tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89035123141882519752023-11-16T09:57:15.706-06:00Bebe DouxEnjoying life one crafty misadventure at a time...Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-27360316630952290632011-05-11T14:11:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:49:45.910-05:00A Blanket Apology<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I'm beginning to notice that most of the ideas I have for blog entries are much less crafty and much more, er, really less crafty. But such is life right now. Annie dropped her afternoon nap months ago, so there's narry a moment in time that isn't spent feeding her, entertaining her, feeding her, running errands, and feeding her. As any mom of tiny tots will tell you, you finally carve out a little down time around 9:00 pm...and then you realize you may as well go to sleep but someone will undoubtedly wake you up in three short hours.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So not much is getting done around here. I started a couple of dolls to accompany the one I made for Annie last Easter, and I've gotten as far as sewing and stuffing one head and torso. I actually discovered Annie laughing and pulling fiberfill out of the doll's head the other day, and I'm trying not to think too hard about what that may say about her psychological state.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I was totally enveloped by the paper piecing quilt project I started, until my hands started to hurt. When I noticed I was wringing my hands like a mawmaw and talking about feeling the bad weather in my joints, I knew it was time for a break. No project, aside from mothering, that makes you feel that old is worth the effort. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Now I want to pick it back up, though, mostly because we'll be settling into the new house soon. Annie will be moving out of a toddler bed into a bonafide "big girl" bed, and she'll need the proper accessories--namely a quilt draped beautifully on the end of her bed that makes the statement, "Look at the detail. My mommy loves me more than yours." Actually, in all honesty, she'll be lucky if she gets a decorative throw pillow tossed her way. Perhaps I should have realized: Quilts take a long, long time. Sorry, Annie, for your underaccessorized bedding. I hope you can find it in your little heart to forgive me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">But God Bless the little sweet pea, who stretched out on it one day and said, "Mommy, I just <em>love </em>my beauti-hul quilt!" Maybe I should just stop with what I have. She's only two, you know. She has no idea that there's no such thing as a decorative quilted bed runner, right?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhho15xOBw1x-0GK0XhBFEO3RTgAVB2eXmTpMktzBweYil1sjFjxGOAc2QOEsBtzYRQaxAnwontMUKevm8wIGaxVT3hwWZBd1J9NgPxfYfxImz6zt3NSuD_SAokDND5qpgPjKceTqR3zk8l/s1600/Quilt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhho15xOBw1x-0GK0XhBFEO3RTgAVB2eXmTpMktzBweYil1sjFjxGOAc2QOEsBtzYRQaxAnwontMUKevm8wIGaxVT3hwWZBd1J9NgPxfYfxImz6zt3NSuD_SAokDND5qpgPjKceTqR3zk8l/s320/Quilt.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-84062813016514690292011-05-10T14:15:00.000-05:002011-05-10T14:15:51.992-05:00Moving right along...<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">If you need to know something about Jim and Jennifer, it's this: We love God, family, and friends above anything else. If you need to know something <em>ridiculous</em> about Jim and Jennifer, it's this: We will be celebrating our 8th wedding anniversary tomorrow, and, as of June, we will have lived in 6 different places. No, Jim's not in the military. No, we are not running from the law, although that does sound pretty exciting about now. Of course, there <em>was</em> a 5 year stretch where we stayed in one place. (Feel free to take a minute to run the numbers on all of that and let the magnitude of it sink in.) Once we move to our new house in June, we will have moved 3 times in one 12 month period.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So why all of this useless information you ask? In the spirit of our approaching anniversary, I'd like to use this information to speak to those unmarried souls who say, "I'll never get married, because married life is too boring." Bwah-hah-ha. The past 8 years have been a whirlwind, I tell you. The past 3 have been downright ridiculous. I keep waiting for the day when Jim and I will kick back in some unattractive, puffy chenille La-Z-Boy recliners, look at each other, and say things like "Momma, you done good" or "Daddy, you want more co-cola?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But right now it's more excitement that I think any one person can handle...so thank goodness there are two of us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Happy Anniversary, You.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-57370786989452830242011-02-24T13:47:00.000-06:002011-02-24T13:47:18.956-06:00For the birds<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Sometimes life gets a little crazy, and you realize that those best laid plans of mice and men are better left to the mice. They undoubtedly have better luck than I. (Just ask my pal, Sarah, who has one in her home that successfully defaced a Baby Einstein toy.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">2010 was a humdinger, to put it nicely, and now we've found ourselves back "home" in the town we left just 8 months ago. In 2010 we made a lot of plans...I mean, <em>a lot</em>. None of them worked out just as we'd hoped, but thankfully (and as always) they worked as just as <em>He</em> had.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So 2011 should be full of lots of fun things--buying another house (we hope), moving a few more boxes in the process, potty training, etc. etc. And, as always, there will be some arts and craps along the way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Right now, thanks to my friend Kathleen who always introduces me to new sewing techniques, I'm hand quilting a blanket for Annie. (Positive note: Being a bedridden shut-in is the perfect opportunity for hand sewing! Yea!) I'll snap some pics soon. I'm currenly very proud of the callous on my finger that means repetetive, very purposeful sewing has been occuring around here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">We're heading to the store today for some ribbon for my first ever pillowcase-style dress, and I took a gander at the crap store's flyer to check on some deals. And since I love sharing odd pictures, I was thrilled to discover this: </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyPXhudF9REB2Biww1hgoR2FlFAhJUremAsm7x98xYhYvG1ldpabdm_hKgyraPToFiByvBOCMKKua7C3kV3TF1klX2KUj9KS61MRGgYeghi7A8X332N8UPKFxKWS9BUBIdl_eUq7rklSZ/s1600/QuiltWrap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="320" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyPXhudF9REB2Biww1hgoR2FlFAhJUremAsm7x98xYhYvG1ldpabdm_hKgyraPToFiByvBOCMKKua7C3kV3TF1klX2KUj9KS61MRGgYeghi7A8X332N8UPKFxKWS9BUBIdl_eUq7rklSZ/s320/QuiltWrap.jpg" width="212" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">At first I thought, "Wow, they've actually put a picture of a woman using a nursing cover on the front of a sales flyer. Way to promote breastfeeding, nationally recognized craft and fabric store!" Then I realized, no, it's just a very strange women draping a very unattractive quilt across her person. She's not curled up on the couch...just kind of standing there, clutching her bird quilt for dear life, but nonetheless trying to smile though her pain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Perhaps 2010 was a little rough on her too.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-66909615861734647502010-11-05T10:00:00.016-05:002010-11-05T11:15:38.456-05:00"Have you seen my centerpiece? It's terrifying."<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The Pottery Barn December 2010 catalog arrived. For me it brings the same level of excitement that looking at the Sears Christmas catalog did as a child, except that there's no risk that I'll stumble upon a picture of men wearing creepy NFL long johns. (Was it absolutely necessary to have the men's underwear section of that catalog <em>that</em> close to the toy section?) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Well, I've made my "must have" list, and I'm definitely buying these as quickly as possible. Because I know there will be nothing finer than the moment when the wax of their little cute heads inevitably melts and it looks like there are four headless woodland creatures, fluffy stumps afire, threatening the peace and tranquility of your holiday tablescape. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29zuVFBRT5ko0KWigH4Sufieo2XycsB7Pd4J-nVwPIjM04OVjhn4Q0MpGhlfmR0agmUIFSF2GSUxfb-_RHL_7-xjjSsJxKez5zow4uusW1CwCQ3zWQDaxUBI5ls3N_6KgnvrUuQclBbOe/s1600/Woodland+Critters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="358" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29zuVFBRT5ko0KWigH4Sufieo2XycsB7Pd4J-nVwPIjM04OVjhn4Q0MpGhlfmR0agmUIFSF2GSUxfb-_RHL_7-xjjSsJxKez5zow4uusW1CwCQ3zWQDaxUBI5ls3N_6KgnvrUuQclBbOe/s400/Woodland+Critters.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Happy Friday!</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-76518577335691874202010-11-04T14:04:00.048-05:002010-11-04T19:30:58.665-05:00I Swear I Both Aced Speech Class and Received an English Degree from an Accredited University<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Being a mom means that your brain seems to rest firmly in your bottom sometimes, because often that feels like where your thoughts emerge. More times than not I open to mouth to only, seconds later, think, "I can't believe that just came out of my face." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And that's how it feels sometimes...like the ill-formed words are spewing out of my face, totally out of my control. I think the inner workings of my mom brain are not unlike the Anheiser Busch brewery bottling line I saw on a school trip to Busch Gardens. The bottles are trucking along just fine, and it all makes sense...until--ka-pam! That reject bottle comes along, and it gets kicked out faster than you can say "hasenfeffer incorporated." Well, some days it feels like every word out of my mouth is a reject bottle. Ka-pam indeed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I try to write down the flat-out weird things Annie says, but I wonder sometimes if I shouldn't do the same for me. It's probably a good idea that I don't, because reading that drivel would likely lower my failing IQ by a good 50 points, which would throw me straight into the red.