Storyteller's broken heart

I need help. Storyteller has a friend from the old private school. We tried to keep in contact with the girl but her family never return our calls. I didn't want to make a nuisance of ourselves so I finally stopped allowing Storyteller to call her friend. I thought that Storyteller would eventually forget her but it's been 6 months now.

Yesterday Storyteller told me that "Ami" is her best friend in all the world but "She's like an ice cube. Once she was here but now she's all melted. There's nothing left." OH MY GOSH! HOW SAD IS THAT? My heart broke for this child. All Storyteller wants to do is go and play with this little girl.

I don't understand why they won't return phone calls. I thought that perhaps they didn't want to continue the friendship because we live in a different town from them. We are always in that other town. I don't know if they realize this.

Anyway, now I wonder whether I should write the other family a note asking whether we could get together for a playdate. Should I explain that we spend a lot of time in their town? We're there at least 2 days a week. I really don't know what to do. I'm as lost and confused as my little Storyteller.

All I know is that my little Storyteller is mourning the lose of her friend. My heart breaks for Storyteller. I just want to find those people and beg them to keep in contact with us. So any words of wisdom would be welcomed. If you have some insight this situation I would be more than happy to entertain all suggestions.

Christmas conspiracy!

There is a Christmas conspiracy! I kid you not. And it is in the store near you. I don't mean the over-commericialization of Christmas. I mean the candy that is available for Christmas is completely limited to chocolate. I've started noticing over the last two years that Christmas candy variety is being taken over by chocolate! Don't get me wrong I love chocolate as any good American woman does. But does every available candy option need to be chocolate?

Some of my favorite Christmas candy is chocolate. Who couldn't resist a chocolate Santa? What about a marshmellow chocolate covered snowman or a Santa? I love chocolate bells, especially if they have peanut butter in the centers. Of course there are plenty of candy canes but after that there really isn't much left these days.

I miss those mallow creme candies shaped like Santas, reindeer, and bells. (They were made from the same stuff as candy corn.) What about all those hard tack candies that are traditional candy at Christmas. I found a small container of those in Walgreens on the shelf just above the floor. So you know how they rate.

Why has chocolate taken over? Did some rabid investors in the cocao bean see falling prices and found away to make a market? Or has the American taste bud become so unadventerous? Why do we as a culture always dumb down to the common denominator?

Ask me what I want for Christmas-- All I want for Christmas is some candy variety!

More sexy neighbor tales

Well, I finally got all the icicle lights up on the house last week. To do this we had to borrow an extention ladder from the "perfect family" down the street. By the way their house and yard had been decorated for a couple of weeks. Let's just say Santa shouldn't have trouble finding their house on Christmas eve. All their trees have lights; their sidewalk leading up to the front door is lit like a runway; the house roof is outlined in lights. I think they even have those reindeer made from lights in their front yard.

After completing the task of the lights I returned the ladder. This was on Saturday early afternoon. Sexy neighbor comes to the door, her hair perfect brushed and wavy, cute jeans and a red blouse with one of those sweater things that glitter (I think they're called shrugs?). She had been vacuuming her living room. All of the rooms that I could see into were decorated for the holiday. So I told her I had left the ladder in her garage (they leave it open most the time) and I asked whether they were having a party. The older boy (who I think DQ has a crush on) was dressed rather smartly himself. Sexy neighbor said they were having a few guest this week but not today. So I looked at her and asked, "Do you always dress up to clean house?" "I mean do you do yard work in evening wear?"

Of course she denied dressing up to clean house. They had been to the oldest son's recital. I didn't have the presence of mind to ask what he played. I was simply amazed that the woman could clean house and still look so damn put together. Truly aggravating!

Now I have to explain that I like this woman. She has a great sense of humor. But for some reason she makes me feel inadequate. I don't think she even intends to do that. (You guys know what I mean we all know at least one woman who works hard at making you feel inferior to her.) She is really a down to earth kind a person and is fun to be around. I just wish I had some of her style.

Manic Mass of Christ!

I really marvel at my parents. If we were anything like my children at Christmas time my parents deserve a medal! Especially for not killing us in our manic state. Yes! A manic state has creeped into our lives. The girls are all pumped up with visions of gifts, and gifts, and gifts.

I contemplate not celebrating Christmas. I think about telling the kids to forget Christmas morning because Santa called and said you all are too wild. Of course we do the normal threatening... "You better behave because Santa's watching!" Yet this doesn't even seem to phase them. It's like they know they'll get the goods no matter how bad they behave.

I don't know, Christmas is somehow different than when I was a kid. I was always excited about Santa coming. I wondered what I would get. I asked Santa for stuff and usually didn't get it. But you know I was never truly heart-broken, or disappointed. It was just great to run out to the living room and see all the presents under the tree. To wake Mom and Dad up early. To turn the tree on and watch the twinkling lights. To smell ginger bread men and other goodies hanging in the air-- it was all a promise. A promise that it was going to be the best day of the year. And you know I can't think of a single Christmas that wasn't wonderful.

What surprises me is how I have to go wake up the kids in the morning. I have already turned on the tree lights; had a cup of hot chocolate or coffee; and sat enjoying the quiet peaceful morning. I savor that brief moment in the morning, and then I can't stand it any longer and I go wake up those little darlings. I watch their faces as they see what Santa brought them.

Last year I had to explain to a disappointed DQ that a bike is a good thing. Better than the thing she asked Santa for-- a suitcase. Oh the drama of the morning. I really lost my cool. It was during the shower I took that I understood/realized what DQ must of thought when she didn't find what she asked for from Santa. I'm still kicking myself for the decision I made last year. I should have bought her the bag and gave Storyteller the bike. ST uses it more than DQ does any old day. Don't worry Storyteller's getting a bike this year. The best part is it's all put together already!

I've noticed this mania seems to increase with their age. Of course I suppose at some point this will end too. Especially after they realize that there isn't a real Santa Claus. If they turn into materialistic grubby monsters at that point I may just go ahead and skip Christmas presents all together. I'll use the money that I would spend on a charity that does excellent work. I'd much rather build a home half way around the world than buy some spoiled child an X-box or a Wii or what ever will be in fashion then. But that's the future. Right now they are the sweetest little girls. They're excited, sweet little girls that I love dearly.

Miss Sunshine

When I look at Miss Independence I see a doll that I use to play with as a child. It's one of those toys that no one else seems to remember. It was actually a set of dolls. They were called the Sunshine family. They were the hippie family. In fact with each doll and accessory you bought came with a little yellow card that told you how to recycle common things into furniture and other items for the family. I remember one card showed how you could cut an oatmeal container down to create a table and chair. Another had a bunch of ideas for egg cartons.

Mom was a cute little blonde doll. She had the cutiest button nose. The baby was as blonde as the mommy doll. Dad doll was dark haired and wore comfortable clothes. No suits and ties for this man. In fact I doubt he ever saw a tux. Not even on the wedding day. It's rather funny that my very conservative, Republican mother would have bought these dolls for me. Life's ironic, isn't it?

Well I was playing with Miss Independence today and I could see a resemblance to the mom doll. Miss Independence has the cutiest nose. It has freckles on it. Of course her smile ranges from impish to angelic. I call her Morning Glory because she wakes up with a smile and a giggle. MI is certainly going to make an impression on the world.

Wonder if she'll be a hippie?

The power curve.

Just this morning I said something that I heard all my life. It was something my father always said. I think he said it to drive my mother crazy. My Mom is not the most punctual individual you will ever meet. My father was a punctual man. I think he hated to be late.

When travelling with my mother anywhere she knew exactly how long it took to get there on a good day when the travel gods are with you. You know you hit all the green lights; you're not stuck behind an old codger doing 20 miles below the speed limit, etc. If it took 5 minutes to get there under those conditions then Mom would leave exactly 5 minutes before the appointment/event.

Dad, on the other hand, planned an extra 10 to 15 minutes into the travel time. If it looked like your actions made some of those extra minutes disappear, my father would bellow, "We're 4 minutes behind the power curve!" I remember once when my mother told my father that she hated "his power curve".

This morning I heard myself telling my children that if we didn't hurry we would be behind the power curve. So my father lives on. He lives on by what I do and say. By my teaching my children the things he taught me. I suppose that is why some people are so insistent that their children procreate. They want some measure of immortality.

At this point I don't want grandchildren. My father always said that if he had known how much fun grandchildren were he would have skipped us. I have no idea whether this was an original thought or whether he stole it from someone else. It really doesn't matter because to me he owns those words. He took such great delight in them.

So here's to you Dad! You did your best with all of us. We know you loved us. I thank God we had time to settle our differences and find in each other great joy.

I have a talisman

I have a talisman. I hang on to it with dear life. Anytime that I think about getting rid of it or at least some of it I can't bring myself to do it.

What is this talisman? It is the baby clothes my three little girls have worn. It's also every piece of baby equipment-- things like crib mattress covers, the bassinet, bibs and bottles.

Anytime I think about passing these things on to the next woman with children I freeze. I become irrationally scared. I know as soon as I give these things away I will become pregnant again. These things are keeping us from growing our family. I just know it.

Where am I keeping these things? Well right now they are in plastic bins in my closet. This is where my problems begin. I know have at least 5 bins of baby clothes in my closet.

Recently I've started moving these bins out. They are going up into the attic. Now I have to deal with my feelings of guilt. I keep thinking that there is someone that could really use the clothes. All of these things are going to waste because I have an irrational fear.

Every once in a while I work up my courage and I think, "This is it. I'm going to pack up all these things and give them away." Then the fear sets in. I just can't make myself give it away. I would lose my talisman.

Family has tried to help. My sister-in-law tells me that my next child will be a boy. Then she goes on and tells me that it will be twin boys! That's when I know she hates me. Me! A mother of 5!@! No way! Her rational. All the clothes are for girls; therefore, I would need different stuff.

Ah! Now that's a thought. Perhaps I can go through the clothes and pull out the things that would work well for any gender. Keep those things and toss the rest. Well not toss but circulate the rest. I think I might just work on that idea.

