Meanderstall

Today I left the house at 7:30am, drove to Chicago, which would normally take about 8 hours, and got here at 11:30. You can do the math on that if you like, but I'll give you a hint... it wasn't 8 hours.

It was good, though. Typically, when I travel, there is someone waiting for me on the other end of the trip. This time, I planned it differently. I booked a hotel room for the first night of my trip, rather than staying with my friend, so that it wouldn't matter when we got here. The Man didn't come with us, so it was just the girls: me, my Middle Child, and my Small One. I looked at the route before we left, and thought about some things we might do along the way, and planned to throw out any thought of a direct route.

It went really well. We drove for about an hour, then stopped for breakfast. We never do that. We always grab food and shove it into our faces while flying down the highway. This time, we ate pancakes, and I taught Small how to play tic tac toe, and MC and I conversed.

After breakfast, we stopped, on a whim, at a place that advertised "Underground Boat Tours". It was, to put it mildly, super fantastic. We learned some history, and some geography, and heard some interesting Civil War era stories, then rode on a boat through a cave. Afterwards, we hiked about a mile, saw a beaver, and ended up at a butterfly habitat. The girls had a blast, and I was not even bothered that we spent about three hours there.

Even once we got back on the road, we were in no hurry. We picked up drinks and snacks at a grocery store, pulled off the road to take pictures of giant fake dinosaurs, and stopped for a sit-down dinner. We hit some traffic jams, too, but they were not particularly troublesome, since we had no timeline.

Meanwhile, we sang silly songs, and and talked about everything under the sun, and laughed. We made more plans for the summer. No one got grumpy, no one got argumentative, no one cried. The girls napped, I managed to keep from falling asleep.

Am I exhausted? Absolutely. But I'm incredibly glad we did it this way. I don't know how many more road trips I'll make with MC, and Small is growing not so small right before my eyes. Today, though, they were here, and I was here, and it was good.

And did I mention there were butterflies?

Wordless Wednesday: Summer's Here

Zoom a Little Zoom in a Rocket Ship

Small One is in a question-intensive phase right now. My days are full of "whys", and each answer I give seems to only lead to more questions.

Ever since we moved, she asks a lot of questions about when we can go certain places or see certain people. She asks when we can go visit friends, when we can visit family in Florida, and when we can go camping. I wasn't prepared, though, for the question I got this afternoon.

"Mommy," she asked, "When can we go to the moon?"

Hmm... I tried to explain that we are not really going to the moon, because we don't have a rocket. She suggested we buy one, and paint the words "Rocket Ship" on the side. She changed her mind, though, when she learned that "Rocket Ship" contains no "L's". I suggested "Lunar Spaceship", and she thought that sounded better.

She's into labeling things, of late. We're about to take a week long vacation, and I bought her a hard-sided suitcase. It's really pretty cool. it looks like a ladybug, and the child can ride on it.

 It came with stickers to personalize it, and I thought she'd put her name on it, but she had a different idea. She did put her name, but followed it with an apostrophe, and the words "Suitcase Ride".

As a family friend pointed out, you don't get much more personalized than that.

My name is Tick: Or, Why I Prefer the Indoors

A little girl we know came home once repeating a cheer she'd heard at school, only we were all pretty sure she was repeating it wrong because, according to her, it went like this:

My name is Nick
My name is Tick
Tick Tick Tick BOOM dynamite!

That's not how it really went, by the way. It really went like this:

Our team is dynamite
Our team is tick tick tick tick BOOM dynamite!

But I must confess, I like the "my name is Tick" one better.

I've got that cheer in my head today. I may have mentioned this before, but I am an indoor cat. Anything outdoorsy is so far out of my comfort zone, it is not even funny. I'm so sensitive to the sun that it gives me a rash, I hate bugs and dirt, I kill plants much easier than I grow them... the outdoors and I are not pals.

Today, though, I pushed through it. I do that, from time to time, because I do like to watch the water roll in at the beach, and I like to swim. I like to see how much my kids enjoy outdoorsy things, and I like to travel, so sometimes we camp. Today, I went for a walk with my mom, my sister, their dogs, and my Small One.