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But for the sake of fun, let's revisit some of my more profound statements, comments, bouts of verbal diarrhea, what-have-you, that I've experienced so far this week. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">1. To a dear friend's (talking 'bout you, "E-bits"!) husband who stopped by to deliver a fantastic meal and who had clearly earned Annie's affection in a whopping 10 seconds: "Annie just <em>loves</em> men. She just goes <em>crazy</em> over all the men that come over to the house." That's right. "All the men." Oh, and I forgot to mention, I said this to a future pastor. At least he can pray for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">2. To Annie, when putting her down for a nap: "<em>Please</em> try to get some rest, and don't poop yourself awake, <em>please</em>." I'm pretty sure that's the only time I've said that. At least I hope so. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">3. To the sweet 20-something girl who lives upstairs who just got engaged: "Yeah, enjoy this time! The engagement, the wedding, those first few years....they're <em>so</em> much fun. And then when you're our age, that's when all the stupid stuff starts happening." Congratulations and best wishes!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">4. To the sales associate at Hancock Fabrics: "I'll talk half a yard, please!" Ok, that doesn't seem weird, but you haven't seen the fabric. It is so bad, so <em>weird</em>, she actually begged me to buy the rest of the bolt, which had been in the store for nearly 4 years. But it is soooo delicious in its tackiness, and it brings me much joy. I wish I could meet the kindred spirits who purchased the previous yards. I'd love to spend an afternoon with them chatting about sewing small appliance cozies and looking at their Tweety Bird tattoos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">That's all for now. I should stop, because my fingers are getting tired. And my self-esteem is plummeting. And there's also some very funky fabric begging to be fashioned into something even funkier.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-43719541284137920012010-11-03T13:55:00.001-05:002010-11-03T22:22:16.088-05:00CATastrophe!<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Poor Kitty. She made the terrible decision to fall ill as I fell ill earlier this year. So we didn't really notice she wasn't doing well. If laziness, apathy, and detachment present themselves in a cat, how can you begin to know these are signs that something isn't right? That's just standard operating procedure. But when Kitty started sounded like she had swallowed huge, funky ball of lint, we thought, "Hmm, wethinks Kitty is under the weather." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Some $400 and many mild heart attacks later (ours, not Kitty's), our vet told us she may or may not have lung cancer (I <em>told</em> her she shouldn't smoke!) or asthma or pneumonia. I resisted the urge to tell said vet that he may or may not have my continued business after $400 and no firm diagnosis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Then we moved. And then some more unfortunate unfortunateness unfortunately fell our way. Again, Kitty was neglected. Not "call the ASPCA" neglected, just put on the back burner. (Yes, I realize that probably makes you think of our cat simmering stove top [sorry], but I couldn't think of any other phrase.) You know it's a rough time in your life when you have to say things like: "I really would like to stay alive, so you'll just need to hang on a few more months while we make that happen...so, um, don't die, ok? Good kitty." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Right now Kitty is on three different medications, two of which were custom flavored at the pharmacy. I'm hoping that one day I'll get an ailment that requires a liquid medication, so I can take it to the same pharmacy and answer the question "Would you like this flavored?" with "Yes, 'assorted dead fish,' please!" Kitty seems to like it, and we're happy for that. When you've spent money on cat medicine, you much prefer to see it <em>in</em> your cat rather than cat-spit spray painted all over your walls. I'm still finding little specks of her last medicine--a horrible tee-tee yellow color, which she spewed all over our vanilla walls. And if there's one thing I don't love, it's the appearance of someone having peed on my walls, so it seems like our current medicine situation is a win-win.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Our new vet, who I believe to be far superior to the last, is getting close to a diagnosis. I was hopeful that we were just dealing with asthma. I thought to myself, "Sure, I can manage that. Just some medicine or breathing treatments or something relatively easy, right?" Then I made the mistake of putting the Google in my computer, and I stumbled upon this: </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GNXqb1M7V8FVQyjP4d7IFkgzucGYJyvIpuTUDrWjGlJgei6_2YJy526jXPXb5jKIVZXN5Uqj6f3GXBdZ8KqCg2g-TdlvwDZXFxB88ZvYfTQGZQigGolcXdo9zociMGrOrJiXUxdp-PKu/s1600/HoseNose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="185" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GNXqb1M7V8FVQyjP4d7IFkgzucGYJyvIpuTUDrWjGlJgei6_2YJy526jXPXb5jKIVZXN5Uqj6f3GXBdZ8KqCg2g-TdlvwDZXFxB88ZvYfTQGZQigGolcXdo9zociMGrOrJiXUxdp-PKu/s320/HoseNose.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">WHAT?! Oh my gosh. I don't know if I'm more terrified of the hose or the cat. What kind of cat is that calm while having a hose of pressurized air shoved in its face? The kind that will suffocate you in your sleep probably. This will not be an option for Kitty. Although that's kind of a shame, because I, personally, would pay good money to watch what is unfolding in this picture. If it were happening in my own home, all the better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But what if the soon-to-be-patented Nose Hose doesn't work?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqiPT01rHwK_GElzxoviD-ru96oYDyBxt6xlcFPcZB3l2Hfv7i5R-wsuoUgdF6XESXB6LMCUCsK1bmnJ5iT5ZBIE87XGcMUWORqMhr8J1SQIemzI3IinR3q2-2MaOE7egJi-dtHFIIZ2Jf/s320/AeroKat.jpg" width="320" /></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">No! Noooooooo!!! Man, oh, man. If her meds don't work, we're in trouble. Even that cat, who looked content just minutes ago with a tiny garden hose shoved against her nostril, seems a little perturbed. Just a little.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">But here's something: Annie just walked in, looked at this picture, and said, "Aw, kitty's having a <em>beeeeer</em>!!" (Kinda makes you wonder about our beer drinking technique.) But there's an idea. Or maybe I should just have one. After all, I've spent nearly $50 on having the cat sedated for blood work and X-rays, and no one's has offered <em>me</em> the first thing. For crying out loud, the money we've spent, the early morning lugging the cat and kid to the vet's office by 7:30, the knowledge that there's more and more funky fish-scented medicine in our future, and the reality that I may be staring down the barrel of the Nose Hose any day now.... whew... It never stops.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Suddenly I'm having trouble breathing too.</span> </div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-51265579849287431532010-10-28T15:13:00.001-05:002010-10-28T15:15:06.890-05:00My New Theme Song<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Last week I took advantage of afternoon nap time to work on some hand sewing projects. I stretched my legs out, poured a nice glass of iced tea, and turned on the TV for some background noise. You can imagine my joy when I stumbled upon an old episode of "Soul Train." Delightful!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">You see, when I was a wee thing my sisters and I would often go to my grandmother's house for a Friday night spend-the-night party. The highlight of the night was getting to stay up late enough the watch "The Tonight Show" (you know, back when it was actually good). And if we were extra good--and if Mamaw got her second wind--we could talk her into letting us stay up a little later to watch "Soul Train." Now we were avid watchers of "American Bandstand" on Saturday mornings. That's where we got most of our moves. But "Soul Train" was an extra special treat. For three very white girls living in the suburbs, this was our glimpse into urban living...and we <em>loved</em> it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So if I happen to catch "Soul Train" on, I have to stop what I'm going and hop on board. Toot! Toot! And sometimes, rather unsuccessfully, I have to fight urge to get a little funky. Let's be honest here: If I could have a dance party every day of my life, I would. I have years of material from old episodes of "Solid Gold," "American Bandstand," and "Soul Train" in my dance repertoire. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And don't even talk about "Dance Fever." I was once nearly rug burned beyond recognition when, after watching an episode, my older sister and I tried to orchestrate a lift and spin move of our own. We were fabulous. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">You can imagine that when this song (</span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgaZYgIEc6A"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgaZYgIEc6A</span></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">) came on, I brought the funk. I had to have that funk. Now. And I assure you whatever dance moves you start busting out when you see this will look exactly like what I saw on "Soul Train." I learned a new dance that day, called "The Cracker Jack," from a fine young couple from New York. (He said he was in med school, and she was majoring in psychology. I would love to know how the funk propelled them to greatness in the medical field some 30 years later. I mean, I would pay double to be treated by anyone who created a signature dance called "The Cracker Jack.") </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">This dance and song have forever changed my outlook. Whenever I start feeling funky (like that), I try to pull myself up by my flared corduroys and get funky (like this). Who doesn't love a song called "Gotta Get Over the Hump" that features a hallelujah chorus? Granted, I'm sure some of lyrics are little less "30-something stay-at-home mom in suburban Jackson" and a little more "20-something oppressed urbanite living in Civil Rights era Chicago." Ok, a lot more. But I think Simtec and Wylie would agree: We all have our humps. But we'll get over them. (I think I want to dance.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Haaaaal-le-lu-<em>jah</em>! <em>Haaaal</em>-le-lu-jah!</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-17531709399694803822010-10-27T13:23:00.000-05:002010-10-27T13:23:00.862-05:00"I'll have a martini, please. Wait, make that three."Because I need to do some quality reading, I picked up the newest edition of <em>Bed, Bath, and Beyond: The Circular. </em>It's always a literary thrillride. Chapters like "As Seen on TV" and "Gadgets That Make You Wonder How Many IQ Points One Needs to Step Foot in a Kitchen, Because For Crying Out Loud Who Needs a Battery Operated Cupcake Froster?" keep me on the edge of my seat. I love it. <br />
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And what masterpiece would be complete without photographs? Thanks the heavens, this edition doesn't dissapoint. We have a woman dressed like a ninja with some weird cranberry skewer swords. There's my personal favorite, the Yankee Candle display of no less than 10 very large jar candles arranged at varying heights on a table next to a window. (I don't know about you, but that's how I burn 'em. It's like a makeshift memorial to days when I didn't have to worry that my house smelled like poop.) There's a picture of a woman using a super-handy multichopper, but, unfortunately, there's not the picture of her having to wash and dry all 500 components of aforementioned super-handy multichopper while cursing under her breath and wishing she'd just picked up a knife like a normal person. <br />
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There is one photo that flat out blew me away. It is fantastic in its awfulness, and I spent the next several minutes living in this gloroius photograph, imagining the dialogue as it unfolded:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmLVZRmhEEqrcYJS0H8-HTyTaKeDOP584KTvaIUtNw_yB93numHsqHXr89gTQN_sHDtLdeLZUu3TTZXCUhtCoXnUDPaAHCD4PWamNSlXwCvpkjfzKrMA7SmI48-aQmMlFesDsiZphrGWe/s1600/Martinis+and+apathy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmLVZRmhEEqrcYJS0H8-HTyTaKeDOP584KTvaIUtNw_yB93numHsqHXr89gTQN_sHDtLdeLZUu3TTZXCUhtCoXnUDPaAHCD4PWamNSlXwCvpkjfzKrMA7SmI48-aQmMlFesDsiZphrGWe/s320/Martinis+and+apathy.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>Guy: "Hey, there, pretty lady. How about I buy you a drink?<br />
Gal: "Um, no thanks. I already have two. And the bartender also left some extra, along with two large stacks of cocktail napkins, and a gigantic bowl of olives."<br />
Guy: "Alright. Well, if you don't mind me saying, you have the most lovely eyes. I mean, I can only guess they're lovely, because you refuse to make eye contact with me, even though I'm practically sitting on your lap."<br />
Gal: "Oh, sorry, I already forgot you were there. I'm getting pretty drunk on these superfluous martinis, and I've spent the past 5 minutes staring into space and trying to figure out how to cross my legs. I haven't figured it out yet. I'll just perch my feet all pigeontoed like on this stool, ok? Maybe it will help me keep my balance."<br />
Guy: "Wow. You are so incredibly stupid. I love you."<br />
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I mean, who needs <em>Pride and Prejudice</em> when you have the <em>Cigarbar Woman and Man and the 3-Piece Drop Leaf Counter Height Dining Set</em>?Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-25531706903961780222010-10-26T14:00:00.000-05:002010-10-26T14:00:12.420-05:00"Unemployed"<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">At my request, the hospital provided me with a detailed bill. I just kind of felt like if I was going to write a big ole check (in fact, I feel like I need one of those gigantic game show checks for this one), at least I should see what I got for my money. Goodness knows we didn't get the prize we wanted. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">After looking at the bill, it became quite obvious that I was admitted on what was quite possibly The Most Expensive Day for Medical Care Ever. My bill from the hospital pharmacy was over $1000, and I can't fathom why the little medicine they gave me was that expensive. Truly, if I had known what they were going to charge me for it, I probably could have directed them downtown where I suspect they could procure the same stuff for at least half price. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">This billing breakdown was an insult to injury, of course. But the biggest slap in the face came when I looked at my patient information:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Age: 25 (You know, if you believe it, it's true<em>.</em>)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Sex: F (thought this was funny to have on a statement from a hospital called <em>Woman's </em>Hospital)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Occupation: <strong>Unemployed</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">"Unemployed??!!" I'll shout it again, with all caps and additional exclamation points. "UNEMPLOYED??!!!!" </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">On the contrary, dear hospital. I am <em>quite</em> employed. In fact, I'm employed at this moment and suspect I will be employed for the next 10, 15, 25, rest-of-my-life years. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">And you know what? That statement--the nice reminder that, while you're working your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">patootie</span> off most days, you're not bringing in a dime--is not something you want to see on a bill. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Well, I guess I got my feelings hurt. That's shocking. That never happens. (Ask Jim.) </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Anyway, I'm responding by throwing myself into some sewing projects. I just finished my niece's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">b'day</span> gift (will post pics soon), and I'm starting on another niece's one too (won't post pics, because I want her mom to be surprised). All of this is on the heels of having to complete a rush order for yet another niece. And by "rush order" I mean the order <em>she</em> called in last Friday and had sent to me as a written request that arrived by mail Monday. It was a 24-hour turnaround order. She's tough, that one, but I was happy to oblige.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I guess one can do all of this kind of stuff when she's "unemployed." So, anyone else out there unemployed?</span> <span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I'd love to hear about all you're not doing.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-61844056474597277872010-10-25T13:48:00.009-05:002010-10-25T14:26:43.579-05:00My New Obsession ("New" implying that there are many, many others...which is totally healthy, right?)<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Ok, I realize there's major demand out there for that Thunder on the Gulf footage. Like all 3 of you who are dying to see it. I have no idea where the cable is that hooks up the camera to the computer, so you'll just have to hold ye horses. At least this way your anticipation can build to such great heights that you're sure to be disappointed. Yes!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Last night I was washing and drying the, I don't know, <em>2300</em> plastic storage containers that we have taking up valuable real estate in my cabinets. They're taking over my life, and I don't even like them that much...not at all really. I told Jim I need to break free from the plastic that's likely leeching excessive amounts of chemicals, synthetic hormones, and bad ideas (got to blame something, and it's certainly not the bourbon) into my body. I can't stand washing these things, by hand or otherwise. They never even dry completely in the dishwasher, so I have to spend no less than 10 valuable minutes working the edge of my dishtowels into every nook and cranny of every lid and every container. And, quite frankly, constant care of a 2-year-old in diapers helps me reach my "nook and cranny maintenance" quota for the day. I don't need that business up in my kitchen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">It's time to make a change. It's time to go old school. I'm talking glass storage. It won't stain, hold terrible odors, or remain in one piece when I inevitably drop it on the kitchen floor. Sure, that last item may seem like a big fat negative, but I like to live on the edge.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So this morning I started thinking about glass storage solutions or, dare I say it, <em>opportunities</em>. I need to make this change in a way that's both aesthetically pleasing and functional. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(Really, can you even get a sense of how important this is?! ) </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">While thinking very, very hard, I had a flashback. Picture it. I am a wee little child, opening my grandmother's gigantic Frigidaire. Inside are stacks and stacks of leftovers, never to be eaten. (In fact, they're probably still there today. My grandmother never throws anything away or out, apparently.) I don't know what's in these containers, but it must be special. Because these containers are bee-yootiful! They're a milky white and turquoise and there are roosters on them and these cool glass lids that have these waves in them <em>and oh my gosh I just can't stand it</em> (flashback ending, coming back to reality)<em> I just love turquoise more than ever now because it reminds me of the old counter tops in our old house gosh I miss that house and must have these NOW!!!! AHH!!!!