All I know is that I need a talisman.

Booby gun

At dinner tonight DQ told us about 21 windows at the school that were shot by a booby gun. Storyteller interrupted with "No DQ! Not booby gun-- Beebee gun!" Which then sparked this rather hair raising story about how ST and a friend at school were shot at. I'm thinking that this must be a tale.

What I mean is the I believe the windows were shot out but I hope with all my heart that no one shot at any child at that school. And if it did happen I'm going to be one angry mother that the school officials didn't inform us.

Then the girls told us that someone started a fire near one of the entrances to the school. They said the police caught the perps. Again. I'm not sure whether this happened or not. If it did I hope it was while no one was at school. I am getting worried.

In today's world life is so scarry. If there were two incidents of vandalism at the school I worry about whether this is a pattern starting. If so it could mean that there is more to come? I hope the police certainly caught the perps. The girls said that it was a couple of 15 year olds.

I just want to close with the fact that I managed to not smile or laugh at DQ's booby gun. But I have to admit that I had all sorts of visions of what a booby gun might look like. Puts a whole different meaning on the lactating stripper. Get out of hand with me and I'll shot you with my booby gun. OH MY GOSH! Didn't one of the Mike Meyer's Austin Powers movies have female androids that had booby guns? I mean their breasts were machine guns? This certainly tickled my funny bone.

"What Lola wants-- Lola gets"

Once again despite my earliest promises to myself that I won't allow a certain individual get to me I allowed that person to get to me. It actually all started before I even saw her. Wednesday night I got to thinking of her. Thursday morning I was girding up my loins to do battle with her. By Thursday night we engaged in our first skirmish over the food.

I've done a lot of soul searching since returning from Texas Camp. Here is why I dislike this person so irrationally. Let's call her Lola. (Lola because of the character in "Damn Yankees".) Lola is an individual who appears to be very popular. People fawn all over her. Lola dances the best. Lola sings so well. Lola plays the fiddle the best. So you think I'm jealous of her? Perhaps. But I don't think it's in the traditional way. I don't want to be like her. See, if I were to treat people the way she treats people I would have long ago been lynched from the nearest tree. No. I don't want to be like her. Just once, I would like to deal her a wound. Not physically but emotionally, psychologically. I sound terrible but let me describe Lola's behavior and character.

When Lola is forced to dance with a person that she thinks is inferior, her face turns and her nose goes up in the air. If they are truly a clod in dancing Lola will lecture them and demean them until they slink away. Should you dare to opine against Lola-- you better have a thick skin for she will tear into you and shred you. Thereafter you have marked yourself for future set downs. You are now an ignorant being totally unworthy of anything.

Now I question, "How do people like this get to be so damn popular?" I always thought that popularity equated an individual that has compassion and goodwill towards others. But of course as we all know from our school experience that popularity has nothing to do with one's compassion or goodwill. There is something else that makes these people attractive. I don't know what it is. If you think it is looks I would have to disagree. Because then Lola ought to be out of the running for popularity especially because she's recently picked up about 30 pounds; much to my delight.

I continue my grievances with newly discovered fodder. This year I discovered that Lola pretty much runs the camp despite who might really be the camp director. The schedule is design to suit the tastes of Lola. Lola doesn't like it when she has to choose between activities. So the activities are planned so our little darling can go to everything that she wants to. The camp band came up with a nice idea to include the dancers in on a song. Lola threw a fit and things were changed because Lola didn't like the idea.

But this year things changed for me. I found allies. I discovered this after the camp was forced to sing happy birthday to Lola for the second time around. (Not everyone in the camp was there for the first time because they chose different activities.) This was at dinner. I was sharing a table with another family of small children. After the song I stood up and asked, "Hey Lola, is it the big 50?" Let's face it folks, that was nice compared to another impulse I had to ask about her weight gain. Well, this other couple looks at me and lets loose with all of their dislikes of Lola and her crowd. They also told me about the silent war they were waging against her this year. The woman was bidding against Lola on all of the silent auction items. Oh how this tickled me!

Finally I know that I am not alone in my dislike of this individual. I've always known there were others but they never seemed willing to take the bull by the horns. It's just nice to know that there are others giving her a zap and a sting from time to time. Perhaps now that I know that someone else is out there thinking up ways to vex Lola I can let go just a bit.

How books take over my life

I love to read. I read practically anything. Before I had kids I read non-fiction. I tried to continue reading non-fiction but it is hopeless. I find that I really need to have long periods of uninterrupted peace and quiet to do justice to non-fiction. With small children I simply don't have that time.

So then I moved on to sappy romances. They were easy because it really didn't matter if you read the whole thing. In reading these romances I finally found some authors that offered a bit more meat to their stories. Instead of the conflict being between the man and the woman the conflict was external and usually involved murder, theft or espionage.

Now I am completely worn out with romances. I think if I read one more I will melt into a puddle of goo. While at my Mom's house I noticed a book. The Messenger by Daniel Silva. Cool. I borrowed the book from my mom. I had read the Prince of Fire a couple of years ago. So it wasn't a totally new item for me.

After finishing the book I went to the library and checked out all the books they had on the shelf of Daniel Silva. There were six in all. I'm about to finish the last one. Usually I leave my books at home but at that point now where I am compelled, even driven to finish the book. In my car I have a stash of children's books that I use to entertain children while we wait for siblings at the various activities in our lives.

Everytime I pick up a book I tell myself to savor it like a fine wine. I do pretty well in the beginning but then it hits. Something catches me and I become driven. I can't get too far from the book. I'm a sucker for the climax. I'm a climax junkie. I hate to put the book down until it is resolved even if I figured out what the end is most likely going to be. It happens with almost every book even the non-fiction.

At this point I find myself bringing the book in the car. I read it at stop lights. I read it in a queue of rush hour traffic where we are stopped dead on the road. I read it waiting to pick up the kids. When I finish it I get such a feeling of remorse. It's like I've lost a good friend. I feel empty. Lost even. So I move on to the next book and make the same promise to myself.

Sock induced insanity

There are two chores that are specifically mine. I stuff the dishwasher and I do the laundry. I don’t mind doing the laundry. Sorting is rather cathartic and mind numbing. Throwing the clothes in the washer isn’t anything; transferring it to the dryer is some sort of exercise I’m sure. Folding clothes and stacking them in the appropriate piles is a daunting task but I do it with a smile on my face most days.

No there is one thing that I believe is a soul sucking chore in doing the laundry and that is matching socks! I absolutely abhor matching socks. I can feel the very life of me being sucked away by some unseen entity. It is a lesson in frustration. I always have a pile of mismatched socks left. I no longer expect the kids to have socks in their dresser. No, out in the hall way I have a drawer where I put the matched socks and all the orphans. The kids are expected to find a rolled paired of socks in the morning and put them on their feet.

Eventually the stack of orphans threatens to take over the drawer, and I sit down and sort through them again in hopes of finding a matched pair. Usually I come up with at least 3 or 4 matches but the rest continue their existence as orphans.

Now I’ve done everything that I possibly can to assure that I won’t have orphan socks but the problem continues to haunt me. I only pray that I won’t go insane while sorting socks. I can imagine it happening. I can see myself racing out of the house tossing mismatched socks into the air like confetti. Once they are all gone I pull my hair out by the roots. All the while screaming and shouting incoherent rants about socks. I don’t think it is any surprise that socks are just one letter different from suck. Socks suck. I can’t wait for Spring and Summer. Then the kids are going in sandals.

The wedding of fools

Unlike Adj. Queen I do not abhor weddings. In fact I rather like going to them because of the cake. Well, I recently went to a wedding, and Adj. Queen has been after me to tell the story of the wedding.

When I think of this wedding I remember how I did not want to go to it at all; however, I was under a directive from an individual that has some power over me to go. Now I don't believe this individual would made things difficult for me but I hated the thought of disappointing her.

Let me explain. This individual is someone I get together with occassionally to be catty. I suppose it's called gossipping but it's really so much more than that. It's gossipping and being judge and jury all rolled into one event.

Now that I've explained my motiviation for going to this wedding, I must explain the couple involved. Both work in the really "glamorous" world of libraries. She is a manager sort and he is... Well let's just call him a worker bee. Oh yes, they do not work together in the same institution. Neither are exactly what one would call gifted with social graces. In fact the Matron of Honor said to me, "Groom actually made it without falling down!" Yep. This guy has the co-ordination of a sloth. I was going to say monkey but I respect monkeys too much. As for the Bride, I've known her longer than the Groom. For the longest time I tried to be nice and think nice things about Bride but about 4 months ago she did something that thoroughly embarassed in front of our peers. So I've taken a new stance. The gloves have come off and I no longer tell people that allowances should be made for this individual. So now that you understand that the Bride has a way of saying the most inappropriate things and lacks empathy of any kind we shall move on to the ceremony.

First was the entrance of the groom and minister and best man. Nothing there. Then the mother of the bride is walked to her seat. Next comes the Matron of Honor. Finally the Bride comes in. Plastered on her face is this huge Cheshire grin. She makes sure to shine those pearly whites on everyone.

Fast forward, now the minister is doing her ceremony. The two people in front of the minister talk and giggle throughout the ceremony. Kinda made you want to get up and slap the backs of their heads to settle them down. Moving on to what Passionfruit found the most painful--the lighting of the unity candle. The couple make their own vows. I can only remember two of them. I will love you to the best of my abilities and I will love you as hard as I can. So I wonder what in the world hard love means. But what Passionfruit found particularly painful was the 3 minute song where we watched them gaze into each others eyes. Now for the best part? The kiss was a big old French kiss. I don't necessarily like French kissing but I definitely don't like it in public. I don't care to see tongues poking out of another's cheeks-- It's just plain disgusting.

