Picking Up After NINE Years And Doing Scary Things

Could it really be that long? Could it really have been 9 years since I last wrote on this page? And it still exists? Dang.
The internet really is forever.
If forever equals 9 years.
In that time I grew a whole 'nother person. She grew into a 7 year old. She jumps and swings on ropes and reads and tells jokes. That's crazy town crazy.
I also grew 9 years older. Nearly a decade of rings around my trunk. Within the last few days I had a birthday and proclaimed that I would begin my new year of life by doing things that scare me a little bit and sometimes a lot. I'll try to stretch my arms and limits. After 9 years of neglecting this blog I figure jumping back into writing on the web can count as one of those scary things.
On my actual birthday I attended an Open Mic Night at my local bookstore (where I am practically a part owner based on the amount I spend since they opened less than a year ago.) It was literally the first time I ever stood in front of a group and shared my own poetry. I read two poems that I am proud of but likely still need work and because the appropriate response at these things is snapping, I really have no idea how any body thought about them. It's really hard to read a room full of snaps.
But I did it. My voice was clear and steady. My words came out strong and with inflection as I've been trained to show. And then I was done and I simultaneously wanted more time to read and to race from the room before anyone could make eye contact. I returned to my chair and tried to focus on the remaining poets, including an adorable high school student who was clearly there only for the extra credit rumored to be offered by the favorite English teacher.
When the event was over I spoke with a few of the other readers. A kind word of admiration, respectful "good jobs" were shared and passed around. I selected a couple of books as birthday gifts to myself, knowing full well I have dozens at home stacked up in corners and tipped dangerously on shelves. Pens were perused until two were selected for their good lucks and potential to be the ink behind my great works, obviously bound for publication in many scholarly journals. I even picked up a new tiny journal just in case I wrapped up the last pages of my current one in an outpouring of passionate writing spurred by my new age and new bravery as a master of the Open Mic Night.
After paying for my own presents I left and went to my car. Where I sat for a full 10 minutes, shaking. All the fear I had been sitting on and holding in was suddenly on the outside of my body, taking form in my raised hairs and quivering lip. How could I do it? How could I maintain this for a year? I can't trick my body into being persistently terrified for a whole 365 days? Scary things are hard. You get scared for a reason.
I drove home.
Waking up the next morning, trash day, I looked out the window to see that our upstairs neighbor had taken my kids' baby crib from our shared basement and set it on the curb for the garbage men. WTF? Who does that?
Then again, my youngest is 7 and we're not having more children. I've held on to that crib, which is now illegal to sell or donate for all these years because well, my babies took naps in it. When they were babies. Tiny little snuggle bunnies who loved their mama, me, their MAMA.
Although to be honest, they barely used it. We co-slept so they only used it for naps or when they got bigger and we pushed it against our bed. And like I said- it's useless. We literally can't even pass it on because of the dumb drop-side bars or whatever. But I have been so terrified to get rid of it because of what it means if it's gone.
No more babies.
None.
Ever.
But this is the year I do things that scare me right?
So I watched as the strong armed, fluorescent yellow vested men heaved the pieces of the cherry finish, scroll side crib, paid for by my father who wanted so badly to do this for us, heaved the crib of my first, second and last baby into the back of their truck like it was just another piece of trash. And I didn't cry even though that was so much scarier than standing in front of a crowd of strangers and reading my poems for the first time. I didn't shake even though I was terrified by the reality and finality of that conclusion to a time in my life pulling away in the back of a truck.
This year is going to be strange and amazing. I hope I am able to chronicle it accurately and consistently.

I Promise For Real This Time...

I have been saying that there are more posts coming and have alluded to them all over the place. So, where are they?

They're coming.

I don't want to make you sit there and think "Oh great, we sit around and wait for posts that she promises and for all we know the only thing up and coming is a post about her love for walnuts (I like to open the shell with an old school metal nutcracker and try and figure out why I bother digging the meat out when I can buy it shelled- but I enjoy the zen of the process) or why her kids are the bestest and funniest (they are though of course) or how the middle American states are a Republican party ruse meant to garner more electoral college votes but they don't actually exist (this one my older sister came up with in high school and for a while seemed kind of believable, until I had to fly to Kansas City, Missouri- they do exist, Republican or otherwise)."
Is that what you were thinking?