</em></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532064090386769858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2V1xfmou4pfdLTR9zKUXNxtz67reQp_MH-cxEIwoZ066DLGuoXKojbhBp6MvOdaNSUKH6PufUiGHQNFdxEKyyjTDIdRzihSgZkc9MY0LDHk2VVRitzJCqhw4mjx1NPf8abnVmAA9ASVo/s200/Butterprint.jpg" border="0" /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Whew. That was exhausting. And if I could, I'd post all the pictures of all the glorious Pyrex Butterprint that's out there...the white with turquoise, the turquoise with white, the Amish farmer and his wife. It's a beautiful thing, you know. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">My dear friend Kathleen likes turquoise and all things adorably vintage, and I suspect she may have some of this lying around. She's moving this week, so I'm tempted to go to her house, find the box labeled "My Beloved Pyrex," and swipe it. And if she doesn't have any, I feel pretty sure she's about to after reading this post. Tell me I'm wrong, Kathleen. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">So that's my new obsession. I'm totally fine with it. The stuff is everywhere, it's reasonably priced, and, furthermore, totally legal. See, perfectly safe obsession, right?</span> </span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-17315295576713368852010-10-20T13:53:00.003-05:002010-10-20T14:18:22.252-05:00Vacation...all I ever wanted?<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Wow. It's already October...and quite nearly November. I haven't posted anything since June. Where on earth does the time go? I'll tell you. It goes to what is quite possibly the most exhausting year of my life. Those of you who know me well know why it has been majorus crapius (that's Latin for "major crap") at times, and those of you who don't know why can just take my word for it.<br /><br />When I look at the calendar, I almost allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief. "Ah, just 1 1/2 more months, and I can kiss 2010 goodbye!" This year is not going down the books as my Best Year Ever, and I'm living with this crazy false optimism that when the clock strikes 12:01 on January 1, 2011, fairies will descend from cotton candy clouds and frolic gleefully amid glitter and rainbow showers. It probably won't happen like that, but only because there's no such thing as a rainbow shower. Geez.<br /><br />In our collective hope to salvage something downright fun out of 2010 (up to now anyway, because the holiday season promises major fun), we decided to vacate the premises. To head south. A few days at the beach to clear our heads amid the calm of the ocean, take some deep breaths of salty air, and enjoy a few sips of an adult beverage or twenty. We managed to get there sans oil spill or tropical disturbance, but we didn't escape craziness entirely.<br /><br />Now indulge me, if you will, in a small aside here. You must know before I continue that Jim and I are vacation <em>poison</em>. When we leave the comforts of our home and head into the world, crazy things happen. Recent vacations have included: 1) a fall [not mine, surprisingly] down the grand staircase at Biltmore; 2) a bear encounter; and 3) allegedly haunted accommodations [did not read that detail in advertisement].<br /><br />With that said, you can imagine my shock when I couldn't find one bad weather forecast for our trip. Making last minute accommodations went off without a major hitch. We closed a deal on a new family vehicle (aka: Swiss Army Car) that promised to bring mega fun to the road trip. All in all, we had this thing covered. Nary a disturbing blip on our radar. <em>Until....</em><br /><br /><strong>Thunder on the Gulf!!! RAHAHAHAH!!!</strong> (insert sound of crying marine life here)<br /><strong></strong><br />That's all I'm going to say for now. No use in describing something when you have video footage you can upload and share with the world. And no use in describing something when words just...won't...do.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-27361731158583179042010-06-01T13:27:00.003-05:002010-06-01T13:32:19.147-05:00No lie, I set down the lid and saw this:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzM1hFv58iZpHD8rO_7lCcOEBCUWD4rkBZZIF2PPlw-m-t3R9AjvAWbyierCvOQNcWG8kS6HjF9TPV6fbh65AUmfOWrQUjzTucPTGEAREA3L7MgGphMKPZ54AN-JRWClRSBd35sj3QVaEx/s1600/IceCream.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477874130221055554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 155px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzM1hFv58iZpHD8rO_7lCcOEBCUWD4rkBZZIF2PPlw-m-t3R9AjvAWbyierCvOQNcWG8kS6HjF9TPV6fbh65AUmfOWrQUjzTucPTGEAREA3L7MgGphMKPZ54AN-JRWClRSBd35sj3QVaEx/s200/IceCream.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Oh, chocolate ice cream, you make me so very happy too!</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-56876909824596222092010-05-27T08:04:00.008-05:002010-05-27T11:15:28.020-05:00Jesse, This One's for You<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Ok, it's crunch time. T minus two weeks until Moving Day, and I decided to throw all caution to the wind today and start packing up what remains in the house. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(See, we've already packed and stored everything with had in our house that made it look cluttered [we're trying to sell here, folks], which was basically 95% of the house. But I'm pretty sure the remaining 5% has, against all physical possibilities, increased to a solid 80% at this point. You know what I'm talking about. In any move there's the minimum of 10 boxes that you'll be packing up as the moving van is pulling out of the driveway and that you'll, in your weariness and distress, simply label "c-r-a-p.") </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Anyway, a neighbor told me about an outlet store in town that offers the moving box trifecta:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">1) Wide boxes</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">2) Clean boxes</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">3) Boxes with handles</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">That's right. You heard me. And when I went to pick them up this afternoon, I nearly tee-teed in my finest Old Navy shorts when I saw that they had put back nearly 20 of these pristine boxes for me. And actually, my neighbor had only told me about the clean and wide part, so seeing those handles, totally unprepared, was almost too much for me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Ok, maybe you think I'm making a big deal over this, but I can't stress to you how unfun it is to tote your baby in and out of every major store in town begging for boxes. Thanks to Doris and Regina at Burke's Outlet, I'm living the moving dream. Truly, I was so overwhelmed that my box quest had come to an end at the hands of these two women that I told them I'd say a special prayer for just for them, they had blessed me so much. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy, but that's ok.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Jesse, you'd better believe I will be breaking down these boxes post-move and putting them in a safe deposit box. I told Jim today, "These boxes are here to stay. For the future. Forever..." Oh, and Jesse, please tell your U-Haul boxes I said "hello." It's been a long time.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-3388290178970725922010-05-26T07:00:00.018-05:002010-05-26T09:27:03.102-05:00Duck, Duck, GEESE!!<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Last week I started to feel bad for Annie, since her funtime has been woefully neglected the past couple of months with all of the goings on around here. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(Yes, I know. You're thinking, "Hmm, it took you <em>two months</em> before you started to feel guilty?" And it's true, because I was so busy taking care of other things that I didn't even have time to add "feel guilty" to my to-do list. Maybe I should keep that up.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So I decided that I'd embraced the unusually hot mornings and head to the lake so we could feed the ducks and geese. She'd only been out there once before, and we had to cut the trip short because she had a major tantrum when Jim refused to let her swim in the lake with the ducks and geese. I felt like she deserved a second chance.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">First things first, we headed to our neighborhood Winn Dixie to pick up bread. I have no idea if this is actually good for the animals, but I see people doing that all of the time; therefore, it must be ok. (I will undoubtedly delete the previous line when Annie is old enough to read, because I can hear those words coming back to haunt me in about 15 years.) We picked out our bread, and Annie insisted on clutching it closely to her chest, like she would her stuffed animals. By the time we got home (yes, she held it like that all the way home), it looked like this:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475293287593520242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUyMf8rSUCo6nEUo_iUhWYhyphenhyphenigKYmIOAak4H1mkZCkkZ7qb4v_XPUaiWQrim2sWit9NSofZsvQ2sD9kKFy2KjaTr8RqfoDA6m80LOLgZ_FBFJs1914UCitezaCXmYRa-KbL_lXRQ0VtwR-/s200/Bread.JPG" border="0" />DEEElicious! </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">The next morning we headed to the lake with bread disaster in tow. And let me say, I seriously underestimated the aggression of a party of ducks and geese. The minute they saw us and that bread, it was on. I actually got a little nervous at one point, and I started to feel the anxiety brought on by a flood of memories of getting attacked by my friend's rooster when I was 9. Ok, maybe "attacked" wasn't the right word, because I didn't end up in the hospital or anything. How about "aggressed." (I don't even think that's a real word, but it should be.) He may have been trying to mate with my leg...I don't know. I just know that after that altercation, the birds and I have been on the outs. (I think it's familial. My little sister was once struck by a wayward pigeon.) Anyway...I got a little nervous.