One would think the next logical progression would be the reception. However, we must sit and witness the pictures. Photographers at weddings are the goofiest things. They run the wedding and the reception unless of course there is a DJ. Then the DJs and the photographers engage in a small war trying to out do one another. Oh the silly poses these two people allowed themselves to be put into. It would be one thing if they were young people I suppose but give me a break the Bride is edging towards 50 years of age and the Groom is 30 something, and they both were married before!

Now I guess I'm doing a great disservice in not describing the dress. The Bride wore a white gown edged in red along the hem of the skirt and the fake bustle with a matching veil also edged in red. The dress was a strapless gown more appropriate for a 20 something than an obese woman of near 50. The Groom surprised me by looking pretty good in a tux.

So after all the silly pictures were taken we went in to the reception. It was the normal Southern fair of bride's cake, groom cake, punch and coffee. I was surprised the punch wasn't the kind with sherbet floating in it. I could have sworn that's the Bride's favorite punch. It was a really nice gathering of people. The Bride and Groom treated us to a dance accompanied with more tonsil hockey.

Then came more pictures of the traditional cake cutting, hooked arm drinking. These photographers were something else again. I mean they thought up more kooky poses than I ever thought possible. Back to back. Bride leaning back onto Groom. Pure silliness. Soon the part I was waiting on came along. Unfortunately they did the removing the garter thing. Again the photographers thought up something really stupid. Bride gets to sit on the back of the Best Man while he kneels. I wonder if he would have agreed to being Best Man if he knew that it would entail him getting on his hands and knees in front of 75 to 100 people and getting sat on by a rotund woman? So the garter goes flying off and the Best Man catches it. He is a forty something year old man who speaks Klingon. A real prize for someone special.

Next they line up the single ladies. They had to fight with several of them to get them out on the floor. I sent DQ and ST out immediately. While all those relunctant ladies were being cajoled into playing the game. DQ comes up to me and says she doesn't want to do it. I told her to get out there and catch the bouquet because I wanted to take it home! DQ dutifully returns to the fold of single ladies and stands next to ST. Finally all the single ladies are up and the bouquet is launched. I watch the women. Many of them have their purses with them. They cling to the straps of their purses for dear life. ST reaches up and suddenly the bouquet hits the ground. ST managed to tip the bouquet down to the ground where two flower heads pop off their stems. DQ immediately grabs up the forlorn flowers, and ST goes for the bouquet. It was one of my proudest moments. I feel as though I averted a more embarassing scene. With small children catching the bouquet the photographers couldn't possibly put them into some suggestive pose with the Best Man. Instead they had the Bride pose with my two girls. Thank GOD!

Fever

At 10:30 this morning I got a call from the child care place. "Miss Independence is running a fever, please come and collect her." So I turn to my co-worker and tell him I'm gone for the day and tomorrow doesn't look good either.

I hurry over to the center. Miss Independence is in the office. She is really hot. She wasn't hot this morning when I held her in my arms. But I thought she was getting sick because she's been rather cranky lately. So I look at this as an opportunity to run some errands. I deposit some checks that have been hanging around in my purse for a while. Then I go to the downtown post office to mail out a contract that is tardy. While I'm there I decide to head down to the headquarters for the public library I work at part-time. They have a loyalty oath I need to sign.

In the time that it takes me to drive to those various places Miss Independence falls asleep. Now I know she's not feeling well. I find a parking space downtown and get MI out of the car. We walk the half of a block to the library. MI is excited because we are going to ride an elevator. She's as good as gold for me while I conduct the business at hand.

Then we head home. MI lays on the couch and doesn't move. Her eyes are all glassy looking. She looks like death warmed over. I take her to meet up with grandma and her sisters. My mom thinks I ought to take her to the doctor's. My experience is they just look at me say, "She has a fever. Nothing we can do about fevers except to give a Tylenol or Motrin." So I consider it a waste of time. Sure MI looks horrible but she isn't convulsing so I'm not worried. By 3 o'clock MI's temperature was 103.something. I give her a Motrin. I arrange for DQ and ST to get picked up by their father and head on home.

When we get home, MI makes her way to the couch. We proceed to have a marathon movie session. We end with Shrek 2. Through all the movies MI doesn't move. At the end of Shrek 2 MI gets up and sits on me. Next thing I know I'm soaking wet. MI is erupting. Lucky for me all she's had all day long are fluids. We clean up and get ready for bed. Now MI is raring to go. MI tells me that I forgot to feed her dinner. I told her she just threw up and I'm not about to put anything in her. MI looks so much better. It's like a miracle. One second she's barely alive and moving and the next second she's ready to play. Amazing.

I'm going to be catty

Alright, the other night Passionfruit asked me why I hates cats so when I do such a good impression of one. I don't know? Maybe it's some form of self loathing.

Anyway, Miss Independence has a new classmate at school. She's an adorable little girl but I can't stand the mother. The mother looks all of 12 years old. She is pencil thin. She smokes Marlboros and drives a fancy red sports car. I'm figuring that the woman is actually in her early twenties. Apparently she is going to school in some sort of health capacity for she often wears a white doctor's coat.

Now I know it's none of my business but I happened to hear her discussion with one of the office workers today. Every parent has to fill out this form for the federal food program. Our family doesn't qualify because we make too much money. Now this mom asked for help with filling out the form. (I did to. It is some what confusing to fill out.) What I heard next pretty much made me mad. This chick asked how does one qualify. Answer-- based on your income. Chick said, "Oh! Then I'm sure we qualify." I just about butted in at that point. My question is how the hell do you qualify when you drive a foreign sports car of a recent vintage? Her clothes aren't cheap either. So this is where I turn into a raving red state person. How do these people get on to these programs? I really doubt she qualifies. I mean the insurance on the car alone is quite a handsome sum. Oh! I get it! She can't afford food because she's got a car she really can't afford. And she wastes a large portion of her income on cancer sticks! (Don't tell me this chick doesn't know the dangers of smoking. Anyone my age or younger has been bombarded with the anti-smoking campaigns. So, you see I don't believe anyone younger than me can say they didn't know what smoking can do to you.)

Often I've imagined what this little girl's life must be like. They are constantly late. We have to drop the kids off before 9:00AM. I got special permission to come in after 9:00 because I've got others that I have to get to school. I happen to know this Mama doesn't have this permission. This Mama also expects them to feed her child. Breakfast is already over by the time she makes it in with her baby. So I can only wonder whether this Mama spends late nights doing drugs and turning tricks. Harsh, I know but I just don't like this woman. There is something about her that makes my skin crawl. I can't abide young people who smoke. Mainly because I can hear them 20 or 30 years from now saying, "I didn't know these things were going to kill me. I didn't know that they could injure my lungs and every part of my body." I guess another reason why this chick bothers me so is she is working in the health profession! Talk about being a hypocrite. That's it! I look at her and I see a hypocrite.

I'd like to finish with some thoughts about myself. I am not a perfect person. I have huge character faults. But I don't think I'm a phoney. You pretty much know where you stand with me. I have very strong opinions and I express them. I'm not going to make any apologies for myself. I do not like hypocrites and I especially hate yes people. I mean what's the point of living if your going to be wishy-washy. Have an opinion and stand up for it.

Well it's getting to be that time of year where everyone is gearing up for the holidays. I don't know, maybe because I'm still not feeling well, I'm just not feeling up to the holiday bustle. I'm not saying I hate the holidays; I'm just not in it.

It's only the beginning of November and already I've seen Santa Claus strutting across the TV screen once too often. The advertisers have jumped into high gear stressing the materialistic side of the seasons. Best Buy has annoyed me to no end, and all I did was watch one show on the History channel last night.

So I suppose I shall just turn off the TV. Limit the kids TV watching to movies and videos. I will curl up with my terrorist books. I've started reading Daniel Silva books. They are a pretty fast read with a lot of action. I've read all the romance books I can take. Adjective Queen and I often giggled over these romances. We both felt that we could write stories that are just as good. Although, neither of us could write the sappy lines like, "Come and sit upon my oak branch." Sheeesh. I can't believe people read these books without cracking up. I spent a fair amount of my time laughing while reading these romances. Passionfruit still doesn't understand why I was reading them. There are two romance writers that I like because they don't take themselves so seriously. They write with wit and good humor Lynsay Sands and Celeste Bradley. I love it-- romance with humor.

Well, I've got to run. Maybe in December I'll feel more in the mood for the holidays. I know that the kids get all excited. Their excitement is contagious. My favorite thing is to be up on Christmas morning before the kids with a cup of coffee and the tree lights on. It is one of the most peaceful settings. Predawn light and Christmas tree lights it is all so very relaxing.

Five? Ten? Who's counting?

Got a big surprise last night. The library system decided to recognize me as having 10 years of service. What a pleasant surprise! So I'm not totally certain what's going to happen. I suppose I'll get the pin with a stone in it. Looking forward to seeing it.

It was fun to see a lot of folks that I haven't seen in sometime. Everyone looked so nice all dressed up.

Looking at my employment at the college it won't be long before I get 5 years in there. 2009 it will be 5 years at the community college. They have a nice luncheon but nothing like what the public library does for its employees.

Halloween on my street

This year I stayed home to hand out candy. Actually I refused to hand out the candy. I was still sickly and I didn't want to touch anything. I just told folks to grab a few pieces for themselves.

My first group of trick-or-treaters were the older boys in the neighborhood. They were all decked out in a variety of black costumes and scary masks. They were having fun, and boy did they grab huge handfulls of the goods. I did worry after they left that I might not have enough candy if everyone went after the bowl like they did.

The next group was mother and son. Sexy neighbor was all duded out like Elvira minus the big boobs. Her youngest was dressed up as a Ninja. He needed to go potty so a stop into our house was a necessity. He was quickly followed by the most adorable skunk. So this skunk ran all through the public areas of my house looking for the goods. I couldn't believe the mother just stayed on the front porch. What in the world was she thinking? Apparently she knew Sexy neighbor and figured if Sexy neighbor would let her little Ninja whiz in my house then little skunk ought to be safe, too.

Finally, got the little skunk out of the house and led him to the goods on the table on the front porch. They quickly moved on after his candy seeking was satisfied. Things finally got moving after that. I loved the little ones that were pushed in their strollers. Several of them were so imperious, like little emperors reviewing their subjects.

