Playing along

UNO, at lunch: Mom, do you want to have a bite of these hairy spider legs?

DOS: No, try some of my gooey snake eye balls instead!

TRES, in her best menacing voice: How about some mac and cheese!


~RCH~

My favorite Christmas card

A hand-written note arrived today in a card from one of DH's former patients:

I guess, seein' as how your not coming back to [our old town], I'll send you a card to see if your still all right, & your family is doing good or whatever. Hope things are good there, still waiting for you & yours to come back, don't look like thats going to happen, so best of luck to you. Met up with the new doc, he's OK. But don't have much sense of humor. I'll work on that.

Joe.


We are doing good or whatever -- but man, I miss the people back there. That was a good town.


~RCH~

And wassup which you?

I'm a terrible blogger lately. Sure, I'll pop in every now and then to share a snippet, but I go way too long between substantive posts. Life here keeps marching on and nobody knows about it; no history is being kept. It is time, my friends, to play catch-up!

Holes

Uno had been asking to have her ears pierced since last year, when she noticed that some of her kindergarten friends had earrings, and her pleas intensified this fall. DH and I thought she was a little young -- but had more indifference to the idea than actual objections. I would have felt comfortable putting her off until, say, her 8th birthday (a milestone year in Mormon culture) but one night in October DH impulsively promised earrings as a reward if she would follow through on a specific good behavior.

I tried to prepare her for the pain. I told her that when I had my ears done, at age 9, my ears were sore for a few days beyond the initial hole punching. I produced a dramatic reenactment of my sister's piercing experience: She entered the mall brave as a bear, confident she could pay the price of pain for beauty, but after they shot the gun through her first ear she clutched the other one, wailing and screaming and rubbing off the marker dot, and refused to continue. "You think you're tough," I told Uno, "but so did she and look how that turned out!" (Though for the record, my sister did end up with a matched set -- either the next day or maybe even later that afternoon, I can't remember.)

Uno continued to assure me she'd be fine, and after school on Friday, October 16th we hit the road to find the nearest Claire's. Dos, a mere 18 months younger than her sister, thinks she needs to tackle every milestone at the same time and so by the end of our drive she had me convinced to let her get earrings as well.

Dos is hardcore when it comes to pain, the proverbial steel magnolia to Uno's little purple pansy. She's never minded her vaccinations, and when she recently had to have a CBC she watched with a slight grin of morbid fascination as the needle went in to her arm and the dark thick blood slurped out into the vial. (Contrast that with the time Uno required a few stitches in her foot: Terrified and flailing wildly, she had to be strapped to a board and have five people hold her down -- yes, five people and an immobilizing board for the little girl with the big fight-or-flight response -- to get the job done.) I thought I knew which kid would be most likely to freak out, but apparently I prepared Uno very well. She steeled herself for the (thankfully simultaneous) punch and managed a triumphant smile when it was all over.

Dos doesn't have the talent for histrionics that her sister has, but she did cry some nervous silent tears when it was her turn. I told her she didn't have to do it, that she could come back later or not at all and it would be totally okay -- but she wouldn't let Uno one-up her.



I brought my camera to record the momentous occasion, but Claire's has a policy against taking pictures (legal reasons, bla bla). I did sneak this shot in, though. I'd love to show you an After photo with their glamorous pink daisy studs, but as I've mentioned before, the girls are incredibly reluctant models these days. Grrrr.

(Maybe if I strapped them to a board and had some photo assistants hold them down.... Let's ponder that thought for a moment.)

After both girls were done, Tres, who had been sitting patiently in a stroller the entire time, piped up: "My turn!" she said. The piercing lady looked at me and shrugged. "I can do hers if you want," she said, but I declined. We'll wait until she's old enough to know what she's asking for.


Holes II

It's not just tiny dots of ear cartilage that have gone missing from Uno recently: She's got fresh holes in her mouth as well. Her first tooth fell out on the evening of November 6th (luckily while I was on a hot date with DH, so I didn't have to deal with any of the gore).

She'd been wiggling it at me for weeks, tormenting me, making me squeal. I hate teeth. I mean, they're fine for smiling and chewing and articulating words and all that -- but they're not supposed to move on their own. I think loose teeth are super creepy, the knowledge of which imbues Uno with incredible power.

"Hey Mom," she said as I helped her stick the disembodied tooth in an envelope and place it under her pillow (way past her bedtime, but she just had to stay up until I got home so she could show me). "Wouldn't it be funny if you had to be the tooth fairy?"