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Once we finished dishing out the bread, which took a whopping 2 minutes, I quickly went into "Ok, now friend turns to foe" mode and began shooing the ducks and geese away. I kind of felt like I was breaking up with them: "Yes I know I said I really liked you, but now you're getting all weird and you're kind of freaking me out!" Because I was uncertain how they'd take the break up, we made a dash for the bench. I thought, "Get the baby to higher ground, because she's waaay plumper looking that I am and, therefore, more delicious looking." So here she is protected by the bench but still corresponding with the geese through the slats:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475295329574382354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDR6ezNZYvpFRZf7fgvg3QJrvLSJmUxPCYBtzaQyBikhsxZd8p3eCzlWEb1R2OMLFCteLSNJPmYhCG7_p7qGIv7PTDZylSDin8esg25YSNzrdxEXvlvwjP-NimJLVPC2jG22S4FnU1ZxHd/s200/DuckChat.JPG" border="0" />She kept saying, "Hi, duck. I see you!" And the goose replied with a lot of garble I didn't understand, but Annie seemed to enjoy the conversation. After things cooled down a bit with the bird aggression, I set Annie free to run wild. And there she goes:<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475295980475497378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLLA5m0eKJp1oV0nrF0otROVZh3vxewurP_m1Sjg-wlW1-NSo9oHfJ-PmDKCIALNBfy5BynFRIUysjcE0BLqLTLwXfrZ-ItaAt2Lnnth8ka8sM4wNljp8GtYXdYTYq8nT-OTGO89DShpw/s200/Surrounded!.JPG" border="0" />I guess that goose had really told her some great things about being a goose, because she kept starting longingly at the lake. ("I bet they don't even have to take naps...")</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475296240143116498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3HYyKt0zuXXLs3aBhdo7rqXj-vpoIVARkB-dyqoX1r-vp3vHmSUUiikdKjv0Q8-WCw2MhlYOpaI4EZ4KWJJKNZSB5-f8i-jy9BY6EgkpBzLDTCfBae-0X1PI_3G5Hen7vLKmYdRSaMpM/s200/PartofYourWorld.JPG" border="0" /><br />The poor girl nearly ran herself ragged chasing them, so we took a much needed water break. I realized that Annie, like me, turns beet red when she gets the teeniest bit warm. It's a trait that comes in very handy when you don't feel like exerting much energy. "Really, I'd <em>love</em> to help you move that boulder, but does my face look really red to you? I feel kind of weird? Maybe I should go inside and rest." Lucky, lucky girl. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">She enjoyed her drink lakeside:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475297139991327298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UM7vUmVbgz7clKfwERAQNQdOFBiZu2ETiT7oOfVWtYNshCbi8Q_t-s8DJI4tPOy15TCarq7_74Fbj9EOCmpq5oc4L08WhWYKjdfAAAn2Y77QXpO-nBUOaAokC4t4FLDH08tyoUfXairB/s200/WaterBreak.JPG" border="0" />Then she decided the geese needed some refreshment:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475297452426568402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 145px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjjjvlKK5dmrX6Nppg31PAki9YjBuGabo0FhXfql-eRAXBMqIWJcww7cTJ-AC4jT1XMTOsRTrmBI7qtrOJAqZXriQBuOk1vmvof36cblJ9ZldBvLZNOSdfHFkENPzGHXK8vdEYYgDvStMm/s200/Sharing.JPG" border="0" />Not a single one would take her up on her offer, so she began being a bit aggressive. Can't help but think she picked that up from the geese.<br /></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475297843213074082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlzje-qh7hW2syLdAIHZ6Kxp0FyA0mtbqSOQDJSqS53a9JzqvxLk9lCW2d1xOeYjijU0kUpusoaNKmT_LWAauhUkF9FG-1ATwZsxVhQL1gElnzgTOlB9ailX2bZUTwiGHNtgQJd9mG7jW/s200/StillSharing.JPG" border="0" />We really enjoyed the short time we were there, and I was reminded of Annie's fearless nature and of her desire to be friends with everyone. I hope that never changes. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">As we left, she waved over my shoulder, "Bye, duck! Bye, wah-wah! Bye, lake!" And they all collective replied, "Bye, Annie!" Ok, maybe that was just in my head, but that would have pretty awesome.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-53389072599179266102010-05-25T07:45:00.000-05:002010-05-25T07:46:11.698-05:00Perhaps I'm Biased Now<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMoQuiUGF-HrJg4VS6YJZTXL5XDFSRr2iyEEeb8ZYE1IoMUL3p7pdsb1txOG_yfQJQjFlX_fP2dMRAgEjENy6FxzFtY-_oYv4mUqKGxkoTyeM_U7OWCfhkbVSQ-Srog0JgGW6i0wzRBsu/s1600/Pocket.JPG"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475063642862752722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 207px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 141px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMoQuiUGF-HrJg4VS6YJZTXL5XDFSRr2iyEEeb8ZYE1IoMUL3p7pdsb1txOG_yfQJQjFlX_fP2dMRAgEjENy6FxzFtY-_oYv4mUqKGxkoTyeM_U7OWCfhkbVSQ-Srog0JgGW6i0wzRBsu/s200/Pocket.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"> Victory of victories, the project is done. Things I learned from this project:<br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">1) When the instructions call for 1/2" wide bias tape, take the hint. 1/4" wide bias tape is unforgiving, and she'll taunt you and your inability to perfectly encase your raw edges within her teensy tininess. A few areas had to be sewn by hand, because my unsteady machine hand totally missed the mark.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">2) Anything made with fabric that features pink stripes and rosebuds is doggone adorable. I mean, at any moment I expected Laura Ingalls to just POOF! materialize in my sewing room and say, "That sure is pretty, Ma!" And then she and I and her freckles would frolic gleefully around the room. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">3) You shouldn't really write a list of things you learned about a project when you only really learned two things, because it's kind of pointless.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">4) Sorry about that.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I think my niece will be pleased. And I'm thinking maybe I could fashion one of these for myself. Maybe I'll make mine from oilcloth so I can put an icy cold adult beverage in there. Cheers, Ma!</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-67890573543503624852010-05-24T16:12:00.004-05:002010-05-24T16:31:11.204-05:00Bias Tape Is Fun!! (not really)<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Bias tape. It looks absolutely spectacular in its neat little package, but it is <em>not</em> wanting to be my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BFF</span>. I had a feeling we'd get off to a rocky start, seeing that I'm not at all a fan of Bias Tape's renegade cousin, Piping. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Sadly this temperamental sewing notion is crucial to a project I'm making for my niece's upcoming 7<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span> birthday. (Excuse me while I take a moment to wipe away the tears that are filling my eyes as I think of my teeny baby niece now 1/3 on her way to adulthood...sigh.) I found this nifty pattern for a bedside organizer that slips in between the mattress and box springs and holds books, magazines, etc., and it's the perfect thing for a girl who spends most nights pouring over her Little House books. I assure you, whatever picture is in your head is, in fact, <em>that</em> adorable.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Birthday gifts are, in my sister's words, my niece's love language. And I don't think it's so much that she likes getting the stuff (which she probably does), but she likes that people are thinking of her. Often when I call her, I'll say, "I was thinking of you today!" and she'll answer with the sweetest, "You <em>were??!!" </em>Like, "Little 'ole me??!! You were thinking of me??!!" </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I'm really enjoying sewing this project, because I'm imagining all of those Little House books--and maybe a teeny flashlight--tucked into those pockets. But I must say that sewing for this 6-year-old craft <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">connoisseur</span> is stressing me out just a wee bit. Whereas I'm pretty confident that most people wouldn't inspect my seams, I'm not so sure here. After the gift gets in her hands, I'll be anxiously awaiting the phone call where she tells me how cool it is and then says, "But Jennifer, I noticed it looks kind of crazy in some places." </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Thanks for nothing, bias tape. But I <em>will</em> conquer you. Oh, yes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">And I was thinking that since my niece just lost her first top tooth, at least I'll be able to come back to her criticism with, "Maybe so, but <em>you</em> look kind of crazy in some places too." :)</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-78034502314824842702010-05-18T23:01:00.004-05:002010-05-18T23:38:17.335-05:00All the Better to See You With<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">2010 has been a challenge for our little family. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">First, we had a new little addition to our family that we lost at 8 weeks, and it was the truly the saddest thing we've ever experienced. But in all of that sadness came amazing reminders of God's love and providence, and I'm so thankful for the family and friends surrounding us who helped us focus on that. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Second, Jim got a new job, and in all of that excitement came a lot of anxiety about what was and is ahead of him with something completely new. But our pastor's series on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Philippians</span> kept us focused on the joy, joy, joy, among other things. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">And third (there has to be a third, because as Dr. Bob once said, "You know we Presbyterians like things in threes"), there's the uprooting of our family...the moving out of our comfort zone to a new place (even though family is close by) where we'll feel the need to carve out a little space for us and where we'll undoubtedly miss and long for the comforts of the place where we've spent our entire married life and met some of the most loving and gracious people we've ever known. But...