Later we got a visit from Tinker Bell. By this time my own little trick-or-treaters were home; maybe they were what caught Tink's eye. All I know is that Tink pushed passed me and was pressing her nose against the side panel windows of my front door. Tink had absolutely no interest in the candy offering. She wanted to check out my house. I really felt for the mortified parents who kept calling to her. Nice to know that other children don't listen to their parents.

I rather enjoyed staying home and manning the candy bowl. Trick-or-treating certainly is a great opportunity for people watching. Oh! I suppose I ought to tell you what each girl was for Halloween. Drama Queen was an Asian princess, a la Barbie style; Storyteller, went as a fairy (a last minute change); and Miss Independence was a devil. They all looked so cute. They came home with a ton of candy and today they spent sometime devouring it after returning from school today.

Thoughts just before Halloween

I'm going to be a great aunt in July. Oh, this isn't the first time I'm going to be a great aunt. It is the first time I'll see the little creature more frequently than the others. This made me think about life and the cycle of life we Americans work so hard to forget. See I view this child as a nail in my coffin or maybe just the lid setting down on the casket. You get my drift anyway. Here is the replacement generation. My brother is old enough to be a grandfather! I can hardly believe it. He just turned 50 this year, this month to be precise.

Then I think, 50! Oh my gosh! Even if he lives to be 100 he is half way through his life. I'm well over a quarter of the way through mine. (Using the 100 marker) Reconsidering 100 I realize I am closer to being half way through this life myself.

Please, don't misunderstand. I don't want to live forever. In fact, if medical science somehow figures out the trick to eternal life I'll be among the first to slit my own wrists but even that event would be years from now anyway.

No, what I'm trying to get at is how life cycles through. For example, I'm often struck by the fact that my two oldest daughters are born in the corresponding dates of the paternal grandmother and great aunt. My great aunt was born in 1900 and my grandmother was born 1901. Drama Queen 2000 and Storyteller 2001. The preceding ladies were close. So close that my grandmother chose her sister over her daughter in a family argument that ripped the family apart for 20 some years. I'm only now getting to know that estranged daughter and I resent that I didn't have a chance to know her all those years prior.

Anyway, I've lived my life looking for parallels. I love history because I always would figure out how old I would be if I had been born during that time. Confused? What I mean would be if it was an event happening in the 1800s I would then have been born in 1868. I would spend a large amount of my imagination figuring out what I would have felt and believed if I had lived in those times. Of course some would say that that is a futile waste of time but it amused me and it still does.

So now my children are looking forward to a baby. I'm grateful because Miss Independence recently asked for a baby. She meant a real live baby. Oh speaking of marking time, Miss Independence turned four yesterday. We had the family party. I know my brother and his family forgot about it but they did finally show. Miss Independence had a ball. Most of her gifts were horses. She got to pick out the present from Aunt I don't get mad/I get even. It is a beautiful quarter horse figure that stands about two hands high. Miss Independence and Storyteller each try sitting on the thing. It is not built for that. Aunt Sister Sister gave her a stick pony (with accompanying horsey noises) and my brother gave her a My Pretty Pony. Passionfruit and I gave her a Cabbage Patch Horse. (They are much much cuter than the dolls.) Her chosen theme was Spiderman. We had a woman make her cake and we had the balloon bouquet.

Tomorrow is Halloween and the girls are looking forward to it. I'm not I've been sick for over a week now. I went on a trip during this illness. I ended up with an asthma attack. Found out today that it is not a good idea to fly with an asthma attack. Don't really know why although the way the PA kept shaking her head led me to believe I was courting a near death experience. She advised that I get an inhaler. My comment to her was gee I thought I grew out of the damn things. So many things I was suppose to grow out of... ecezema, asthma, acne. I guess I did grow out of the first two but lately I've apparently grown back into them. Let me tell ya growing up sucks. But back to Halloween, Passionfruit seems to have this idea that I'm going to be running all over town to take the girls places boy is he in for a big surprise. I'm considering not taking Drama Queen to tap tomorrow because I still feel like death warmed over. Looked at myself in the mirror today. I won't be needing any costume tomorrow if I still look like this.

Miss Independence and the wedding

Earlier this week Miss Independence packed her own backpack for school. One must remember what I've nicked-named her here to understand that I don't go through her personal bag. MI carried this bag, and I pretty much didn't pay any attention.

That is until we got to preschool. MI rushes off leaving me in her wake. I walk into the classroom and I can't find her. The other children tell me she's in the bathroom changing. I walk in and sure enough the little monkey is stark naked. It looks to me like she's changing into a nightgown on my first glance. Then I realize that it is her Cinderella costume. She's even brought matching shoes!

So I go tell her teachers that I leave them to deal with her because she won't listen to me. I then kiss my daughter good-bye and sincerely hope she has a good day.

Later that day when I came to pick up my little darlin' the teacher told me the rest of the story. Her teacher attempted to explain why Miss Independence ought not wear her costume. Well this line of reasoning did not work. MI raced to the "house center" and sat down on the little person sized couch. The teacher went over to her and asked her what was up. MI responded with, "I want to marry Luke!" So the teacher replied with, "Luke's not here, so the wedding's off." This seemed to placate her, and she took off the dress.

Now I wonder what would have happened if Luke had been there. Would he have been a willing bridegroom? Would they have gotten MI out of the costume? Please believe me that I in no way shape or form encourage this fixation MI has on marrying Luke. I do not react at all. I figure if I ignore it it will go away. So when will this end? And won't it be funny if she came home with Luke in the future?

Cleaning, organizing a child's room

This morning Storyteller was supposed to help me clean and organize her room. We spent a couple of hours just getting things out from under the bed (two twin beds for Storyteller and Drama Queen pushed together) and going through the disorganized boxes their father once bought out of frustration with no real plan to organize.

Last weekend we bought a kit of 9 cubicles that you can add little baskets to. Passionfruit and I were all pumped. Another project for us to put together. We absolutely look forward to these items we have to put together. We work well with one another. When I think of all the things we've put together the list goes on and on. Things like our hall tree, his desks (we've done 2 in 12 years of marriage), closet components, tables (coffee and side) are the types of stuff I'm talking about. Items that have numbered or lettered parts and accompanying hardware. We broke the box open and started going through things. Passionfruit was the typical male. He started putting it together. I assumed my female role of going through the hardware to make sure we have all the little things we need to assemble it. Drama Queen was aiding me. Suddenly, Passionfruit stops and says it's not going to work. We had four identical boards and not the two of one type and two of another that we needed.

Now we are waiting for the two missing panels to come to us. We have at least another week to wait. But in the meantime what truly inspired the cleaning spree was the missing items in the house. To date we are missing the children's light jackets, our Scotch Tape dispenser, a library book from school, and a case for a video from the public library. The last two items are really what I am interested in finding. I hate losing library stuff. Not just because I"m a librarian of sorts but because it means money to pay for these things.

So I am taking a break from the arduous task of cleaning and organizing children's rooms. What I've come to decide is that the children have grown out of several of the toys, and they should be given to others less fortune than my children. I've also decided that these kids have waaaaay too much stuff. And most of this stuff is tiny pieces of things that are guaranteed to hurt in the middle of the night should you have the misfortune of stepping on them. Our children are not at all inspired by or like expensive fancy toys. Instead, they like those little toys you get from Happy Meals and stuff like that. So I suppose I want to say that if you want to give our children a gift please go buy a happy meal and send them the "prize". You get a meal and they get happy.

Now I really ought to get back to this major project. OH, MY GOD! THEY'VE FOUND THE RECORDER FLUTES! So much for a quiet peaceful afternoon...

Mommy and the Biker Babe

Today at the library we saw a Biker Babe with a Harley. Miss Independence was completely taken by it. I approached the woman to ask questions about it. It wasn't your normal Harley. It looked like a tricycle. So I asked her if she had a side car that went with it. It turns out that Biker Babe had had an accident several months back and was not strong enough to hold the motorcycle up on her own. So essentially she had training wheels. It was a pretty clever contraption.

Anyway the woman offerred the girls a chance to sit on the Harley. Amazingly Drama Queen hopped right on, followed by Miss Independence. It was cool because the saddle had a fold down back. Storyteller had to wait her turn. As soon as Drama Queen and Miss Independence got down, up went Storyteller.

Then I herded my girls into our tame mini-van. While I was getting them put into their booster seats the Biker Babe came up behind me and asked if "Mommy" wanted to get on it. Well I was rather surprised. This was the first time in a long time another woman had flirted with me. Okay in writing it seems rather innocent but my mother always said, "It ain't what you say-- it's how you say it." And that is true in this case. So I kindly declined her offer and chuckled to myself.

After the girls were in their appropriate seats, Miss Independence pushed me away. She wanted to watch the woman rev up the motorcycle. Like I said the lady was paying us a lot of attention. Biker Babe asks what's up and I explained that Miss Independence wanted to watch her start up. Miss Independence's eyes were all a glow. She was having a thrill of her life. Miss Independence didn't even cringe at the roar of the Harley's engine. I wasn't allowed to close the door of the mini-van until the Biker Babe had left the parking lot.

So you see folks that my premonition of Miss Independence getting off a Harley ain't too far off the mark. Of late I've been realizing how much my children aren't me. Oh sure, Storyteller looks like me, and Drama Queen may act like me but they really aren't like me at all. Miss Independence is nothing at all like me: not in looks, acts or tastes. She is a wild child. But like I told her this morning that she is one unique child and how much I appreciate her uniqueness.

Farewell to tap

Yesterday, Storyteller made her final decision. She won't be tapping anymore. This so surprised me how Storyteller disliked tap classes. I thought she would love the noise making.

The owner of the studio came up with a theory that Storyteller doesn't like it because all the girls in the class are in the ballet class right before. There aren't any other girls that join in for just the tap like Storyteller. So in essense Storyteller is walking into the class cold and alliances and friendships are made already. Storyteller is the outsider.