I crinkled up my face. "Eeeeew, gross!" I said. "I would NEVER want that job!"

Which is true.



The real tooth fairy left her with a shiny gold $1 Sacajawea coin, which she proudly showed off to everyone at school the next Monday. But the fun hasn't ended there: She lost tooth #2 at the beginning of this month, and one or two more are loose (and wiggled at me regularly, mean old girl that she is). I figure that with three kids and 20 baby teeth each, I have years and years of free aversion therapy ahead of me.

Yay. :-P


Home Sweet Home

We still haven't sold our house out West. No nibbles. No nothing. Small towns are, by nature, slow markets (if tons of people wanted to live there, they'd be big towns!) so I'm not surprised, but it has been a frustrating experience. Maybe in the Spring. We'll see.

My sense of urgency about the house we're trying to sell lessened immensely on November 13th when we began hauling our stuff out of the ILs' house and into our new rental, though. :-)

We stumbled upon the house serendipitously: DH treated the owner, an elderly widow named Mrs. V, in the ER one night and discovered that she had recently moved to a long-term care center. He had gone to school with Mrs. V's power of attorney (a neighbor of hers in the old days, not related but she may as well have been childless Mrs. V's granddaughter, they're so close) so he called her up and asked if she had any plans for the house. She said she didn't yet; she wasn't emotionally ready to go through Mrs. V's things, to sort them or sell them -- Mrs. V won't be coming back from the nursing home, ever, but UGH, that step seems so final -- and she wasn't ready to put the house up for sale. DH asked if she'd consider renting it out. "Not to just anyone," she replied, "but I know you'd take good care of it." And so we came to an agreement!

It's such a blessing. The rental market in this town is not great unless you're a single kid looking for your first studio apartment. The few houses available are all old, dilapidated and/or mobile, and they all seem to be in sketchy neighborhoods. So to find something like this -- a solid house in a good neighborhood with a big back yard and enough space for our family -- is rare and amazing.



The house is a cute 2-bedroom, 1-bath place with big rooms and high ceilings. DH and I finally have some privacy (cramped quarters aside, none of the rooms at the ILs' had any doors) and the three girls get to bunk together dormitory style, which they really -- especially Tres -- seem to enjoy. Our landlord, DH's old school friend and Mrs V's power of attorney, left some of the bigger stuff in the house for us to use (we got rid of our "grad school chic" furniture when we moved out here), and more in the garage. She told us to feel free to make ourselves at home, hang pictures and decorate to our taste -- anything non-destructive and within reason. Our lease is open-ended; she'll help us out with a place of our own for as long as we need one, and meanwhile our rent money helps her pay for Mrs. V's long-term care. Symbiosis!

I love, love, love being the Lady of the House again. :-)


Ouch.

Every month the elementary school kids who haven't been written up for bad behavior get to participate in some kind of reward activity. Once they spent half a day at the bowling alley; I think another time they watched a movie. In November, they played a game of dodge ball -- teachers against students.

Yeah. That's a bright idea. S-M-R-T.

When I picked Dos up from school that day (Uno had stayed home, sick) she had tears in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong. "Mr. N, the art teacher, hit me in the head with a dodge ball THREE TIMES, Mom! I don't like him anymore." More tears....

Really? Adults pelting kindergartners with large rubber balls? This is supposed to be a reward?

*Sigh.*


SEESTER!

And brother-in-law! And adorable nephews! Look!



Aren't they the cutest ever?

The weekend before Thanksgiving, and just after we had settled into our new place, my sister and her family came to visit us from Atlanta. We had the best time! I felt bad that there weren't any sights to take them to, no touristy things to do; this area has great summer activities -- pretty National Forest hikes and whatnot -- but not so much during cold weather or with babies. That's okay, though, because what all of us needed most was just the time together. I know I loved it. I can't wait to host them again or drive down to their 'hood. :-)


Circus

When they were growing up, DH's aunt used to take her son, DH and SIL to the Shriners' circus every year on the day after Thanksgiving. Now that we're back in town and with kids of our own, she and DH's cousin wanted to restart that tradition and so they bought tickets for all of us as an early Christmas present.

DH, obviously, has plenty of experience with the circus, but this was only my third time: The first one I ever saw was a crappy traveling circus that performed at the fairgrounds of the small town we just moved from. It was a blisteringly hot day, the middle of July, and we had to stare almost directly into the sun to see the acrobats balance on stacks of cylinders or hobos cavort in the dusty arena more often populated by bulls and rodeo clowns. It was a little bit pitiful, but I loved it anyway.

