 If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. 19 Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. 20 On the contrary:
"If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head."
Really, it doesn't get much clearer than that. The fact that the US government has kidnapped the small children (ages 7 and 9)of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the mastermind behind the Sept. 11 attacks, and is threatening to harm them as leverage to get their father to talk should stop us all in our tracks. This is wrong.
This is not how we, as Christians, are called to behave. And the fact that we ourselves are not actively torturing people does not excuse us. Our complacency has gotten us to this point. We have given the people in power carte blanche to do whatever they deem necessary to "protect" us. And they have taken that power and gone too far.
Just because our enemy does not believe in the same God that we believe in does not make him any less of a child of that God. If we believe, as most of us (Christians, that is) profess to, that God is the one creator, then that means He created Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and his cronies, too. That means that we are called to treat him with love, even though we despise his actions and his life.
Jesus addresses this in Matthew 25:
34 "Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'
37 "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
40 "The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
41 "Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
44 "They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
45 "He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
46 "Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."
Look closely at those last three verses. Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.
What are we doing in the name of justice for our Lord, and are you a part of it, by your complacency?
But this morning I was listening to yet another segment on NPR about our current policy of torturing prisoners-of-war. NPR has done a fairly balanced job of presenting both sides of the argument, but it breaks my heart that my country has stooped to this. I understand the need for interrogation. I understand the need to take prisoners. But torturing them in the name of "greater good" is unconscionable. Torture is vengeance, and God is pretty clear on who has the right to exact vengeance.
Tip: it ain't us.
This is Romans 12:18-20:
18 If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. 19 Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. 20 On the contrary:
"If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head."
Really, it doesn't get much clearer than that. The fact that the US government has kidnapped the small children (ages 7 and 9)of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the mastermind behind the Sept. 11 attacks, and is threatening to harm them as leverage to get their father to talk should stop us all in our tracks. This is wrong.
This is not how we, as Christians, are called to behave. And the fact that we ourselves are not actively torturing people does not excuse us. Our complacency has gotten us to this point. We have given the people in power carte blanche to do whatever they deem necessary to "protect" us. And they have taken that power and gone too far.
Just because our enemy does not believe in the same God that we believe in does not make him any less of a child of that God. If we believe, as most of us (Christians, that is) profess to, that God is the one creator, then that means He created Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and his cronies, too. That means that we are called to treat him with love, even though we despise his actions and his life.
Jesus addresses this in Matthew 25:
34 "Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'
37 "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
40 "The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
41 "Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
44 "They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
45 "He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
46 "Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."
Look closely at those last three verses. Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.
What are we doing in the name of justice for our Lord, and are you a part of it, by your complacency?
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Wrangling Tupperware
In my first foray into the Works for Me Wednesday world, I offer my tip for keeping your "tupperware" drawer or shelf neat and organized.
I don't know about you, but I think my plastic storage containers breed when I'm not looking. To keep my them neat, I remove all the lids and store them in a gallon-sized freezer bag. Then I simply nest all of the "bottoms" in whatever way fits well into the drawer. It is always a snap to find a container and a lid, and by nesting them, the containers take up much less space. It works for me!
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