Well- I feel it is only fair that I share with you what some of my forthcoming posts are regarding:
My awesome organic heirloom tomato and fresh picked apple salsa recipe.
Mini-golf.
The trickery of town recycling (I know- you can hardly contain the excitement!)
My (once again awesome) zucchini blueberry bread recipe.
The search for a good primary care doctor in one of the greatest medical communities in the U.S.
How to sew a tutu on the fly.
Good reasons not to tempt fate by saying "My child hasn't really talked about god yet..."
The dangers of apple picking without proper safety equipment.
How to beat Martha Stewart in a centerpiece fight.

Now, not all of these are done so hold your horses. Some are but I haven't attached the pictures so I haven't posted them yet. And of course I will continue to blog without advanced notice, preparation or use of protractors and graphing calculators. I just wanted to put it in writing that I am indeed working on posting more and have a thing or two to say about a thing or two (I like to say that). So consider myself pledged unto thee as a true and faithful blogger to the best of my abilities and at least for the next month. I'm only making promises one month at a time. I'm crazy but not crazy enough to plan that far ahead.

After all- come November, I could be in Missouri cracking walnuts old school and swapping kid pageant pictures and report cards with the head of the GOP.

Here is a picture of me that is badly in need of
photoshop (sleep much?) that
seals unto you my promise to be a better, more faithful blogger.

First Day of Prison Treats

* Special Note- Contrary to my previous post, because hey, why not be contrary when you can- I am not going to backdate posts. If things seem wonky and out of order please try and understand that I have just been behind in things like linking pictures and such. I am trying to catch up without overwhelming the blogosphere with eighteen million posts in one day. Really, I have that many. Or maybe less, I'm not sure. Regardless- here we go.

As mentioned in my previous post about my son's first day of school- he has an uncanny knack for making faces in pictures that would lead state run social services to think we are doing something really wrong. I want to make it clear that I have no understanding of this phenomenon. I don't say "hey- make a face like the awesome-ness of right now is actually really terrible and the kitty you don't have just died." Followed by "Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnndddddd- SMILE!" Because that would explain the number of bizarre picture duos we have amassed.

So I will continue, in the interest of science and an effort to discover the underlying reason behind these happenings to periodically update you with pictures. Prison Face v. Free at Last Face pictures. Now there will not just be exploitative use of unflattering pictures of my otherwise adorable little guy but I will also be exemplifying my own dualities in the Good Mommy v. Bad Mommy world. Because really, is this a Good Mommy post or a Bad Mommy post?

This set is from the first day of school again. As a special treat for getting through the first day of school I took the itty-bitties for a spot of ice cream. In my family there is a genetic predisposition for loving ice cream as if it was made of, well, ice cream. It is passed down from my mother's side of the family and so far it seems to have taken root nicely in my children. So you would assume that after a great first day of school and swell surprise ice cream any 5 year old kid would be psyched.

Prison Face Ice Cream vs. Free at Last Ice Cream



Now here is apple picking a few weeks ago. Again- should be happy and fun for all (although you will likely soon read about the apple picking experience and how it went awry but that is before all that). This is at the start of the picking, just as we entered the orchard when the smell of fruit filled our noses and the sight of trees all around us was most welcoming. Or so you would think.

Fresh-picked Prison Pear vs. Fresh Picked Free at Last Pear



What is a gal to do? I'll keep going on taking photos in the name of memory and science and maybe one day I'll start a "Parents of Prison Face Photo Children" support group. Joiners?

Backdating

You might notice new posts going up that are back dated and that is simply because I wrote them up but have been slogging around in other projects that distracted me from posting them. So after final edits and picture adding I am posting them with the original dates even though it is today. I'll keep this as the top post until I am caught up.
If you could imagine or knew how far behind I am on FaceBook you would start sending out a search party. There may even be people who assume I have just stopped paying for my FIOS connection. I'm around, just slow and rifling through papers real and virtual.
Thanks for checking in.

He Done Growed Up

Like many a weepy mommy who had to send their first born children off to school for the first time this year I took a few pictures. Ezra started kindergarten this year which is pretty important and exciting and you would think kind of fun. However, as will come to be shown Ezra has a habit of making what I call the "prison face" in pictures during happy or celebratory times. The prison face is often followed by the "free at last" face. I really can't explain it. I give you the following evidence.