We went all out the next year: Ringling Brothers! Everything about it was big -- the crowds, the arena, the ticket prices, the noise, the concession prices (what's the margin of profit on a $12 bag of cotton candy -- $11.95?). The "greatest show on earth" dazzled and entertained, as promised. Despite the lack of what I thought were standard circus animals (lions and tigers specifically -- I could excuse their absence from the tiny circus, but Ringling Brothers?) and temporarily losing a nephew in the crowd after the show (aaaaack!) we had a great time.

Which brings us to the day after Thanksgiving this year and the Shriners' Circus. I think this one was the best of the three: It was neither big enough to be unwieldy nor small enough to be pathetic; Uno, Dos and I got to ride a freaking elephant before the show started, lol (I've never even ridden a pony! This was my first animal riding experience!); and they had lions and tigers (and the aforementioned elephants and bears and dogs and monkeys and pigs).

"You see?" DH beamed. "This is what a circus is supposed to be."




The most awesome chant in sports history

The day after the circus (so the day after the day after Thanksgiving) we drove to Tennessee to watch one of DH's many alma maters, Drake, play a basketball game against Austin Peay (pronounced like the letter or the vegetable). Our guys narrowly -- and I think unexpectedly -- beat the home team and a great time was had by all.

Clarksville is a pretty little town set along the Cumberland river. The people are gracious and the university has a beautiful campus. But you can tell that I've been spending too much time among the grade school set because my favorite part about our short visit to the home of the Governors was the Austin Peay fight song (which, incidentally, sounds like it belongs in an Adam West-era Batman episode) -- and in particular the last line:

Smash! Bang! To victory
Go the Governors of Austin Peay
Clash! Clang! It’s misery
For the minions of the Enemy
Fight on and
Smash! Bang! to Score Again
For it’s ready, set 1, 2, 3!
Smash Bang! Biff Bam! Clash Clang! Rim Ram!
Dash along to Victory!
Let’s Go Peay!

Tres is potty training, so we've been cheering on the Governors a lot lately. Sure, it's way cooler to hear a large crowd of basketball fans shout "Let's go Peay!" over and over than it is to hear it from just your mom, but hey. I do what I can.


The End.

So that catches you up to, um, three weeks ago (when I began writing this post -- oy!). Not much has gone on so far in December, aside from all the usual craziness of the holiday season. Oh! The girls did go visit Santa a couple weekends ago! I asked Uno and Dos (who know about these things) whether this one was the real Santa or one of his helpers, and they assured me he was real because his beard sticks to his face. I'll leave you with a picture (which I did not take, and which is a kind of crappy scan) of that meeting, a list of what they asked for, and a promise to try to blog more often so my next post won't be so insanely long. ;-)



Uno: A cell phone and a dog
Dos: A robot
Tres: A bicycle and a hat so she won't crash on her head


~RCH~

Teasing

Following is the Quote Book Quote for the day. You're welcome.

UNO, to DOS: Dos and [random boy] sitting in a tree, S-I-K-K L-M-N-O-P!

:-D


~RCH~

Cookies are on their way!

Very briefly, as my life has been turned upside down by a move (yay!!!) and I don't have my computer just yet:

Your Girl Scout cookies are on their way to those of you who ordered them! If the post-it note receipt (we're a classy retailer, I know) indicates you owe money but you've sent a check already, just disregard it. I'm only just now getting around to filing our change of address form with the post office so your payment may be sitting at the ILs' house waiting to be picked up.

Thank you again for supporting the Girl Scout cause! :-)


~RCH~

We have standards around here, you know.

DH: I see you found my mom's copy of Charlotte's Web. Are you going to read that one to the girls?

RCH: No way! Sure, it's a classic, but it totally glorifies spiders!

Obviously. Geez!


~RCH~

Don't watch Animal Planet before bed

...or you may end up saying a prayer like this one of Uno's:

Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this day. Please bless that blood-drinking bats don't live in our town. And please bless our house to get sold. In the name of-- Oh, wait. And if blood-drinking bats do live in our town, please bless that they won't drink my blood. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Scary stuff, those bats.


~RCH~

Halloween

I'm too tired to blog about our adventures (which were of the standard beg-for-candy-while-wearing-awesome-dress-ups variety), but you can have some pictures. :-)









Happy Halloween, everybody! :-*


~RCH~

Don't mess with the ghost!