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">What a blessing to be reminded of the opportunities God grants us to glorify Him! Tonight I was watching that TLC show about the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Duggar</span> family, which I'm so thankful has a place on TV, and I heard something that I hope I'll hold fast to for a long time. When speaking of her preemie baby's health issues, Michelle <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Duggar</span> said, "When situations are difficult, we can choose to be bitter or <em>better</em>." And her words struck a chord with me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Amid all the tumult of this year, at every turn, we've had to make the decision to be bitter or better. And I will admit that there were times when mourning the loss of our baby that I asked God, "Why?? What did <em>I</em> do to <em>you</em>?" And, truthfully, He could easily have answered, "Plenty." But He didn't. And through His grace and love He allowed me to see Him with new eyes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Things really have been a challenge thus far, and I know they will continue to be. My prayer is that I'll be <em>better </em>for it all...that I'll open the eyes of my heart and allow God to work in me and through me and accept every circumstance through which He chooses to do that. And not to my glory, of course, but to His. </span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-80180154017502917772010-04-23T11:13:00.005-05:002010-04-23T11:37:35.623-05:00Sew Distracted (har har)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIM6Wfrni9jGWWUg3X7D7ZooUFjXooSeyvglXrUGBBlxeRoHXtxZheHgohLC3lfPVVZNcI1LeAZTrjUYsNkeHCJ5FLl5hQLgfYAdf1tbclH_pET5Gu7z_7upJJwKBxJTX-rLjwkeeR8JO/s1600/Doll.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463371021242630946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuIM6Wfrni9jGWWUg3X7D7ZooUFjXooSeyvglXrUGBBlxeRoHXtxZheHgohLC3lfPVVZNcI1LeAZTrjUYsNkeHCJ5FLl5hQLgfYAdf1tbclH_pET5Gu7z_7upJJwKBxJTX-rLjwkeeR8JO/s200/Doll.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I finished Annie's rag doll just in time by Easter, and you'll be happy to know it was well received. And by "well received" I mean that she grabbed it, threw it on the floor, shook her head, and said, "No." </span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">But that's ok. It turned out pretty cute, I think, for my foray into doll making. Nevermind the dress is too small, so it's gaping open in between the hook and eye closures. Kind of like a fancy hospital gown. At least I know I can do it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I followed the pattern, but she didn't turn out just like the photo on the pattern. Nothing ever does, I think. The more I look at her, the more I wonder if those eyes are too far apart. As I told my dear friend, </span><a href="http://superjerl.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Kathleen</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">, the poor girl looks like E.T. and Bjork's love child. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Aside from dollmaking, we've have some craziness at the homestead over the past several weeks (hence my bloggy absence), which now includes a new job for Jim and a move for all of us. My house is full of liquor boxes (for the move, of course, not because I've been drinking a lot...but maybe that would help??), I'm constantly wondering why we need 10-15 boxes of books that we never read, and I'm working furiously to get the house spiffied up and on the market. </span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Ok, maybe I stretched the truth a little on the last one. I'm actually making some Mother's Day gifts and a new crib skirt for A.'s new room. That's right. I'm doing everything that is <em>absolutely</em> necessary to do under these circumstances. Don't you think?</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">P.S. So sorry for that pun-alicious title. I truly, truly dislike the use of the word "sew" for "so" in an attempt to be clever. Because it's not. Which is precisely why I used it, because I've not a clever thought in my sleepy brain right now.</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-57105148123424660642010-03-30T14:09:00.005-05:002010-04-02T21:25:15.962-05:00My Raisons (and Raisin) d'Etre<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">As noted by the fact that my last post was on March 15, it almost goes without saying that the past couple of weeks have been craziness and, at times, <em>craptacular</em>. And I'm ok with that, because that's how things go sometimes, I suppose. But these past two weeks have made me realize that I have a lot of things in my life for which I'm enormously grateful. These things bring my joy:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">1. The Lord. That's right, I'm doing this all "Oscar" style and thanking the Big Man first for the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart (Where?!) that He brings.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">2. My husband and baby girl. I mean, they're <em>wonderfully</em> ridiculous, and I can't believe I get to spend every day laughing with (and at) them. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">3. The rest of my family. You know who you are. And some other people also know who you are, and I like you so much that I'll even admit, "Yes, you are correct, other people. <em>Those</em> people <em>are</em> my family."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">4. My friends. May as well be family. They truly do spectacular things, and they make me laugh--and sometimes cry when they're not looking--and laugh again.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">5. Crafts! I firmly believe that cotton, like the commercial suggests, is the fabric of our lives. And, thankfully, I get to experience the joy of making things (sometimes quite shoddily) with my own two hands. I love it when a plan comes together, and sometimes, as life has reminded me lately, that only happens in Craft World.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">6. Ok, this doesn't hold a candle to the Lord...or my family...or my friends, but let me just say this about of one of my greatest joys: Raisin Bran Crunch is a cereal far superior to other cereals in its ability to lift me from a funk. It's crunchy, sweet deliciousness is like the nectar of the breakfast gods (if nectar could be crunchy, which admittedly would be kind of weird...but whatever). Actually, I just go for the Winn Dixie version, because it's two bucks cheaper. It's called "Crunchy Granola Raisin Bran," and I actually think I love it more than the Kellogg's stuff. I really have a soft spot for store brands, because they bypass a catchy product name for the obvious. You really know what you're getting. Like, instead of "Cheerios" you get "Toasted Oat Cereal" or instead of "Kraft Macaroni and Cheese" you get "Tube-Shaped Noodles with Cheese Powder Add Milk Sauce." Anyway, I just love it. Love it all. I'm going to have some cereal right now.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So I'll be posting more soon. I'm working on a super cute (at least in the pattern pictures) doll for A.'s Easter basket, and I can't wait to see how it turns out. It really could go either way--super cute or really freaky. Such is the nature of dolls. I'll post pictures and we can take a poll. Get excited. !!!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">Love, joy, and crunch-crunch!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-30382919642505233872010-03-15T13:57:00.004-05:002010-03-15T14:40:29.018-05:00Thanks Goodness for Date Stamping<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Since A. is 19 months old now, I figured it was about time to finish her baby book. As I started working through it, I was reminded how uncool I am. When I reached the "Popular Musicians" and "Popular Movies" section, I was completely clueless. Thank goodness I found an online </span><a href="http://babysakes.wordpress.com/2009/02/11/filling-out-your-baby-book-what-happened-in-babys-world-2008-edition/"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">resource</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"> that helped immensely; however, I've decided that I'll refrain from writing "Lil Wayne" and "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" in her sweet baby book. That would just be, ew.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">As uncool as I am, A. is equally unconventional. When I got to the section of "Firsts," I was stumped. She has never done anything according to anyone's schedule or style but her own. She took her first steps long before she pulled up on her own, she opted to not say "mama" until the past few months (and then she went for the less conventional "meee") etc., etc. It made recording these milestones a little frustrating at times. So sometimes I chose not to, because I couldn't figure out what to do.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Then we have the section of the book that's divided into months...and it's perfectly blank after about month 4. I know somewhere in this house is a spiral-bound notebook where I jotted things down at least until month 8, but I have no idea where it's hiding. Again, 1600 square feet = black hole.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">After spending a whopping 30 minutes on this project and starting to feel defeated, I remembered that J. and I have the annoying habit of documenting every little milestone in A.'s life. "Look! There's a Cheerio on her nose! Get the camera!" or "Those are the cutest blue jeans! Get the camera!" or "She just made the funniest face 5 minutes ago, and I'm sure she'll do it again any second now. Get the camera!" It's so bad that she calls the camera and video camera by her own name, because that's all she's ever seen on either one. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So with the 20,000 jpegs taking up massive storage space on my hard drive comes the one thing that will save me--file date stamping. That's right. Now I can "remember" the first time she crawled or took several small steps or ate spaghetti (we have at least 200 pictures of that activity alone). And one day A. will look at the exhaustive detail in her baby book and say, "Aw, Mom. It's so apparent how much you love me, and I will forever be indebted to your thoughtfulness. You are the best mom in the world, and to thank you I will send you on an all-inclusive Caribbean vacation and clean your house." Yep. It's going to happen <em>exactly</em> like that.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Anyone have any great baby-documenting victories to share? Any tips that may help me through this process? Anyone need to confess, "My daughter is 42, and the baby book is still blank." Don't worry: If that's the case, I won't judge you. You have your own daughter for that. </span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-83255814512260074562010-03-08T14:38:00.003-06:002010-03-08T15:15:17.729-06:00Someone on the Other Side of the World Thinks I'm a Dork<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Before I begin, allow me to say that I'm very, very certain that plenty of people on <em>this</em> side of the world think I'm a dork too. I have at least 5 exchanges a day with strangers and friends alike where I'm pretty confident my rating on their nerd scales soars. But today I had a customer service experience with [insert pretty Indian name here that I can't spell] of Earthlink that made me feel like the Ugliest American in the history of Ugly Americans.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I called because our fickle internet service wasn't working. After answering the obligatory questions one would ask a monkey, like "Is your internet turned on, ma'am?" and "Are all the lights blinking on your modem, ma'am?", we got to business. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">And I am so ashamed to admit that I couldn't get past the CSR's accent. It was lovely, but I just couldn't follow her. And usually I'm really, really good with accents. It's only fair that I would be, because I personally sound like a hillperson. As a result, I sounded more and more like an idiot at every turn. I figured, though, that she and I were in it for the long haul, and I decided I'd fill those empty pauses while I waited for my internet to work with a little international chit chat. I was going to break down this language barrier, dangit.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "You know, I didn't even ask you how you are doing today. Are you having a good day?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(keep in mind...seconds upon seconds of awkward silence was my only option)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Her: silence...silence...a small giggle that sounded totally like she was looking at her co-worker and making some face at me...then "I am good, ma'am."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "Great! Ok, I think it may be working. Can you wait one second so I can be sure?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Her: "I will be happy to wait as long as you need me to, ma'am."<br />(By the way, every time this woman said "ma'am" it sounded like an insult. It was like I had jumped into the future and was talking to my teenage daughter..."Yes, <em>ma'am</em>, I'll be home by 10:00. geez.")</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "Thank you. I <em>really</em> appreciate <em>all</em> of your help."<br />(See, now I was starting to feel awkward and weird, so I began to dish out unnecessary compliments to the CSR at the company who <em>I'm</em> paying for a service that's not working. I stopped just short of "It's not you, it's me!"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "So, where am I calling you?" </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(I had no need to ask, but, again, small talk.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Her: "India, ma'am."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "Wow!"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Her: "Oh, is it working now, ma'am?"</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "Um, no, I just said 'Wow!' because you're in India and I'm on the other side of the world and I just think it's neat that we're sitting here talking on the phone together when we're in totally different places and I hear India is beautiful."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">(And that's when I got verbal diarrhea and realized I was so poorly representing my nation that I just needed to go sit in the shower and cry. "I hear India is beautiful." Have I ever heard anyone say that? No. I'm sure parts of it are quite spectacular. Truly, I could have just said something equally as brilliant like, "So, are there a lot of people in India?" or "I heard 'Slumdog Millionaire' is a great movie." Oh, and I <em>did</em> hear that.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Her: "Ok, ma'am. So is your internet working now?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Me: "Um, yes, it seems to be doing fine now. I guess that will be all. But thank you, thank you <em>so much</em> for your help today. I really, <em>really</em> appreciate it."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">It felt so tremendously awkward at that point...as if it had felt like a dream up to that point. Anyway, I was making a fool out of myself. I just had visions of her hanging up, pulling off her headset, and heading out to happy hour at Chili's New Dehli where she'd make fun of me.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So right now I'm fighting the very strong urge to call AT&T for no good reason, because I seem to always get someone at a call center in the Midwest or Southeast, and their gentle, kind demeanor makes me regain all hope in humanity. Really, when I hear someone there say, "Yes, ma'am," I just imagine him or her tipping his hat or nodding her head before inviting me and mine over for Sunday dinner. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I don't think my new friend will be inviting me over for</span> <span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">dinner. In fact, I think my exchange today may have set back U.S./India relations at least 50 years.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;">So, does anyone else have a customer service experience that rivals mine in awkwardness??</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-61531454052655212952010-03-01T14:12:00.009-06:002010-03-05T15:42:13.024-06:00Cinematic Adventures<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">J. and I haven't rented a movie in a long, long time. It's probably been months. We haven't been to the movies in years. Truly, I think it was sometime in 2004. We're just lazy, cheap, and easily disappointed. Those three glowing personality traits are the reason we just haven't made an effort when it comes to watching movies (or when it comes to doing many things, honestly). </span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Recently I discovered Redbox, the DVD vending machine. You pay $1 to have a movie for one night. Finally, an idea I can stand by...literally. (har har) </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I had long grown weary of video store staff, and they were part of the reason I stayed away. I remember once in college asking a clerk at a particular store, "Do you have 'Raging Bull?'" She replied, "Umm, who's in that?" I realized the error of my ways and stopped short of asking about the foreign film section. No need to lose all faith in cultural literacy. (And, yes, I'm very aware of how <em>greaaaaat </em>I sound.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So, the idea of having to speak to no human who may or may not love movies and to pay very little to view a movie I may or may not love was very appealling. I joined the world of the well entertained last weekend, and we rented...get ready for it...<em>four</em> movies. That's right. I spent $4. And you know what? I learned that spending $1 on a movie you don't love is just as disappointing as spending $5 or $10. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">For the sake of all of you who are thinking, "Whatever did you watch, and how were you disappointed? Please share so that we may refrain from making terrible decisions and save the generations of future movie viewers!"....ok.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">First, we watched "Funny People." I thought, "Hey, it's full of comedians, and it's about a guy who thinks he's dying. What could be funnier?" Well, it turns out, everything. Everything could be funnier. It was 2 1/2 hours long, and it could have been 45 minutes shorter if they'd omitted the queen mother of all dirty words. And considering this movie already took up 2 1/2 hours of my life that I'll never get back, that's all I'll have to say about it. (And, yes, I'm not dim enough to believe that it was supposed to be a riproaring comedy, but c'mon. Give me something, people.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Second, I opted for "Julie and Julia." I thought, "Hmm, sounds heartwarming, relatively interesting...ok." It turned out ok. Really, it just made me feel bad about myself, as I watched these women preparing glorious meals in Le Crueset cookware and copper pots that I'll never own...and that I'm convinced are what make food actually taste good. (that's my defense anyway) It just struck an uncomfortable and sad chord with me, and I caught myself thinking, "Sure, I could cook great meals, but I'd blow my weekly grocery budget on just one of those recipes. I don't know why that girl thinks she needs control of her ho-hum life. What a whiner." Yep, it struck a chord. There were also a couple of scenes where some characters were talking to the TV, and nothing annoys me more than that. So, truly, extravagant recipes + TV commentary dialogue = lackluster for me. And at the beginning J. said of Julia Child's voice, "She sounds like she's running out of breath, and it's making me tired." So I spent most of the movie also thinking about oxygen deprivation. By the end I felt like I'd run a marathon, as if I have any idea what that feels like.