Prison Face Ezra Starting School



Free At Last Ezra Starting School


Weird, right? I mean the second picture is goofy no matter what but seriously- he was entirely thrilled to be going to school. In the first picture it looks like we are sending him to work in a shirt factory cleaning under the gigantic moving mechanical looms! Work ethic is great and we could use a couple extra pennies but they changed the labor laws ages ago.

Still we did end up with the next picture which kind of makes me not care that he did the prison face first. For real- a gal has to brag about her kids from time to time and announce that they and only they are the most beautiful children in the world. But come on now- what other conclusion can you draw here?


Although this is not representative of all our days (as is clearly proven by the ever-lurking prison face) I have proof that they liked each other for a few minutes and were very much the most adorable children in the world.

If you want to eat them just a little bit, I understand. I do too.

Words by the Page

I have collected dictionaries since I was is high school. To say I am selective is surely an understatement as my collection is probably less than 25 strong and I started it nearly 15 years ago. I like my dictionaries to be old, thorough, filled with words people have forgotten and I adore it beyond belief when there is any sort of inscription or notation anywhere within the pages. This is how I got the most recent one and the best yet.

When my grandfather passed away on February of 2008 he left a houseful of things both amazing and ridiculous. Historically vital and 2 for 1 at the dollar store. He came from a very important, smart and well educated family but also a frugal one. In his later years he (and my most beautiful grandmother before she died in September 1999) spent a bit too much time looking for diamonds at the church fair and packing them away for a rainy day.

On one of my visits home after his death my sisters and I did a sort of looters ceremonial walk-through of the house. There was no will specific enough to give any one of us the Go Bang set, wedding china or telescope we used to watch the lobster boats go in and out with the tides. My mother and her two siblings decided we would get low-tack stickers with our initials to apply to any items we may want when the estate. as it is/was/were... settled. Two or more stickers on an item and we would have to figure it out later amongst ourselves. All of these selections were provisional of course on my mother, aunt or uncle not selecting one of the items for themselves.

There wasn't a ton of stuff I wanted until we were about ready to leave. Walking through the downstairs library I spotted the two-volume, magnifying-glass-included, Oxford English Dictionary sitting happily but a bit lonely on a shelf. Even the Compact Edition of this gem is bigger than my head. And oh, the deep, professorial blue tone with delicate gold lettering. Ahhh. I looked around furtively like a thief. I felt a guilty for no reason. I said a silent prayer (which my grandfather the preacher, would have appreciated) that my grandfather wanted me to have the OED. It was right there. I love dictionaries. My god- the best one in my collection is an inscribed by a stranger, 1947 edition dictionary bound in packing tape that he, himself sent me off to college with. Silly, adorable old man.

I stuck my little sticker on it.

After mentioning to my mother that I wanted the OED she seemed doubtful. Apparently my uncle also wanted it- although only to replace the magnifying glass in his edition. And to boot my younger cousin who is my grandfather's namesake also wanted it.

I have it. I love it. I dust it. I wish I could carry it around in a little pouch like people do toy poodles. Maybe frame it. I wish I had more words to look up. I find myself trying to come up with words I don't know the meaning of just so I can look for them in its damp and inky pages. Did I mention I love it? And I have it.

Did I also mention that I live in a two-family house and that our half has only two bedrooms and a sun room/office. The dictionary does look rather handsome in the window seat next to the Peace Lily but then no one can see it. I can put it on the floor but come now, it is the Oxford English Dictionary, Compact Edition, Two Volumes with Case and Magnifying Glass. It doesn't fit on the mantle and our bookshelves are too packed.

Would it be going to far to use it as a pillow? I could see going to bed surrounded by the comfort of warm words and cool pages. Mmmmm. Sleepy words would be especially good.

FROGGY UPDATE-EEEK!

I have since learned after posting about my frog-snail issues that there is a lot of controversy about these African Dwarf Frog habitats. You can google beyond the link. Most people are claiming they are pretty damn inhumane. Now, inhumane does stem from not being good for humans but I get it and I am kind of agreeing. I just don't quite know what I am going to do. Mine are from a different company than the ones on the PETA site but they look pretty similar.
Obviously PJTruck and Humavark are not going to be released into the wild. They are not American Northeast Suburban Dwarf Frogs. So I think I have start thinking about a trip to a pet store (another somewhat inhumane and sometimes controversial concept) and get me a bigger boat. Er, tank. And some more rocks. And a filter. And a bubbler. And some more plants. And some snails that may or may not be murder victims within days of their entry into the habitat. And a heater for the winter. Damn frogs.
I haven't mentioned this to the Dearly Beloved yet so he may read this and come looking for me. My pet shop jaunts don't usually end well. They usually end in many, many dollars spent on fish and fish supplies. I don't why but I can't escape their slimy little gilled clutches. I will have to be strong. And this may be a slow project- so sorry PETA but my Frog Habitat Improvement Fund is a bit low right now so we have to start slow.
I'll keep you updated.
Maybe this will be a little more Good Mommy and less Bad Mommy. Or maybe it is just Don't Alert the Media Mommy. Meh- whatever gets the job done.