It was pleasant enough. The weather was nice, the walk was scenic, and even though Small whined incessantly about her legs aching and how tired she was, I was able to distract her with nature facts, so I felt pretty good about that.

Until we got home, and I found SEVEN ticks under my little girls underwear! Holy guacamole. I am now convinced that I am completely covered in those disgusting little critters, and I'm engaged in the fruitless pursuit of pulling off my own freckles and moles. BOOM, dynamite!

See? THIS is what happens when you go outside.

Step Away from the Computer

The Man and I are pretty much nightowls. Because I work from home, and he does much of his work from home as well, we are often up late, sitting next to each other, working on our laptops. Note: this is not romantic.

One thing that completely infuriates me is The Man's tendency to fall asleep at his laptop. Whether he's at a desk or the kitchen table, on the couch or on the bed, I will look over at him, and there he'll be, head lolling onto his chest, dead asleep. It drives me crazy. If he has a deadline to meet, I spend the night elbowing him viciously in an attempt to rouse him.

I've always been a little superior about this. I often say to him "You should be more in touch with your body. There's no way I would fall asleep at my computer, because I recognize when I'm about to fall asleep, and I know that's when I should turn off the machine and go to bed."

Of course, that was before last night. I'm about to leave town, you see, and before I go I need to finish a large number of assignments. In a desperate attempt to get more done last night, even though I was worn out from attending a child's birthday party in three million degree heat, I attempted to push past my own sleepiness and get one more blog done.

It was when I typed a sentence that suggested "teaching children about charitable giving through scrap-booking" that I realized it was over.

(Slowly backs away from the keyboard...)

To Be the Bad Man

I mentioned the kitten in my last post. That being the case, I thought I should introduce him a little more thoroughly. This is the kitten:

(He's the one in the back.)

He's cute, for sure, but he's also a wild thing. He is a total instigator when it comes to fighting with our dog, for example.

Together, they enjoy racing through the house, tumbling across the floor, and, of course, the time honored tradition of naughty punks everywhere- harassing cranky old ladies.

And do not get me started on the number of times he leaps out at us and catches us by surprise, to bite our toes or whatever else he can reach. He has officially hit what we in this house like to refer to as the "bad guy phase". He murders objects left on the floor, leaps out of the shadows to attack, rips his own kitten chow bag open, jumps onto the table, hops on computer keys, bites and scratches, wakes us up in the middle of the night and before our alarm goes off in the morning... everything you'd expect from a four month old cat. We sing to him the same song that we used to sing to our dearly departed Sammy cat, that we began singing to him right around the same age. "No one knows what it's like, to be the bad man..."

On the other hand, he jumps on the bed, runs up my chest, and "kisses" me on the face with his cute little kitty nose. He stretches his long skinny kitty belly out in front of the window to soak up the sun. He purrs and cuddles, and is the most fun our dog has had in his entire life. I, personally, am hopelessly in love with him. Of course, he knows this, which is why he plays hard to get. The Man likes him, but doesn't care much for kitty kisses and cuddles, so naturally, this happens:

(He's resting up, for more mischief later.)

Fan Wars

The Man weighs about 3 pounds. Ok, so maybe that's hyperbole, but I'm just saying, the man has no body fat. I, on the other hand, have plenty of cushion, perhaps even to share with a friend. This disparity causes a bit of an issue sometimes, when it comes to the temperature of our home.

Now, I don't think I'm over the top with my cooling needs. My mother, for instance, is much more the hotblooded type. She has been known to keep her home at such a low temperature that it's been a bit of family joke. "Remember," one of my siblings will say, "when we used to wake up in the early morning, at mom's house, all warm in our sweats, wrapped in blankets, drinking our hot coffee, and talk about our plans for the day, and what time the 4th of July parade was happening?"

I do like it cool, though, and staying cool upstairs requires the use of the ceiling fan. My husband has learned not to turn off the fan- at night, in particular. Rather, he just burritos himself in a blanket and makes the best of it.

Some members of the household have not yet gotten the memo. Last night, I was just drifting off to sleep, when I heard a jangling sound and awoke with a start. My husband sighed and got out of bed. I said, "What are you doing? I think that was just the kitten, playing with the necklace Small One hung on the door."