Well I would have believed that except yesterday two different girls grabbed Storyteller by the hand to take her into class. Storyteller kept escaping and they kept coming back to bring her back to the studio. So I really think the girls in the class like her. Who knows what goes on in that child's mind; or any child's mind for that matter.

Personally, I don't mind that I won't have to rush around on Thursday. It will make it slightly cheaper on the pocketbook, too.

Where is the video camera when you need one?

Yesterday, we sat down to dinner as a family. This is not all that odd. I work very hard to have this family time together. Before every meal we say a grace to thank God for his blessings.

Well our youngest has taken an active role in saying grace. In fact, Miss Independence demands that she leads the prayer. Which I think is rather cute. It is also something that I am not very familiar with since my family of origin said the prayer together without any one individual standing out... other than my father who would lead off the pray.

So, just before dinner Miss Independence and Storyteller get into this huge dramatic fight. Lots of screaming and crying. I manage to break it up before anyone sustains any physical damage. It end with me giving each girl a balloon. Storyteller apparently did not get the one she wanted. So she throws the balloon down shakes her hands up and down while she is jumping up and down. Also her scream is apparently loud enough to call in Passionfruit from the garage. The next thing I know Storyteller runs to a corner and stands there facing into it. I am totally shocked and amazed because I realize that Storyteller really wants to hit Miss Independence.

During this lull I manage to get dinner ready. Miss Independence continues to nurse her grievances. I go to Storyteller and tell her how proud I am of her for handling the situation as she did, and I ask her if she is ready to join us for dinner. Storyteller agrees to come to dinner.

When we all get there Miss Independence starts the prayer. Her voice is sad. As the prayer progresses she sounds sadder and sadder. Tears start wellling in her eyes. Finally the dam breaks and the tears course down her cheeks. Her voice is one step before a sob. Passionfruit starts to laugh. Drama Queen starts to laugh. Then Storyteller and I are laughing. Most amazingly this makes Miss Independence laugh, too!

Passionfruit and I both wish we had a video camera going. So many great and funny things happen and we never get it recorded. It makes you realize just how wonderful those videos on American Funniest Home Videos are. Those folks just got lucky. That or they walk around with a camcorder taped to their foreheads.

Just another funny day in our lives. Oh yes, Passionfruit went on to make a funny faux pas. Drama Queen wanted a drink of his juice. When Passionfruit brought it to the table he started to pour the juice into Drama Queen's soup bowl. Passionfruit offered to pour it into her cup but I agreed with Drama Queen that was just too yucky.

The evolutionary God

A rather devout Christian co-worker of mine gave me a handbill advertising a man. This man uses Dr. in his name. Now, I know next to nothing about this individual but I can tell you that he is most definitely a creationist.

My knee jerk reaction to this handbill is to scoff at it. I bristle with contempt because this man is going to use the Bible to explain away dinosaurs. He calls them "God's lizards."

Well this post has sat in my draft file for days now. I never seem to get to because my life is influx most of the time. In the time that I've had I've finally researched G. Thomas Sharp. Mr./Dr. Sharp is educated. He has a master's from OU and a PhD. from a Baptist college in Florida. I've been to his website. I've read his philosophy and his mission statement. Superficially it all sounds somewhat benevalent. Unfortunately like most fundamentalists of any religion there is a malevalent undercurrent. Basically it all boils down to the fact that if you believe in evolution you are embracing the devil and his ways.

Now, I would just like to make a few observations about evolution. To believe in evolution does not preclude God from creation. God is the Creator. If anyone has children they will know that a child will often "rework" their art work, over and over again. I see evolution as God reworking His creations.

Why do I liken God to children? Well there are several places in the Bible where Jesus infers that children are closer to God than adults. You know, where Jesus says that we must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven. That is my main evidence for evolution.

Second, my God is not a narrow God. My God has a sense of humor and is unlimited in his vision for the world. I think it is demeaning to think God works in such a narrow field as many of the rabid creationists place God and his works. God is unlimited and all knowing. We as mere mortals cannot fathom the depths of God.

Also, I would like to enter my second piece of evidence that evolution is God's work. Are we all not a testament to evolution? None of us are the same as we were when we were born. None of us are the same as when we were toddlers. We are not the same as when we were teenagers. The pattern continues throughout our lives. Every decade points to evolution. We evolve as humans.

Plus, I would like to go even further and point out the fact that every generation has evolved beyond what previous generations were. Look at old photographs of people. There are subtle differences in our forebearers. No one looks like anyone in the 1800s. It is difficult to describe what it is that marks them as being from another century. Our culture has certainly changed. If someone from the 1800s or even the early 1900s were dropped into our day they would be mortified at the lack of civility our culture has undertaken.

So I urge everyone to consider my evidence that evolution is not only a fact but an active force in our lives. I for one continue to evolve. And I hope that I evolve into a better human being with faith in God and His works.

In honor of Halloween

The other day while driving to work I had to keep looking at my hand. It felt as though there was a bug crawling across my hand. One of those phantom feelings. Maybe I'm alone in these feelings? As a child I would frequently get a feeling on my shoulder. It felt like someone with long, sharp finger nails grabbed me and held on to me with all their might. It was quite painful. It would happen anytime. It didn't matter if I was active or playing quietly. I use to think I was haunted.

Another thing that happened to me was a large, black spider that haunted me. This spider would drop out of no where. It would totally freak me out. I would shreak and jump back only to watch the thing disappear like it never existed in the first place. Sometimes I really thought I was going crazy because it would disappear and I don't mean that it would slip between cracks. I mean it simply vanished into thin air. One time I was playing with a Barbie Dream house. Not mine. But I remember I was alone. That black spider dropped from the ceiling of the second story down to the first. I screeched and jumped back. Then it simply vanished. It didn't race out of the windows or any of the doors. IT JUST VANISHED!

Now I just get the creepy crawly feelings in my skin. Maybe it's that stupid spider slinking around. Isn't the mind freaky? Who needs drugs when you've got a mind that can conjure up all these weird experiences?

I just tried to find a picture to link to for the Barbie dream house. I couldn't find one, Does anyone remember the rather large pink houses with elevators and veranda or deck type? They were expansive. They took up so much room. That was the reasons why my parents, a.k.a Santa, never got me one. That and the price. They simply couldn't afford it. Modern Barbie dream houses are not quite so large. They weren't as tall as this one but spread out.

It's waaaaaaay too early; and waaaaaaaay too late!

I am so ready to ditch the public schools. I realize that eventually I would have to deal with the pubescent mating rituals but I think that at six years old it is ridiculous for boys to be calling girls at 9:18PM.

Perhaps this would not be happening at all if the older brother wasn't egging the boy on this course. I personally fear that the Big Brother has a thing for Drama Queen. Confused? I know I am.

Last night we got a phone call at 9:15. The boy asked to speak to Drama Queen. I informed him that Drama Queen was in bed. I also explained to him that Drama Queen would not be allowed to take phone calls after 7:00PM.

Then the prank calls started. Luckily I had gone in to scold Passionfruit for picking up the phone before the caller id could register the number. The next time they called one boy asked if I had ordered a pizza and the other talked about wanting to talk to his girlfriend. They immediately hung up and I called their number. For the first few times the boys kept answering and telling me I had the wrong number and hanging up on me. What they didn't know was I am a very stubborn and determined individual. I knew right then and there that I was going to continue calling all night long if that was what it was going to take to speak to an adult.

Finally on the fourth phone call I got the father. I explained the situation, and told him that I was quite frankly a little afraid that his older son had his eye on my daughter. Of course, the man poo pooed me. Told me I had nothing to fear. I then told him that he needed to put himself in my position. I told him that my daughter is a very pretty girl who is very sweet, too. I asked him wouldn't he be a bit worried that boys were calling her at 9:00PM?

These things never happened in the private school I sent the girls to. In fact no boy ever called Drama Queen while she attended there. Last night I was ready to walk in to the school and pull my children out of there. Of course, I know that I can't just act rashly. Those boys are probably harmless but still I am her mother. Is it not my job to do the best I can in protecting my children? Oh well, I'm probably just over-reacting.

Monday evening antics

Well it's finally happened. Drama Queen got hurt. I mean a hurt worthy of all her normal hysterics. Usually Drama Queen screams and cries like she has a mortal injury no matter the severity of the injury. I'm serious. Drama Queen, one day not too long ago, ran into the house screaming as though she had been stung by a bee/wasp or perhaps found an intruder in the garage. Both Passionfruit and I explained to her that that response was inappropriate and should never be done again unless her entrails were hanging out of her. (Okay, we didn't quite put it in those words but that was what we meant.) Oh by the way the offending creature was a cricket. I feel like a failure as a mother to a child of China because Drama Queen hates crickets and will get them killed for her. I sat one day watching her encourage a large black bird to eat a cricket. The poor thing never had a chance with Drama Queen pointing out the cricket's latest hiding place.

But I digress. Last night I was living my life as a single mother of three small children. I was in the bathroom with the youngest who was enjoying a bath. Drama Queen and Storyteller were running about playing. As any mother knows the volume of the play indicates whether or not the children are horseplaying. Well they were loud last night. First, Drama Queen came into the bathroom crying. She'd been kicked. I reminded them that horseplay precipitates injury. I asked them to stop playing so roughly. They denounced my statement and ran out of the bathroom. Not more than two minutes later Drama Queen was back in the bathroom screaming like she was dying. Hardening my heart against such a display. I calmly told her that she would live and that horseplay does indeed end with someone getting hurt.

After a few minutes Miss Independence was out of the bath. Maybe she wanted in on the action, I really don't know. I then went in to tell Drama Queen to get a hold of herself. She came out of her bathroom and the light hit her face just right. My heart sank to my feet. Drama Queen had every right to be crying and whimpering. The poor thing had what would be a black eye! The corner of her eye was already swelling. I ran and put ice in a wash cloth. Still I knew Drama Queen was going to have a shiner. I felt so heartless. I found Storyteller and told her that she must not ever throw anything. EVER. I made Storyteller go to her room. I hurried to put ice on Drama Queen's eye. I held her and gave her kisses.