Don't Go in the Water

In a previous post I mentioned our beloved quasi-pets PJTruck and Humavark. They are African Dwarf Frogs who live in what is touted to be a mostly self-sufficient environment that costs less the $25. Nice. There is rectangular plastic tank that goes on a (available for additional purchase by suckers like me) pedestal thingy so are therefor very fancy and worthy of display. Inside are supposedly very special gravel rocks that have self-filtering properties. There is lucky bamboo, a pretty rock and you only have to change the water twice a year. Again- nice. And of course there are the frogs.
Oh wait- I didn't mention the most important thing. The two EMPTY snail shells lying at the bottom as if waiting for evidence tags. I smell murder most foul.
The frog habitat came with one freshwater snail with the super important job of head janitor. He/she had a name but being a Bad Mommy I have forgotten it. A few weeks, maybe a month and a half after we brought our water loving friends home the snail was found floating. Snails don't float where there isn't a current. We gave it a day or two to try and figure out what was going on and in that time it appeared the snail was "retreating" into its shell. I now have a different theory. Anyway it was clearly dead.
Not a problem. We are modern parents. We told the kids. They got it. It was kind of sad but not requiring of a shoebox kind of sad. Paper towels and a baggie into the kitchen trash was fine. Rest in peace and look out for the incoming apple peels.
I went to the company site for the froggy sellers and as it happens they could explain the dead snail. So I wasn't too worried at that point. The company also sold replacement snails that could be shippped right to your door. Fossil fuels be damned! I do like a nice package delivery and if ot comes with as sweet little gastropod mollusc and makes my kids happy too- awesome. I will gladly buy the carbon credits to off set the shipping.
A few days later not one but two delightful snails arrived in a bubble wrapped baggie of water labeled "SNAIL X 1." Math skills aside we were pleased and introduced the little ones to the frogs. We thought it best not to name them.
Good choice because less than one week later they were DEAD.
I cannot be responsible for theses deaths. We followed the directions to the colloquial "T." We never aggravated the snails or frogs with tapping or late night phone calls, requests for money or a ride to the airport. I didn't let anyone make wishes on dropping pennies into the tank- we always kept the ventilated lid on.

The best that I can come up with is that although these teeny frogs are supposed to be very content and have even earned the nickname "Zen Frogs" for the way the float peacefully- their captivity has hardened them. Maybe it wasn't both of them who did the deed most foul. Maybe one of them came from the wrong side of town or had been through the tank business before. Maybe the two of them are just trying to send us a message. Attica. Attica. Maybe they are segregationalists. That would be awful to think I was harboring frogs of that ilk. No matter what I honestly beleive the frogs my kids love to watch jump and swim and spent hours perfecting the names for are actually snail killers and what is almost worse- snail eaters. There is not a trace of snail body to be found.
No body- no murder?
We have not sent in another snail. The frogs seem restless but I cannot sentence another snail to what seems like certain death. We continue to treat them as though they are the same frogs we knew in the first blissful weeks of our relationship and maybe one day they will be ready for us to put pretend snails on Popsicle sticks and move them around the outside of the tank. Rehabilitation will be slow but PJTruck and Humavark just might turn back into model frog habitat citizens again. For the children, I really hope they do. Frogs would need a shoebox.
On a brighter note- supposing you don't get a batch of killers- these little guys are wicked cute and would make a neat-o executive desk accessory or gift for someone who you know is completely incapable of caring for an actually needy pet. Maybe get a spare tank filled with extra snails though. Just in case.

4 Letter Words

Ezra is 5 and is working on writing and spelling and is using special Post-It notes to label things all over the house. He wants to fit more and more on the little pages even though they are really only meant for 4 or 5 letter words like wall and house. When I gave him the sticky-notes he used them appropriately. But after labeling less than ten things I found him chasing my 3 year old Lena around the house with one while she cried.