I awoke this morning to discover that the skeleton and ghost decorations we'd hung on the bird feeder in the front yard had gotten in a fight (and/or been whipped around by the wind, but whatever).

I'd say the cause of death was manual strangulation.




~RCH~

Get Well Soon

Dos is sick. Not that you'd know it from the way she behaves; she has remarkable reserves of energy and cheer even when she's febrile. I wouldn't have known to keep her home from school if it hadn't been for the love note.

Uno helped her write it; as a big first grader, she knows how to spell more words than Dos does. I found it yesterday morning as I tried to rouse the girls from sleep and take the breakfast orders ("You want Pop Tarts or Marshmallow Maties?" We're full service around here!). I sadly no longer have the note -- DH threw it away in an unwarranted cleaning frenzy, grrr -- but it went something like this:

Dear Garit,

You are so col. I love you and wont you to mere me. PS ples dont tell the rest ov the class. I wold be sad. LOVE [Dos].

She tried to grab it out of my hand when she saw me reading it, but I'm too quick for her! "Who's Garret?" I asked.

"Just a boy from my class."

"Hmmmm."

On the one hand, you can't get much more innocent or adorable than a kindergarten crush. On the other hand.... They have such limited time to be children; I'd like to discourage and delay the boy crazies for as long as I can.

"This is a really nice letter," I told her. "I'm glad that you have friends you care about so much. I just don't think it's appropriate to take to school, okay?"

Her face crumpled. "I can't give it to him?"

"Sorry."

She dissolved into tired tears; it was all very pitiful. I put my hand up to move the hair out of her eyes and give her a little kiss -- and that's when I noticed the heat emanating from her forehead. I confirmed my suspicions with the temporal scan thermometer and informed her that she wasn't going to school anyway. More tears. (Until she remembered that once Uno got sick and had to stay home from school, and I brought her breakfast from Sonic to cheer her up, and so Mom can I please have french toast sticks with syrup and a blue coconut icee and no tots? At which point Uno turned on the tears: "Hey! How come I have to eat Pop Tarts?")

She seemed fine all day yesterday; she ran around, played with Tres, ate and drank normally, refused to rest. Sure, her fever would occasionally spike again, but why should a little something like that slow her down?

DH and I went to her parent-teacher conference in the afternoon. We explained Dos's absence to her teacher (who had been absent, herself, for two weeks -- two weeks! -- when her daughter had the flu) and collected her papers, the coloring and letter practice worksheets she would have done if she'd been in class yesterday. And then we got to the fun part, wherein Mrs. D told us how wonderful our daughter is:

According to her kindergarten teacher, Dos is very well-rounded, sociable, and a good leader (a fact I didn't know, since Uno dominates in their interactions at home). She's smart, listens and takes direction well, and has a lot of self confidence. Overall, she's a delight to have in the classroom. :-)

As we chatted, she relayed a story about Dos and the class troublemaker (we'll call him B). He'd been acting up from the very first day of school -- fidgeting in class, talking back, bothering other kids, bla bla bla.... His dog had been moved down the path and into the dog house (their little system of tracking behavior) plenty of times, and he had become acquainted with the principal. Mrs. D, exasperated, told him at one point that someday he'd bother the wrong kid and get walloped on in return -- and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. That time came in P.E. a few weeks back. B picked on Dos and she -- itty-bitty-for-her-age girl that she is -- turned to him and started pounding. Mrs. D separated them before anybody got hurt, but she couldn't fault Dos for defending herself and B learned a valuable lesson: Dos may be small, but she's scrappy! Mrs. D said she had to fight to keep from laughing as it happened; she never imagined that sweet little Dos would be the one to give B his due. She said if she didn't know better, she'd think she must have brothers at home. (With girls like ours, who needs sons? LOL.)

At the end of the conference, the teacher gave us a certificate and a special pencil to take home. "Dos was the Star Student today," she said. "Tell her we missed her and she was the star for a reason; she adds so much goodness to our class." My heart rose and then sank a little. Every kid in every grade gets a chance at some point during the year to be the Star Student for her class. I've heard Uno and Dos talking about it before, wondering when their turns would come ... and now here was Dos's and she missed it.