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Third, I threw all caution to the wind and rented "Gran Torino." How could I go wrong with Clint Eastwood? Well, the only thing I learned from this movie is, in spite of everything I've ever witnessed in my short life, you <em>can</em> take a 75-year-old racist curmudgeon and turn him around in just over 2 hours. Truly heartwarming in a "this could never possibly happen anywhere but in the movies" sort of way. Like the other two, I could have lived the rest of my life, quite happily, without seeing this movie. But it is worth watching to hear the song at the end that Clint Eastwood is singing, because that's hilarious. (If for some strange reason you're feeling the indescribable urge to pee your pants right now [who isn't, right?], here it is: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MItMDkc343M">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MItMDkc343M</a>.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So there were my three strikes. Determined to salvage something, I gave it one more shot and selected "Role Models." (For those of you keeping up, we're now up to that astounding $4, but I <em>did</em> earn a free movie rental.) I have grown confident in the comedic talents of Paul Rudd, my secret boyfriend, and I knew he wouldn't let me down. And I was right. Sure, I had to endure a couple of boobie shots that made me briefly contemplate plastic surgery, and I probably picked up a few new vocabulary words. But I laughed out loud. And I saw the funniest thing I think I'll ever see in my entire life. A little kid in KISS makeup:</span></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445184566933943714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 195px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlIIPSuGnj6HQZ3NvTGN3GmZara8eMFst4gZT44qU9XwHKZdThNcridEYiiQ3bliK9EEEuRy0yp7Z8KJ1dZ6ojykDA2aFtdKxlb3KXw6B61RO_nTvZorJRm_Do3enG_I_V06wKm6UAr7F/s200/Kiss.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Now what to do with my free movie rental? Anyone have any suggestions? Remember, I'm obviously <em>very </em>easy to please.</span> </p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-14306484338633061002010-02-25T14:06:00.016-06:002010-02-28T18:17:18.942-06:00Congratulations to "The Creepiest Children's Book Ever"<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I've discovered in the short amount of time that I've been reading children's books that, many times, it takes very little talent, skill, ability, what-have-you to write and to publish a children's book. Stories seem to take unusual turns for no good reason, characters act like little jerks to their parents and it's supposed to be endearing, and pictures are marginally good at best. Of course, there are exceptions...many of them in fact. But the bad ones, the <em>really</em> bad ones, just ruin it for the rest of the class. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I've also noticed a lot of weird moral direction in children's books as well--lessons like "Remember not to give anything to people who didn't help you when you needed them" or "Remember that you have to do something for someone before they'll help you." In fact, we've taken to changing the end of the classic folk tale <u>The Little Red Hen</u> to the following: "And, A., the lesson here is that you should should be generous to others even when they aren't generous to you." I can't help but feel sorry for that hen too. She made her bread and ate it all by herself, and the last page of that book shows her going to bed...alone.</span> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">But amid all of the questionably descent books on our bookshelves, I came across one that we got secondhand that totally baffles me. I find it to be one of the most disturbing books I've seen in a long time, which may explain why there's a rubber stamp imprint, "DISCARD," inside the front cover of this one-time library book. Actually an "AVERT YOUR EYES BECAUSE YOU MAY SOON SEE SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE YOU WANT TO HOLD YOUR CHILDREN EVEN TIGHTER AT NIGHT" stamp would have seemed more appropriate. I just had to share this with all of you, to make sure I'm not completely crazy in my assessment.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">The book is called <u>Quiet, Noisy</u>, and, as the title suggests, it's all about opposites. Great idea. I love books like that. The excellent Lisa <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Patricelli</span> books come to mind. But this one may as well be called <u>Creepy, Creepier</u>. And here's why:</span><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442279370064841186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggjER5GR5Ql82IOTn-Rty3m7PxBC-TX0WzvQR7tt4AybnZ2JAmCFDWHsOaXtX6okmTZkO7u3Ib-obOH2MZRFbvVccOVwZ-IeTo5j5xQqFQOpFs9arns8kt_yDy0IENoQ4ZY1vuKS8ctyv5/s200/Dog.JPG" border="0" /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">J. to me: "Is that dog licking blood off the ground?" </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">You know, he very well may be, because he looks like a rabid beast of the apocalypse.</span><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442282382559346098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 144px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiC9PD95bp_aYseLlaLqlmVKZt51apSZ1RVYkWwOCVvINEFoirqWus5aNG0B5C-fZS7P-kN1o5mauv8Y2eRk1Xko_rfUNPZQNOZRQhO8A4Ra3bKryTtV1FbxXW9HeSIHI6A7FUla6y2B8I/s200/Clown.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I can't possibly say enough about clowns. If my older sister actually sees this picture, it's likely she may not sleep again for years. Not only is this the saddest clown ever, he is the most distant, aloof, emotionally dead clown I've ever seen. And you know what that amounts to to me? Crazy psycho killer clown. I mean, he's not even making eye contact with the children. He can't, because he's having to concentrate to listen to the voices in his head.<br /></span><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442283267827923538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 146px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkucedxHA8YfyHZuaWW6fibMZyeaWU8ehZdjEBCTy8LvT8jOlJjBn6pYtjNkZix0TPHYni7hl00sNyeJBFrEMQAIaBQq52Ej1Su-T-lpyWt0FRZ-yVVyEWccwRFxa2WXS6Dqz5zq6S8Lj/s200/Dead+Lions.JPG" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">At the end of this children's classic, there are some suggestions about games that you can play to experience quiet things and loud things. Here's a game called "Dead Lions," but I've renamed it "The Wrong Game to Play When You're a 40-Year-Old Man with a Creepy Beard in a Room Full of Children." </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">So, my question for all of you is as follows: "What is your absolute favorite children's book, and which one do you think would look better atop a pile of burning tires than on your bookshelf?<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-54631646543533093292010-02-24T09:58:00.002-06:002010-02-24T10:07:48.091-06:00No "World's Best Mom" Prize Here<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I think it's officially time to stop being sick when you look in the mirror and think, "Oh, boy" and when every other word out of your 18-month-old's mouth is "Elmo?" The poor thing has been watching entirely too much PBS. (She just walked in holding an ultrasound picture of herself and said, "Elmo?") Really, this is, as Super Why would say, a <em>super</em> big problem. Maybe <em>I've</em> been watching too much. Hmm.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903512314188251975.post-1163085360102605582010-02-18T13:50:00.004-06:002010-02-18T14:15:40.940-06:00Does this top match my glow stick?<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Something about feeling crummy makes me completely unable to sleep at night. And I don't know why, because I'm utterly exhausted by the time 10:00 rolls around. (That's right. I said 10:00. I'm a rock star. I know.) But I just lie there feeling poorly and thinking about completely random things...like the new dance party CD my little sister made for A.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">This CD is fantastic, and the fact that my sister burned not one, but two, CDs for me makes me confident that she really likes me. You know what I'm talking about. Not just any Suzie Somebody gets a mixed tape. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">After listening to this CD on several occasions, I've come to the conclusion that as much as I typically don't like to listen to dance music (as in "Let's go to club Friday" [boo-cha! boo-cha!] dance music), it strikes a very dangerous retail chord in me. I can't tell you how many Old Navy t-shirts and pairs of Gap jeans have been purchased while I've been on a dance music high. In that environment, it does something to me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I think that hearing it takes me back to a very special place. Maybe Metro Center Mall in 1983. Ah, yes, and the Merry Go Round store. They were having a party up in that store. And, you know, that party wouldn't be complete without you and your bad hair busting up in there to make some really bad clothing choices. And everything I would have hope and dreamed I could have seen in that store would be realized the next Saturday morning while I watched "American Bandstand" with my sisters. (Note: I never once set foot in that store. I was pretty confident they didn't carry Gloria Vanderbilt jeans in a size 6x.) </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Those stores were magical, mysterious places. Kind of like Abercrombie is now, I guess. I don't know what goes on in there, but it smells really musky when you walk by. Is it a store or a brothel? I just don't know.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I figure if I keep listening to the CD, I'll eventually get those new jeans I've been eyeing at the Gap. (boo-cha! boo-cha! boo-cha!) And maybe I'll dance myself into looking really good in them.</span>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13374676641565694759noreply@blogger.com1