Finally I got Drama Queen calmed down. Got all of them ready for bed. I read stories to them in the mach king size bed in Drama Queen and Storyteller's bedroom. I even laid down and slept in the middle for a little while. After awhile they drifted off to sleep. I got up to do some house work.

Passionfruit had stayed at work to finish some big project. Never once did I call him to tell him of our activities. He came home around 9:00PM. All the while he was fixing his dinner I looked at him trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the black eye. Passionfruit knew something was up. He kept asking "What?" I kept putting him off. Finally I decided that it would be best if I told him. Passionfruit was shocked. So that was the end of my evening.

Do you recognize this...

I don't know about anyone else but when I am addressed with the following question fear traces a line down my spine. The question? "Do you recognize this..." I sieze, thinking, "Why do you want to know?" What are the consequences if I answer?

Why am I this way? I don't know. It seems like such an extreme question. Like would I recognize the perp? Perhaps it can be linked to the fact that crime has touched my life in a variety of ways that aren't all that pleasant. Of course crime is never pleasant is it?

But this morning my immediate supervisor wanted to know if I could recognize my old computer. About two weeks ago I received a new computer at work. I told her I wasn't sure. So she led me to the computer in question. It looked just like my old one.

Now I'm standing there thinking I'm about to disappoint my Supervisor. I don't want to. So I reach out to touch the side of the CPU because I always stuck notes to the side of my computer. I thought perhaps I could feel some residue stickiness. Instead I felt a bump and somehow I immediately processed that the CPU was not mine! I had no doubts. I provided the required information!

They say that smells stay with you through out your life. I have a co-worker who grew up in India, southern India. He spent a lot of time at his grandfather's and attended a mission camp in the summers. Recently he told me about how those missionaries use to make something for lunch that smelled so repulsively to him and his friends. They could never place the smell.

Then over twenty years later this man met up with the smell again. It was when he was in this country and someone fixed him a tuna sandwich. Once that can came open he recognized the smell. I don't think he ate the sandwich.

Recently Queen wrote about a book she was reading. It had something to do with sounds. She had a really nice blog about the sounds of her childhood. I thought about the sounds that make up my childhood and I wrote about them in my comments to her blog. Later, I realized that all my sounds that seem significant to me were rather scary sounds. Jet planes. I lived on a military base as a small girl and there were fighter planes. They were loud. I remember going to visit my dad at the control tower and hearing those fighters. I remember I didn't like them when they were on the ground. They were just too painfully loud but when they were soaring over head it was great. They were so majestic, so awe inspiring. I use to watch them and long to fly in one. That is the most vivid sound I remember and the one that still instills those same feelings. The other two are from Iran. Helicopters landing at the end of our street. The green grocer down the street exploding. The first is scary because we were always told that if anything ever went wrong, and they (USA) need to evacuate us from the country they would send helicopters to our neighborhoods. The second one was just plain scary. I remember how the house shook from the aftershocks of the explosion. I remember the great big plume of black smoke rising in the air.

I wonder if anyone has studied touch. It seems that touching things can invoke the same responses. Like my CPU or rather my co-worker's CPU. Once I touched it I knew it wasn't mine. Or is it just some sort of bazaar behavior limited to my family? See I have a grandmother, a sister, and a brother and a child who each dislike the feel of certain things. Take the peach. My grandmother, my sister and Miss Independence absolute abhor the feel of peach skin. How I found out about Miss Independence is rather funny. We were visiting Uncle Wolfie's house and they had a lovely bowl of fruit all cut up and ready to eat. Miss Independence was enjoying the bowl very much until she found a peach. The next thing we knew she let out a screech and threw it over her shoulder. Everyone but me sat there stunned. They had no idea what had happened. I just sat there and laughed my head off. They were all looking at me. Wondering what was up with my reaction to this behavior. Once I got control of myself I explained the long heritage of anti-peach fuzz in my family. The other textures that are offensive are velvet, velveteen and cordoroy. I on the other hand do not have those. I can't stand newsprint and chalky substances. No for me touch is a very strong sense. I love satin. I had a baby blanket with satin edging. I still have that blanket. I love to touch things. In my career as a cataloger I have run into so many different books that used tactile elements to them. Perhaps that is why I love my job. Apparently touch has the ability to bring up memories like smell does for most others.

The future Miss Independence

I recently saw Miss Independence standing in my kitchen. I suddenly had a flash into the future-- there was Miss Independence as a young woman. She is dressed in black leather pants and jacket. Her blond hair flows down her back in waves. I realize Miss Independence just dismounted from a Harley. What a picture!

Another time while I played with Miss Independence I had a sense that she might be the one who will leave home first. Only to return for the micro visits that her Texas uncle has perfected. I remember telling Passionfruit about this feeling. I think he agreed.

However, this morning while lying on the ground Miss Independence saw me hug her older sister, and she called to me, "I haven't gotten my mommy hugs this morning." I got down and scooped her up and hugged her for all she's worth. Then Miss Independence said, "Hug me forever, Mommy!" Oh wow! What a wonderful feeling that was!

Lost entries

It never ceases to amaze me that on my drive to work I think of all kinds of things to address in my blog only to forget them as soon as I sit down to write. It's happened to me again, today. I'm sitting here, and I am sure that whatever I was going post would be "the piece". The thing that would get me noticed.

Alas, I must admit that I am a writer wannabe. For years now I've thought that there is a book inside of me longing to get out; however, I am paralized by the knowledge that I can't write. All through grade school and high school teachers beat it into my head that I could not write.

Now I have a wonderful support group. These folks massage my ego with their comments here on the blog. It's nice to be appreciated. So thank you for your kind words. While I was in college I discovered I could write some pretty good comical observations. In fact at one point I wanted to be the next Erma Bombeck.

As I mature I find that I write better every year. I know I'll never get published in the traditional sense, and I don't think I really want to anyway. Sister Sister knows a sister of an author who recently got a book not only published but someone in Hollywood wants to make it into a movie. Sister, Sister got to read the original manuscript and then read the published book. Sister, Sister made an observation that the two were not the same story. She said she liked the manuscript better. And of course we all know that the movie will most likely only make a nod to the novel.

So the other value of blogs is the ability to publish oneself without the meddling editor and publisher. Please, don't misunderstand, I understand that editors do great jobs of helping authors publish polished works but there is a trend too to take a story and remake the whole thing for what is believed will sell. It's a business and you have to protect the bottom line. That is cool. After Queen went on the rampage about people dissing blogs, I went out there and did some surfing around. I found that there are people who are self publishing fiction. There are also photographers publishing their photos in blogs. My sister-in-law does just that. It will be interesting to see the development of the blog world.

Cat blogs, etc.

Adjective Queen recently wrote a blog. She was HOT! It's funny to think how the opinions of others effect us so. Basically Adjective Queen was offended by what a lot of people think about blogs. Many of the opinions she noted basically said they are a waste of time. Boring drivel about walking their dogs and what they ate litter the world of blogging.

I come from a social science background so I don't really think that in the end these blogs are going to be viewed as inconsequential to mankind. In fact I'm surprised that more sociologists and anthropologists aren't studying this media. Also I think that historians will find some value in them, too.

NPR has done a lot of reports lamenting the email situation. People are corresponding with emails instead of letters. Historians were bemoaning the fact that people don't save their email but delete it! Can you imagine!?! They wanted to know how they were going to be able to write about history in the future if this trend continued. Well, may I suggest that blogs are going to take the place of the old fashion letter and diaries. As long as someone maintains these sites to preserve the material, historians will be able to study what we are doing now. What I see as a problem is who is going to maintain the technology so access will be indefinite.

So never fear Adjective Queen-- Your blog will someday pique the interest of some sociologist, or historian. As for mine? A lot of the really good stuff hasn't been published. They remain as drafts. They are either too personal or too rambling to put out there for viewing. I wonder if my children would benefit from some of these entries but then again maybe not. So I figure I will either delete them or copy them to a more controlled venue.

My nearest and dearest

In October Passionfruit and I will celebrate 12 years of marriage. It's strange how time moves. Sometimes it's like it isn't moving at all and other times it's going so fast I'm left reeling. Our years together have been wonderful. There is time when I feel as though I've always been married to Passionfruit. And I don't meant that in a bad way. I mean there is a sense of rightness to this relationship. We fit together perfectly. We compliment each other. Where one is weak the other is strong. What one likes the other dislikes; although, we have plenty in common, too.

When I think about all the things our marriage has been through it astounds me. I mean this is the 10 year anniversary of my destroying a car. Passionfruit marked this year by-- destroying a car. In each case neither of us ever got angry with the other. In fact both of us were just extremely grateful that the other wasn't hurt. In the last few years we've each lost a parent. Passionfruit spent 18 months consoling me while I struggled with an impossible work situation. I've dealt with Passionfruit's rotating shift work on a 24 hour clock for most of my married life. Both of us endured seperations when work has sent us away. We've struggled with infertility and the feelings surrounding that issue. I'm trying to be there for Passionfruit when the stresses of his new job strike. We went through an adoption together. We gave birth to two children together. Yes, I give him credit for the birth experience because he was there walking with me; rubbing my back and holding what ever part needed holding.

As I continue to think about our time together I think that we really haven't been together long at all. Passionfruit still surprises me from time to time. Like his football obession. I wasn't aware of it at all during the time we dated and most of our married life. In fact it's just been the last two years that I've discovered it! I guess the shift work really hid this facet in my man. Also, I still don't get how Passionfruit can be such a messy person but be so immaculate about food and dish cleanliness. Passionfruit gets upset when I let the kids eat off the floor in our house. I'm thinking, "We don't have any dogs, cats or any other animals in the house. So why not?" He'll even peer closely at forks, knives and spoons. I'm thinking that someone so bothered by such things would be immaculate everywhere in his life but he's not.