I tried to talk it up when we got home, but I was right: She was disappointed. She held onto the certificate and pencil tightly, safeguarding them from a thieving Tres, and she cried. "Can I go back to school tomorrow?" she asked. I had to tell her no. She still had a fever. :-(

Dos woke up early this morning and came to find me. "I feel great!" she said. "Do I get to go to school?" I checked her head three times with the thermometer -- 102F each time. Definitely no school. Still, if you'd seen her at home today you'd never have guessed she didn't feel well. She bounced and danced; she roughhoused with Tres; she grazed and snacked throughout the morning. All of our girls are superhuman when they're sick, though: Glazed eyes? Flushed cheeks? Diminished energy? Grumpiness? Nah. They might get a little sleepy as their temps hit 105F or so (as happened toward the end of our recent trip to the Seattle area), but even then they're pleasant and remarkably low maintenance patients.

Dos had an elevated temp (100.0F, so not technically a fever) before bed tonight. She keeps talking excitedly about her class fieldtrip to the pumpkin patch coming up on Friday, and of course trick or treating on Halloween, so I've got my fingers crossed that her immune system has kicked viral butt and she'll be well in time to participate. She's such a good girl, so sweet and scrappy. I'd hate to see her disappointed again.




~RCH~

Bitter / Happy

Bitter

I'm a crappy photographer. And I have grumpy models who stomp and whine and refuse to look in the direction of the lens, despite any bribes I might offer. Our new town is on the edge of national forest land; there are deciduous trees everywhere in full autumn glory. But do you think I can convince my girls to pose amidst all that loveliness? Yeah, no. I tried twice to take some sister pics of them this week: The first time, we didn't even get to the location before Uno and Dos got in a punching match and I had to march them back home. The second time I took 218 photos and ended up with not a single usable frame. Any shots not ruined by eye rolls and goofy faces ended up out of focus (what is wrong with me??). I don't think I can convince them to try again. It's stupid, but it hurts my heart.

I keep playing Bejeweled Blitz over on Facebook. I don't know why. I kind of hate the game; the "narrator" (for lack of a better term) keeps shouting, "Awesome!" at me in the most creepy, menacing voice. I'm afraid he might track me down and hurt me if I stop playing.

Our old house hasn't sold yet. The Realtor claims the tiered back yard is people's biggest complaint, and of course there's nothing we can do about that. (The views, people! That house has the best views of the valley because of the tiered yard!) The last time we spoke with him, the Realtor also asked if it was okay for them to handle offers other than the exact asking price. Um....? Isn't that their job? Have they turned away potential buyers without asking us because they thought we were inflexible about the price? Hello, we are living with the in-laws! WE WILL BE FLEXIBLE!

I miss my family and friends. I'm not one to get homesick easily, and I generally don't mind my own company -- but DH sees his family every single day. Everywhere he goes, he runs into old family friends, people he went to high school with, people he used to work with, people who knew him when. He can call up any number of cousins or BFFs if he wants to go see a football game or hit some golf balls around to blow off steam. I can ... play Bejeweled Blitz.

Tres seems to have given up on naps.

The girls had their Primary program at church today: In lieu of speakers or a sermon, all the children (all 10, lol) sang songs and presented short prepared talks on the importance of faithful families. DH couldn't come; he was working. The girls' grandparents didn't come because (in DH's words to me, after he and his mom had gotten into it over the subject of baptism tonight) they hate our religion. Nobody was there to watch the girls do their parts. I heard it all, of course, but even I didn't get to see them because I teach Primary now and I had to sit up on the stand with the kids. I saw the backs of their heads.

Happy

Tres may have given up naps, but she's doing a little better at going to bed, after a nearly three week strike. (She'd stand up in her crib and shout angrily to anyone who would listen, "I don't yike bedtime! I not going to sleep! I NOT DOING BEDTIME, MOMMY!")

We can't buy anything permanent because we haven't sold the old house yet, but I think we've found something to rent -- and that's no small feat around here, where decent rentals are nearly impossible to come by. It's a well cared for two-bedroom, one-bath home with a nice sized back yard in a good neighborhood. The house isn't big, but the space is used efficiently; the two bedrooms are about the same size, so I think we can fit all three girls in together. I'm very grateful to the ILs for being so willing to take us in, but I'm soooooo ready for my own space! We should know within a couple days if we get the place and how soon we can move in.

Halloween is coming up, the girls have cool costumes, and (I think) for the first time ever since we've had children, DH will not be working on Halloween and can participate in the trick-or-treating. I will be Cleopatra. Uno and I keep trying to convince DH to dress up with us, but he's a party pooper in that regard. Still, he'll be here for the fun! Maybe he'll finally catch the spirit of the season and then next year we can get him in a costume.