"No," he replied, "I re-hung it, on the lightswitch. Kitten just turned off the fan."

Kitten! Behave!

Inner Dumb Guy

So, I have not been blogging much of late, and the reason is primarily because I really have been blogging much, just not around here. I am working now as a professional blogger, though I don't know if that is really correct terminology. Basically, all those blogs you see on websites, with no byline, that inform you of some pertinent information, are written by someone like me. So if you are reading up on how to save money with coupons, or what is involved in LASIK surgery, or how to get the most house for your dollar, that may be mine. Who knows? (Well, to be honest, I know, but I'm not going to detail it here.)

I get my information for these blogs from many different sources, mostly internet based, and in searching for information, I often come across things that are truly wacky. For example, when looking for ways to earn money from home, I came across a blog that suggests that stay at home moms can "Make crafts – Making crafts is a candid part, though once you have a unequivocally good total of crafts achieved take a small to informal benefaction retailers as well as qualification retailers as well as see if they will await you marketplace them."

What? Clearly not a native English speaker. Even among English speakers, though, there are some weird posts. Like this advice for how to have fun with your kids during summer vacation: "Start by waking the kids before eight thirty every day during the summer months. Start waking the kids with a question. 'What would you like for breakfast today?' Start a conversation about food first thing in the morning and the kids will begin to find an appetite. Begin to make breakfast for you and the kids right after you wake them up.Cook two eggs, two toast, and 4 bacon. Kids enjoy eggs scrambled"

Now, I get the part about waking the kids up during summer vacation, but certainly it is not mandatory for every family, in order to have fun. And I'm not really clear why you would wake the kids up and ask what they want for breakfast, when you know you're going to make two eggs, two toast, and 4 bacon. And scrambled eggs at that, not even any other options there.

Anyway, knowing what is out there, I do my best to make my blogs factual and not completely ridiculous, though I'm not sure I always succeed. Some of my topics are easy, because they are on topics I already understand. How to have fun with your kids? Bring it on! How to work the Mercedes E Class navigation system? Huh? Yeah, no, I'm awake.I'm just puzzling over what the words in this instructional pdf mean.

I find that watching television helps me blog. No, really. Here's why: I have an inner dumb guy. While I'm sitting here, trying to concentrate on the merits of biodiesel, or what have you, my inner dumb guy is thinking about everything BUT blogging. Singing stupid songs in my brain, basically tugging on my mind's sleeve, demanding attention. Turning on the Lifetime Movie Network or a soap opera is like throwing my inner dumb guy a hush puppy, so I can turn my attention to more pressing business. It seems counter-intuitive, I realize, but for some reason, by dividing my attention, I'm better able to focus.

I'm wondering though, am I alone in this? Or do other people share the affliction of the inner dumb guy? Anyone?

FANtastic

Trying the NaBloPoMo thing again, which may be foolish, since I'm totally swamped with work and about to go on vacation...

Anyway, the word for the month of June, from the NaBloPoMo powers that be, to inspire bloggers as they try to muster up 30 days of things to say, is "fan".

I was thinking about all the meanings of that word, whether to fan yourself, turn on a fan to keep cool, or to be a fan... I'm not much of a fan. I don't get overly impressed with people or teams. Not to say I don't like certain actors or athletes, or what have you, I just don't get obsessive about it. I was analyzing myself on this topic, and I think it may have to with my lack of competitive spirit. I am a fairly cooperative type, and have never understood the point of all that "us against them" sort of behavior. Can't we all just get along? Not to say that I don't want to do the best I can, I just don't care if I do better than someone else. Your pie is better than mine? Hurray for you! You can run faster/jump higher/type faster/do whatever better than I can? Go for it! The exception to this may be trivia, because I do like to win at trivia.

Anyway, this lack of competitive understanding makes me completely disinterested in sports. I do not understand how people get so into watching grown men trying to beat each other at a game, usually through aggressive shows of force. I particularly do not get the whole "we're winning" when you, in fact, are drinking a beer and watching them play. It all holds absolutely no appeal for me.