Why was he chasing her? Why was she crying?

Ezra had written "sweet smell" on a sticky and wanted to attach it to her butt.

I don't even know what to do with that. I had to make him stop because he was making her cry but I also thought it was hysterical. It was also a pretty smart joke. And he had written two words small enough that they fit. Still- you can't let one child use irony to make another cry. Still I was so proud of his writing and spelling... It was one of those parenting moments you have to file under "What the Hell?" and cross-reference with "Fodder for Embarrassing Children" and "Graduation Inscriptions."

We finally worked it out by me consoling Lena and Dear Old Dad helping Ezra find something else in the house with a "sweet smell." It ended up being the refrigerator. I'm encouraged by that as an indication of my cleaning skills and grocery lists.

Ezra is growing brain cells faster than a frat boy can kill them during Spring Break in Cancun. He wanted to write a longer word on his little Post-It so he asked my husband to think of a 12 letter word. During the 45 to 90 seconds he was trying to come up with one Ezra said "Is kindergarten a 12 letter word? It is, isn't it?"

Yep.

When my husband relayed that conversation I sat dumbfounded trying to think of another 12 letter word. I couldn't. I know some. I write them. I say them. But for whatever reason- my 5 1/2 year old can pull them from the ether. I know I have to file that under "What the Hell?" but what do I cross-reference it with? "Mommy isn't That Smart?" "Do More Crosswords?"

What it boils down to is that every parent is convinced their child is a genius of monumental proportion. If you frequent mommy chat rooms, blogs or library story times you would have to come to the conclusion that in the next 10 to 20 years our country will be inundated with Nobel Prize winners, MacArthur Grant recipients and Forbes magazine cover makers all under the age of 25. In a lot of ways I hope Ezra isn't in that projected group. A lot of kids level out and the rest of their peers catch up. And in the mean time, being smart and carrying a lot of stuff in your head can be hard when you are just a wee little person with wee little person skills and wee little social mechanisms. But Ezra is smart right now and I am going to let him enjoy it when it doesn't involve chasing people with clever bits of word play.

The real bonus for me is that since Ezra has all the big words covered for me I get to stick my friendly four-letter friends. Not that I swear, I do have small children you know...

Show and Tell Day

I'm not going to show the pictures so don't worry.

I am just setting to keyboard what once would be set to pen that I don't know yet where the line is. I don't know what I want to share and what is only mine. Who do I know is reading? Who will secretly read? Am I seriously convinced I am that important?

I haven't read any Blogging for Dummies type thing and trust me, have NO intentions of doing so. But I wish there was a Big Brother Big Sister program that matched you up based on your life and what you like to talk about and then they help you decide if you are going to bring your new puppy to show and tell or the map to the old puppy's grave. Geez that sounds creepy. See- I'm not actually that creepy. I don't think.

There is almost a need for a person to have one blog for everything they have done, do or will do. Mommy, wife, work, hobbies, medical history, civil war re-en-actor, conspiracy theorist, writer, gamseshow contestant, pie lover, gambling adddict- whatever your category is.

I barely know my categories and I still need to figure out my audience. Hello audience. It's me. How are you? How is all this working out for you? Want more milk and cookies or do you prefer gin and tonics?

Egads but don't this just beat all. Well today for show and tell I am bringing me, my blog as it stands and my willingness to push myself farther. Onward and upward, forward march, small steps for mankind and all that tripe. Enough of the New Year's resolutions in July, I have crazy-ing to do and make. Here is a picture of my little man so he doesn't feel left out after all the pictures of his sister. Enjoy.

It was preschool graduation. Hence the overalls. They are de rigeur for all graduations these days.

Open up and say ahhhhhhhh....

I had an endoscopy yesterday and they let me take home pictures. Hehehehehe. Ewwww. I know I shouldn't share and I totally won't and I'm not even going to go into the topic right now because I'm tired but I kind of want to show you.

Don't you kind of want to see?

No? Okay, so admittedly once I saw them there was a pang of regret for having asked but the chance to say "Hey Doc- can I get a copy of the shot of my esophagus?" is pretty rare. I promise I won't share.

I was just bursting at the seams with the knowledge that I have the pictures and I needed to put it out there. Okay- no more sharing.

Now onto your day and enjoy your lunch.