Uno is an excellent reader, and she enjoys it. I love that.

I guess that's all for now.


~RCH~

Get your Girl Scout Cookies here!

(Otherwise titled Why I Am A Crappy, Irresponsible GS Mother.)

I thought we had a few more weeks of this cookie selling business. We hadn't really started yet because the official rules say they had to sell them while wearing their uniforms, and the only Girl Scout retailer within an hour's drive hasn't had any Daisy uniforms smaller than 10/12 each of the three times we've gone in. We finally ordered them online, paying waaay too much for expedited shipping, and planned to set up a little card table booth up the street on the corner (which gets a fair amount of traffic). Except that the weather has been awful, so I kept putting it off. I thought we had more time, plenty of time for it to stop raining, plenty of time for the temperature to rise 20 degrees to October normals. Days and weeks and oodles of time.

Um, apparently the cookie orders are due on Saturday. So we have about a day. Or a day and a half, maybe, depending on when I have to get them to the troop leader.

CRAP.

*Sigh.*

So here we go with the hard sell: You want Girl Scout cookies. You neeeeeed Girl Scout cookies. All the cool kids are eating them. They're only sold once a year (well, once in each region -- you may get them some other time where you live) so you'd better stock up (they freeze well for later)! Or get them out-of-season if your Girl Scouts sell them in the spring! Just close your eyes and picture them -- Samoas, Thin Mints, Tagalongs! Mmmmmmmm. Your mouth is watering. You are reaching for your wallet. YOU MUST HAVE THEM.

Right? How am I doing?

Let's have our actual Girl Scouts have a crack at it!

Uno says, "Please buy some cookies! We have all different flavors and they're so yummy. They're back from the '50s, sooo long ago. Well, wait, they didn't have ovens then -- but they're still delicious. You HAVE to try them. There are two new flavors: One is Dulce de Leche and one is Thank U Berry Munch. Then we have the Tagalongs, then we have the Thin Mints. So if you want to order them, just type us back and tell us which cookies you want and we'll fill that in for you and we'll turn this in by tomorrow. Thank you."

Dos says, "Hello. Would you like to buy some cookies? All you need is four dollars in a box! Thank you." (She means they cost four dollars per box.)

So yeah, each box sells for $4.00 -- the proceeds of which go toward activities, projects, and facilities for the girls in our council -- and you can buy them singly and/or in one of three bundles ($12 per bundle): Timeless Classics (Thin Mints, Trefoils, and Samoas); I Love Chocolate (Samoas, Tagalongs, and Thin Mints); and Cafe Companions (Thank U Berry Munch, Lemon Chalet Cremes, and Trefoils).

You can read more about each of the cookies here (including nutrition information -- though maybe you shouldn't read that if you're hoping the cookies are at all nutritious). Not all of the cookies listed there are sold in every region, though, so let me list for you the ones that we offer:

Lemon Chalet Cremes

Trefoils

Do-Si-Dos

Samoas

Dulce De Leche (NEW!)

Thank U Berry Munch (NEW!)

Tagalongs

Thin Mints

If you would like to order some (please, please, you know you want to) email me or leave me a comment. Or leave me a comment that you'd like to email me but don't have my email address, if that's the case and you'd rather do it that way. Payment isn't due until delivery, but when that time comes you can send it via PayPal or regular check. If anyone who lives far from us wants to order (and that's pretty much my entire blog readership, lol) I will ship them to you free of charge as my own donation to the Girl Scout cause, so you'll only be responsible for the actual boxes of cookies you order. And you'll get a package! So everybody wins!

Mmmmmm, Samoas....


~RCH~

Don't stick your arm out the window, Mother said....

My mom has her maxims and favorite sayings: Make it a great day! Many hands make light work! Speak the truth and shun the devil! When I'd complain about my boyish teenage body she'd always say the exact same thing: "Most girls would love to have your figure. You're tall and slender like a tree!" (Though she was only half right; I may be taller than she is, lol, but 5'4" puts me right at the edge of petite. Short and scrawny like a twig may have been more appropriate. :-P)

My repertoire isn't as fully developed as hers is yet, but I do notice myself saying certain things over and over to my children: Remember, the game is only fun if everybody thinks it's fun! Little bites for little girls! If you're too tired to listen to your mother, I can put you to bed right now!