Now, I don't want to give the impression that I'm dissing my man because I'm not. I love Passionfruit something fierce. It's strange the code in my family of origin is, "It's okay for us to mess with each other but it's not okay for an outsider to mess with one of us." I've carried this into my marriage. I hate it when someone is mean to my honey. I fume and think, "I'm going to talk to so-in-so". Luckily the more mature side steps in and stops any rash behavior but I don't think too kindly about that person for a while. There are times when I'm not so nice to Passionfruit but that's different. Plus, don't worry, I whip myself enough for those times when I'm lacking in my tenderness to my sweetie.

I'm writing this because lately I've been having such strong feelings for my man. It's been a real roller coaster ride. I'm mainly struck by the realization that I LOVE MY HUSBAND. I'm also struck by the realization I'm not always in love with my husband. But I also realize that's okay because I do end up falling in love with him all over again. Those times when I fall back in love with him are some really sweet, wonderful times. They are like frosting on the cake. It makes the cake look so pretty, and when you eat it it's really sweet. It's pure yumminess. The rest of the time you're just getting the cake. It's good but it's all the same. I wish more people would realize that a loving relationship is not static and remains the same. That love actually grows and matures, and if you're lucky it strengthens. Passionfruit and I love. It is one thing that I know is true in this world. We are totally committed to one another and our children.

Let me share what makes me fall in love with Passionfruit. I absolutely adore him when he is playing with our children. I think one of the sexiest things Passionfruit can do is take care of our children. Like washing and putting a bandaid on a boo boo. Those kinds of things are just really heart warming for me.

Passionfruit is a good father. But more importantly, Passionfruit is a good husband. I never go with out. I'm cared for beyond what my parents provided. I feel totally cherished (most of the times). I know I'm loved. I am thankful for this man. I am totally glad I chose him to be my husband. I thank God for this husband of mine.

Mom, I'm a hottie. Like sexy.

Seven years ago I worked full-time. I was also in the process of an adoption. The office I worked in often had discussions that were philosophical and silly.

While I was waiting on news of our child, I remember telling people that there are people that the world considers beautiful and wonderful. You know those folks who are outgoing, popular, athletic, etc. Well if you know Passionfruit and I, you would know that we don't fit that image. We are the other type of people. We are the clutzy, awkward, nerdy people. (Although, Passionfruit is very personable.) Of course there are still many different types of people in between those types.

So I remember telling the folks in the office-- "Wouldn't it be funny if Passionfruit and I were assigned a child from those graceful, popular people in the world?" I mean it would be some sort of weird cosmos comedy. Nerdy parents with a "beautiful child".

Well folks I'm here to tell you it happened. Drama Queen is one of the beautiful people. Last week, Drama Queen told me that a boy in her class told her that she is a hottie. Ya know like sexy. I was totally freaked out! I can't believe that first graders were talking like this. Oh well, they hear things and just repeat them. It never occurred to me to go to the teacher about this.

This afternoon I got a phone call from the teacher. She wanted to know when this happened. Apparently another little girl in class heard the remark and told the teacher. The teacher told me that Drama Queen is a very personable child and that is why she is so popular in class. I know that Drama Queen is a poised individual. I know that she has friends. I've been marvelling at how well liked she is. It's a whole different world for her. It is something I have no experience with.

So I figure there is someone out there in the cosmos who is laughing his head off. I just hope this child who so obviously belongs to those beautiful, graceful people will find the humor behind the situation, and will laugh along with the cosmos at this little kink in the cosmic fabric.

So you see somewhere out there in the cosmos is laughing at this kink in the fate of our eldest daughter.

I am matron. I am an inept matron.

I went to a kid party over the weekend. I didn't really want to go because the hosting family lives down the street from us. They are your perfect family. Three boys. Slender, sexy mom. Good looking dad with the family dog to boot. They drive a mini-van and a SUV. And this was going to be a pool party at our neighborhood club house.

Now, I knew even though Passionfruit didn't that I would be required to get in the pool. I'm not obese, at least not in my mind, but I am overweight. I've seen this neighbor at the pool, and she wears bikinis. She looks good in them too. I'm a beached whale in comparison. So you can already see where my mind is taking me.

Well, we went. The kids had a great time. Sexy neighbor didn't wear a bathing suit and didn't get in the water. How gracious is that? Meow. However Sexy neighbor was wearing a cute pair of hip huggers, a green halter top, and these sexy little strappy sandals with just a touch of a heel. Her hair was all fluffed up and looked nice without being tedious. I'd say the chick is about 5 to 6 years older than me.

At one point one of my girls needed to go to the potty. We went and flushed the toilet. The water in the bowl kept rising and rising. I open the door in hopes of catching my darling's eye. No such luck. No, in fact the only person who noticed me was Sexy neighbor. Sexy neighbor comes in looks the situation over; grabs a plunger and plunges that toilet until it goes down. I'm standing there watching this woman in these impossibly cute, sexy sandals, a coke can in her hand plunging the hell out of the toilet, and I realize that I am not only matronly but inept.

I'm suddenly plunged back into the past. I'm a senior in high school and Eric Johnson is telling me that I'm the kinda of girl guys want to marry-- not date! I think it's really cool that this guy I've known since third grade is trying to console me and make me feel better. But really deep down does any woman really only want to be a matron? I remember my dad trying to console me, too. His line was every man wants a lady in the parlor and a whore in bed. Hmmmm. Makes ya think, doesn't it.

Well, one thing I know, I will never be able to make plunging a toilet look sexy. I guess I will continue to live my life as a matronly woman. I apparently was matronly even in high school. But inside I think I'll still be yearning to be just a tad bit sexy to the opposite sex.

Goose tape! No, No duck tape!

Recently a co-worker, who is a mother of two girls, told me about the public school programs that your children are expect to participate to the fullest level. These are the science fair projects and invention project. Apparently they alternate between the two events every year.

Well I thought the science fair sounded like a doable thing but I really bulked at the thought of forcing children to invent something. I remembered fifth grade where we were forced to write poetry. Seems stupid to me because not everyone is gifted in the language arts. I mean poetry is art. You need a muse! I think invention is along the same line. To invent one must be creative. Not everyone is creative.

Well, yesterday morning Storyteller made me rethink my hesitation about the invention event. We recently watched the movie, Mouse Hunt with Nathan Lane and Lee Evans. Storyteller asked me what we would do if our mouse traps were broken. This is Sunday morning. I don't do well on Sunday mornings. I'm getting all psyched about getting to church on time because our priest is a frustrated teacher. He demands that people be on time.

But I digress. So Storyteller then goes into this very involved idea she has for a mouse trap. It sounds a little messy at first. At first she wants to use glue to catch the mouse. Something about a lid with glue. I guess she thought it would walk through the glue to get to the bait and then get stuck. So when I called her on the messiness of her idea and that I didn't think a mouse would walk through a glue pond, she re-evaluated and re-worked her invention. Instead of glue it was going to be goose tape! Passionfruit looked at me. I looked at Passionfruit. Neither of us are very clear with what goose tape is. I can only imagine she meant duct tape. Storyteller sees the confusion running across our faces and bursts out with, "Not goose tape! Duck tape! Duck tape!"

Later that day Passionfruit and I were trying to remember what Storyteller had said that had sent us into a laughing fit. We couldn't remember for the life of us. Finally while driving past the Duck pond at the local university we saw a flock of geese and at the same time Passionfruit and I said, "Goose tape!" Which of course sent us into laughter again. We had a nice Sunday, which is pretty significant because normally they aren't too fun.

Under the rainbow

Remember when you learned that there really wasn't an end to the rainbow. Probably something you learned in elementary school. That it was just an illusion that the rainbow ended somewhere? Well, Friday evening, the rainbow ended in my backyard!

Passionfruit came home from work. I was getting dinner ready. He says, "I'm watering the yard." I look out and say, "Okay." What I saw was lots of wind blowing at the trees and water spraying everywhere. Passionfruit quickly realized that I didn't realize that it was raining. So he drew my attention to the backyard again. The sun was shining. Wind was blowing. It was raining pretty good. Then I looked up and saw the rainbow. I always follow the arc of the rainbow looking for the end. After years of looking I finally found the end! I was thrilled! I was excited! I was mystified! There was the end of the rainbow in my backyard. It sat on top of my grass just a few feet from my willow trees.

I found a very wordy explanation of rainbows. I don't have time to read all of it but I didn't find anything saying that the end of the rainbow is impossible. In fact one of the paragraphs led me to believe that the end is possible under certain conditions which don't often get met.

Then I did a little research looking for information on the end of the rainbow and discovered that at least 30 other people have seen the end of the rainbow, too. Most everyone who experienced this found great joy. Some even felt a spiritual connection-- like they were blessed.

A new year

Classes are back in session. We have a new crop of students. The vast majority of them seem so young. They all are so green like the grass that is finally coming back because we've had a few days of rain. The field I walk through no longer crunches under foot; nor does it look mostly yellow. And in an odd way the students are fresh and green, too.

Some of them walk through campus with a refreshing sense of hope and excitement. They are excited to be there and they are hoping that this moves them forward to a better future. The anticipation is palpable from these young people. I walk across the campus, and I can feel, actually feel this anticipation and excite. It's wonderful to feel this atmosphere. It reminds me of my first walk through a campus as a freshman. I was eager, excited and ready to learn.

All too soon these very same students will have experiences that define their time with us. Some of them will find their niche in this part of their life. They'll discover kindred spirits and learn that they weren't so odd after all. Others will find the process of learning a drudge. They'll think nothing has changed in their lives. Professors react to them the same way that high school teachers reacted to them. Classmates will react to them the same way as they did all through school. Never once will it occur to them that perhaps it is all in their perception and attitude that things remain the same. Still others will find that they are good students and can excel beyond their imagination. These are the folks that will go far in their lives because they know what it is like to work hard to get what you want. Hard work doesn't phase them. By Spring semester we just may get some of those brightly burning stars from the previous high school year that went to large universities. They got to these institutions with fantastic reputations only to learn that professors there don't hold their hands and stroke their egos. They discover that they are one of many fish and are no longer the big fish. They can't cope with the anonymity. They come to us seeking the caring hand of a compassionate professor. They'll usually find it. Eventually their immaturity passes, and they are able to cope without the ego massages.