Even with that being the case, I recently went to a baseball game, with a group of friends and family. The company was pleasant, though it was blisteringly hot, and I honestly had no investment in the game whatsoever. Small One, on the other hand, was into it. She really wanted to be in the game, not just watching. When our friend told her she could run around the bases after the game, she was so excited she could hardly stand it! "When," she asked, "will this game EVER be OVER?"

When it finally was over, she eagerly went down and ran the bases. She was definitely one of the smaller kids out there, and it was pretty funny, watching her little legs pumping around the field. We clapped and cheered, and when she came off the field, we told her how well she'd done, but she only had one question. "Did I WIN?!?"

I guess she inherited the competitive gene from her daddy. Who knows? We may even have unwittingly produced a sports fan.

Casual X

I am, as I’ve mentioned, a Southern girl. And as any good Southern girl will attest, the mamas in the South have traditionally expected their girls to adhere to certain standards in terms of appearance. “Put on a little lipstick, it’ll make you feel better!” is such a common sentence, it’s been referenced in books. Southern women have always felt they had a responsibility to project charm, grace, and beauty. Now, this is not saying that the rest of the country is composed of slobs; I’m just speaking to my own experience. 

Here’s my not-so-secret secret. I don’t dress well. It’s not really a lack of resources, or laziness, or rebellion against societal standards- I just don’t really think about clothes much. My skin is sensitive, and so I don’t wear makeup any more often than necessary, and I tend to wear the same pair of jeans every day. And by “wear the same pair of jeans” I mean “keep the same pair of jeans handy if I have to leave the house, thereby necessitating a change out of pajama pants”. Now, I know people will think pajama pants are lazy, but I swear, I get up just like everyone else, wash my face and put on lotion, drink my coffee and eat my breakfast, do my household chores and brush my teeth; but when I get dressed, unless there’s somewhere I need to be, I often put on a fresh pair of pajama pants in the morning. 

Don’t look at me like that. I bet you’d do that too, if you worked from home. Some days it’s sweat pants or yoga pants instead of pajamas but let’s be honest- it’s the same thing. 

Today I took my Small One to preschool, and now I’m heading over to see my mom. I had a rough morning, with Small acting as though some vital cord connecting her brain to the planet had been loosened or perhaps sliced through, and I’m dressed, admittedly, like a slob. My hair, which is not long enough for a pony tail, is in a pony tail. I’m in jeans and a t-shirt, with crocs. The people on What Not To Wear would have a field day with me. As I was dropping Small at her school, though, I happened to look around me, and realized, that is the uniform of choice for about eighty percent of moms dropping off their kids. 

I think this is maybe a flaw of my generation. For the purposes of this post, I will say Generation X, though I know there’s debate over the usage of that term- when I use it I’m referring to people my age and a little younger, the children of the Baby Boomers. Are we, as a generation, too casual?

I tend to work under the assumption that the actions of each generation are pretty much a reaction to those of their parents. This is the way of nature, I think. And when I think back to my own school days, I remember moms in skirts, with their hair done, wearing makeup. So maybe that’s it. But on the other hand, we are the children of the generation that made jeans a wardrobe essential, a generation of bra burners and hippies. Could it be that we’ve all just been on a slippery slope since then, careening towards utter slobdom?

Yes. And it’s not just clothes. Our generation is largely casual about sex, about information, about housekeeping, about almost everything, if you really think about it. We share things that mortify our parents, and post our intimate details on facebook. In truth, casual seems to be the watchword. And the generation behind us is even more so! They wear pajama pants to the store, for crying out loud. 

Don’t get me wrong, this is not a call to action. It’s just something to ponder. I wonder - will it continue this way, until we eventually devolve into high tech cave people, sitting around in our underwear, tweeting about what we picked out of our teeth that morning? Or will the pendulum swing back the other way, with our grandchildren wearing ties and pantyhose as they silently remember, with some embarrassment, that time Grandma came to the school play in yoga pants?

What do you think? Are we all too casual today? While you’re thinking, I’ve got to go buy some new pajama pants, to spruce up my wardrobe.