Part of our morning drop-off ritual, which began last year with a kindergarten Uno and preschool Dos, includes me yelling out, "Be good! Have fun! Listen to your teacher and be nice to your friends! Learn a lot of stuff! I love you!" as they scamper off toward the school house door. Sometimes I switch the order around, just to mix it up a little, but every part is essential; I can't imagine sending them to school without those admonitions.

I'm curious to hear what other bits of maternal wisdom are floating around in the universe, so if I have any readers left (sorry I've been so delinquent lately), leave me some juicy comments about your mom's favorite sayings. :-)

(Note: The title of this post comes from a hilarious poem by Hal Sirowitz called "Chopped Off Arm." It begins:

Don't stick your arm out the window,
Mother said. Another car can sneak up
behind us, & chop it off. Then your father
will have to stop, stick the severed piece
in the trunk, & drive you to the hospital.
It's not like the parts of your telescope that snap back on.
A doctor will have to sew it.
You won't be able to wear short sleeves.
You won't want anyone to see the stitches....

And then it just goes on and on. I have a recording of the author reading it in his nebbishy New York accent and it cracks me up every time.)


~RCH~

I need books.

I no longer have a TV in my bedroom, which means I've been reading a lot more than I have in a long time. That's a good thing. But all my favorite already-read books are in storage so I've been scrounging around the IL's house for things to read. That's a bad thing.

MIL (the reader in the family) seems to prefer suspense (sure), crime novels (still with you), and romance novels (meh). She has a ton of super cheapy Walmart books in those genres, half of which I don't think she's ever cracked open; I bet they were impulse buys, or maybe the blurb convinced her but the first chapter or two turned her off. Because they're terrible. Oh my goodness, they are laugh out loud AWFUL.

And yet I keep reading them, because I don't have anything else.

Here's a sample from Bayou Justice, a murder mystery:

She stared at him with agony glimmering in her orbs. Then she shook her head, grabbed her cane and rushed, as fast as her disability would allow, down the aisle and out of the church.

Orbs. LOL.

There's an even better quote from one of the romances -- it brought me to tears, I was laughing so hard! -- but it's not family friendly. Please email me if you're 18yo or older and want to know. Holy cow, it's hilarious.

Anyway. I've got How I Became a Famous Novelist in my Amazon cart, but I'd like to add in a few more to keep me busy after I finish that one. Any recommendations?

I enjoy pretty much any genre except romance and sci-fi (and honestly, I might acquiesce to sci-fi / fantasy if the story were good enough). I like beach reads as much as literary fiction, as long as the beach read in question doesn't feel like it was written by a 7th grader in love with florid phrases like "glimmering orbs." I like non-fiction on interesting subjects (one of my all-time favorite books is The Design of Everyday Things because it's just fascinating). Anything else you need to know about my taste?

Please leave me a comment: What have you enjoyed reading lately? What are your all-time favorites? What do you think I should read when I'm done with Bayou Justice? ;-)


~RCH~

Pssssst! I have a new camera.

So, you see, my old camera (a lovely Nikon D70) somehow wound up with all sorts of dust and crap on the sensor; every single photo required painstaking effort in Photoshop to make it look half-way decent. I was afraid to attempt a fix, myself. The sensor is a very delicate piece of equipment and I didn't want to make it worse. I mean, sure it was dirty, but the camera was useable!

I inquired at a camera store months ago while visiting my hometown -- I remembered that once, way back in my film days, I'd had a similar problem and the camera store man just blasted the camera body with a very strong shoot of sanitized air; maybe they could fix a digital SLR just as easily? But no, the lady said; they'd need to send it off to their workshop for two weeks and beaucoup de bucks. I said no thanks; I wasn't local, and even if I were I wouldn't want to be without it for so long.

I figured I could take it in to a new camera shop when we moved. I mean, really, we were going to a land with stores! A Super Walmart! More than one grocer (where they presumably refrigerate perishables ... though that's another story for another day)! I thought that certainly there would be a camera shop to which I could bring my D70 for repair. After all this time, and all the pointless Photoshopping of dust particles, I'd even be willing to wait a couple weeks. But it turns out that there's not a real camera shop here or within a reasonable distance -- only generalized electronics stores that happen to sell cameras along with everything else. Hardly the expertise I'd hoped for.