Yes, it's a new academic year. It is so fresh. I love this time. A time of possibilities. A time of hope.

First day of school

Tuesday was the first day of school for Drama Queen and Storyteller. The night before we went to the "Back to school" night. This is where we meet the teachers and the kids get to scope out the school.

Well, Monday night was nothing but chaos. It wasn't even organized chaos. You walk through the doors of the school. No one greeted you. No one directed you to where classes rooms are. It was a free-for-all. Also that school is huge. There are tons of kids!

Finally, we fine the classes rooms for 1st grade. We fine Drama Queen's room. She has Mrs. Sims. Mrs. Sims looks like she must be in her early 50s. Her voice indicates that she must have smoked for a portion of her life. It's that raspy throat sound smokers develop. But she is delightful and tons of older kids are coming to greet her.

Then we go hunting for the Kindergarten rooms. After looking at all of the rooms we find Storyteller's room. Her teacher is in her early to mid-40s and is a mother of 3. She looks like the girl next-door. Straight, long, blond hair hangs down her back. Her name is Mrs. Trotter. She seems very pleasant.

On Tuesday morning we deliver our darlings to the school. Passionfruit decided to join us, too. We take Drama Queen to her class and give her a hug and a kiss good-bye. She runs to her desk and never looks back. Now we're off to Storyteller's room. She too goes without any hesitation. I leave the school feeling confident that all will go well.

Fast-forward to 3:00PM. I'm standing outside with a bunch of other parents. I don't realize that we can actually go in. It's now 3:20 kids are pouring out of the school. Soon the oldest kids in school are coming out. Drama Queen still hasn't appeared. I make my way in as I battle the traffic coming out. I feel like a Salmon swimming upstream battling a fierce current. I'm scanning all the little faces. As I get through the first set of doors I see Drama Queen standing by the second pair of doors bawling her eyes out! Now I'm terrified. Did some one hurt my baby? If so they better watch out! I race to DQ and scoop her up. I ask her what's wrong. It takes a while before DQ composes herself to tell me that she was afraid I wasn't going to come and get her.

Now I'm truly devastated. I caused her anguish! I'm the cause of the tears. I also suddenly realized that DQ was being a very, very good girl. I've always told the girls that they aren't to ever leave a building without me. DQ wasn't about to go out of the building without me! So I sit her down and apologize to her. I explained that there were tons of parents and grandparents outside. I thought we weren't allowed to go in. I explain to her that all of this is new to her and me. I told her we were both learning together and that it was going to take sometime to get a routine down.

By this time, I realize that the all day Kindergarten class still hasn't left the building. I take DQ to go find out what's happening with that class. Storyteller sees us and races out of the classroom. I told her she needed to go back and tell her teacher that I am here.

Then we head out of the building. Storyteller starts telling me that she is thirsty and hasn't had a drink all day. I find this hard to believe because they have a water fountain right there in the classroom. Anyway we have to go back to pick-up MI because she was still sleeping when I went to go get her earlier.

When we arrived at the lab Storyteller melts down big time. I try the hold out in the minivan. We're out there for 15, maybe 20 minutes. I'm getting hot and tired. I got worried that we all might end up sick if we stay out in the minivan even with the door open in 100+ weather. So I pick her up and cart her into the lab. She fights me tooth and nail. Again I put her in the hold and that lasts another 30 min. After along while Storyteller settles down. We move on to pick-up MI. Storyteller finds the water fountain and stays there the whole time I'm collecting MI. So I wonder whether the poor child actually got anything to drink.

By the time we are ready to leave the lab, I am so done in I can barely control my temper. I explain to the girls that they best do exactly what I ask them and do it immediately. Getting them back into the car is another lesson in frustration. I lost my temper. But I controlled it and only took it out on the minivan. It now has a large dent in the fender from where my fist struck.

Later that evening Storyteller told someone that she wanted to go back to Trinity. My poor baby. Storyteller is finding it hard to adjust to the huge school. There is a crush of kids and the building itself is huge.

Storyteller

Yesterday we went to the local children's museum. I happen to love this museum. I think I enjoy it more than the kids. With three little ones, each with different tastes, we are soon seperated but occasionally we would reconnect with one or the other.

While Miss Independence and I were playing at the firestation exhibit, she calls out to Storyteller to come over. Storyteller sees the fire truck and races over. They climb on the truck for awhile and then head up the stairs to get to the pole but that is locked up. They slid down the slide. Storyteller leaps up from the mat and races to the pole. She proceeds to climb that pole from the ground up. Storyteller climbs and climbs. She makes it all the way up to the locked gate. I AM FLABBERGASTED!

When I was in junior high we were expected to climb a rope and ring a bell hung from the ceiling. Most of the guys were able to do this. They would race each other. We had two ropes. As far as us girls, several girls could climb 1/4 to 1/2 way up the rope. Maybe we had one or two girls that were able to climb all the way to the ceiling. I on the other hand had absolutely no skill, strength or desire to climb that rope. I tried a few times and could never make it a foot off the ground. Finally our coach got so frustrated he let me climb the rope using his hands. He'd put his hands around the rope and I would put my feet on his hands and pull myself up. I got as far as he could reach over his head. I don't remember how I got down. I probably just fell. Although, that sounds a little scary, maybe I just slid down and gave myself rope burn.

Now I've witnessed my child climb like a pro. I was so proud of her as she ascended. I don't know why that should surprise me for Storyteller often pick-ups close to her weight. She loves to pick-up her 30 pound baby sister. Storyteller is only 40 to 45 pounds herself. She'll even pick-up Drama Queen. DQ is 40 pounds.

Like I've said before Storyteller isn't fat-- she's dense. It's mostly all muscle.

Making memories

Last night we took the girls on a long walk. We walked from our house to the local frozen custard parlor. Passionfruit guesstimated that it was one mile and one half. We started out a little after 7:00PM. We walked through our neighborhood. We took a short cut through the blocked off construction entrance for the housing addition. Most of our neighbors used this entrance as the primary entrance. I found this ironic since we live in a gated community. What's the point of the gates if your not going to use that entrance? I personally hate the gates but I didn't drive through that entrance. Passionfruit would from time to time and end up with flat tires frequently.

Well the walk to Rustie's was great. Storyteller froliced like a puppy. Unfortunately she paid the price for such abandon. A scraped knee. Drama Queen complained once about being too hot. That ended when I said we could go home and forget the custard. Miss Independence was a little trooper. She marched along holding my hand. Nary a whimper or complaint.

When we got to Rustie's the place was quiet, only one other couple was there and they already had the goods. As we ordered things started jumping. Passionfruit has a difficult time making his mind up. We sat down to await our treats. The line continued to build. Soon it was going out the door. Passionfruit looked at me and said we made it just in time.

Soon we realize that one concrete would have been enough for the three girls. I took the girls to the restroom for a bathroom break and a clean up. Passionfruit gathered up the cups, and was waiting for us. I looked at him and told him that if he wanted to carry them that was fine but expect no help from me.

Our walk took us past my high school. The marching band was there practicing. We made a detour to watch. There was this loud clicking sound. Passionfruit wanted to know what that was. I looked at him and said, "It sounds like a giant metronome to me." He gave me the look. This look is one I get when I tell him about my high school experience. I went to a large suburbian high school that was fairly wealthy. Passionfruit went to a rural high school that was small. His whole school population was less than my graduating class. My class was the first class in several years that was under 1000. We only had 976. While we're holding this conversation the girls keep creeping closer and closer to the parking lot where the band is practicing. The girls are enchanted.

When I call for them. Storyteller comes back with a gleem in her eyes. "I want to do that!" So perhaps I'll end up being a Band Booster afterall. Around here that consumes the whole family. You live, eat and breath band. Fundraisers, costume decisions, competitions, games, more fundraisers. I've watched my friends as they do this thing. I have no idea what to call the phenomenon-- other than mass mind control. My friend's son is not in band this year but she is still involved. She's on the sewing comittee. I have no talents like that. Perhaps, I will be viewed as non-valuable and only expected to help suds cars up at the bi-annual car wash.

As we start back to the house Passionfruit is freaking out about the time. I mean he's getting rather tense and grumpy. I walk up to him and I said, "Honey, you're looking at it wrong. We are making memories here. Hopefully, they'll be happy ones." Passionfruit looked at me and he said that he never even thought of that. It was exactly what he needed. He started calmming down.

Now at some point Miss Independence starts complaining that her legs hurt. She suffers so from charlie horses. I remember how painful they were. Unlike my mother I do tend to these pains. Usually I give her one children's Motrin. So I pick her up and carry her on my back the rest of the way home. Then she becomes aware of the stars. I don't know if she's ever seen stars before. She certainly seemed entranced by them. Storyteller when she sees Miss Independence on my back wants me to carry her. OH MY GOSH! That child is packed. She isn't fat but she is heavy. I mean I think she's all muscle. Drama Queen weighs as much as Storyteller but she's taller than Storyteller. So I denied her a ride.

All in all it was a good experience. The girls thought it was a long walk. But they enjoyed eating the custard. I just hope they remember this in a good way. What it taught me was we needed to walk more as a family. At one point Drama Queen told her daddy that she was a fast walker. He smiled and told her, "You ain't nothing like your Mommy. If she were alone she would already be to Rusties." Years back in 1998 and 1999 I got into walking. I walked every morning during the Spring and Summer and part of the Fall. We lived in a neighborhood at the time that had a 1 1/2 mile loop. I walked that loop twice in the mornings. It only took me 30 minutes to finish. I lost a lot of weight and that might be the reason why I got pregnant with Storyteller. Won't it be great if I got the girls into the walking thing? Although, they really don't need to loose weight I do.