So I bit the bullet. I tried to fix it myself. I don't think I broke the camera, so that's good, but I certainly didn't get the sensor cleaned, either. :-P

As a final option, I thought I could mail it somewhere. To Nikon itself, even. But as I browsed around the web, alternately researching camera repair and drooling over other lovelies (it's amazing how expensive they can get!), I stumbled into the refurbished section of Adorama.com. The Nikon D60s seemed cheap-ish (for a DSLR), plus they had the added bonus of a self-cleaning sensor! Just what I need, dirty girl that I am (lol). I read the reviews, which were overwhelmingly positive -- and not just for that particular model of camera, but for that model refurbished. No slap-dash, throw 'em back in a box hack job from Nikon U.S.A., no sir! The camera, most reviewers said, might as well have been brand spanking new. Just way cheaper.

So I got it.

Yay!

I'm not entirely clear on how Nikon names their models; you'd think that going from a D70 to a D60 would be a step back. It's true that my new camera is more advanced hobbyist than professional, but it has more pixels than my old one, it has that newfangled self-cleaning sensor technology, and while the interface is slightly different than my D70 it doesn't lack any of the D70's features. It feels like a step up (without being a step way up to the $2k models I would looooooove but probably don't need). I also think the D60 must be a newer release, because while Photoshop CS2 had no trouble recognizing RAW files from my old camera (RAW files, for you who are uninitiated, are like digital negatives that you can develop in your digital dark room, rather than .jpg image files which just are what they are) CS2 couldn't open the files from my new camera. So (*cough!*) I upgraded my version of Photoshop, too.

I didn't tell DH any of this. He knew I was looking for solutions to my dirty camera problem. He knows that solutions to camera problems are not free. He knows that I, as the family treasurer, have a good sense of what we can and cannot afford in elective purchases. And really, I wouldn't have done it if we couldn't afford it or if it were even cutting it close, but we're fine! The new job came with a better salary -- and yeah, sure, he's the one making the money but I'm living with the ILs. I love them, don't get me wrong -- but I'm living with the ILs. I've earned a new (used) camera, lol. He was there when the package arrived. "What's that?" he asked. "My refurbished camera," I said, a statement which was 100% accurate but which he may have construed to mean "that's my trusty old D70, back from repair." Or he may have known it was new. Or he may have since figured it out. :-P

I don't think he'd care either way, honestly. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea that he's controlling about money or begrudges me my creative outlets so far as we can afford them (which is why there is no $2k camera in my future) or that he belittles my lack of salary for the very real work I do of taking care of his children (and living with the ILs). His paycheck is our money, together; it's family money. He would probably even consider my purchase, elective though it is, a legitimate expense. But we used to be poor -- fairly recently, even. Poor enough that I'd have to agonize over the impulse buy of a tube of chapstick at the checkout line; I never spent money on myself. We got paid only once a month, a ridiculous, measly amount that we had to stretch thinner than tissue.... I'm good at frittering away small bits of money here and there (which then add up to large bits), but I still balk at the big purchases. Especially big purchases that mostly just benefit me. It's my own issue, not his.

But I still haven't told him more explicitly about the new camera. D'oh.

Anyway! So yeah, long story told long, there you have it. I love my new Nikon D60. It takes beautiful, clean photographs. I haven't done a real honest-to-goodness photo shoot with it yet (Mary, we need to get back on the Challenge wagon!), but here are a few pics I've taken:







Maybe I can convince the girls to do a real photo shoot with me sometime soon.

(Though I like the kids-in-the-wild photo style -- tromping through fields of tall grass, or chilling on a fallen tree, that sort of thing -- but DH has me terrified of chiggers and ticks with their Lyme disease and mosquitoes with their malaria and West Nile virus. How do kids ever play outside in humid places? We had bugs in the West, but mostly just icky ones, not life-threatening ones! Eeew, eeew, eew. I can hardly stand it. I'd love to photograph them in flowy dresses, but to get them outside in the wild flowers and weeds I'd have to put them in long pants and duct tape the ends of their jeans to their legs. Which is not a suggestion DH has made -- in my neurosis, I carry everything too far -- but still. It seems reasonable, right? Lyme disease, if not caught early, is incurable and can mess you up for life! And those ticks are small little buggers who like to hide in hair, so what if I missed one? Waaaah! Nature. Pleh. I know I need to get over it -- or at least save this rant for a completely other post, lol. *Sigh.*)

Welp. Yeah, that's the story. Expect to see more pictures here again (and/or on my attention whoring plog Wherein I Post Photos). Time for bed now. :-)


~RCH~

My picture of cheese. MY PICTURE OF CHEESE!

Thus sayeth Tres as she ran through the house with MIL's camera, trying not to get caught or forced to give it up.

"MY PICTURE OF CHEESE!!!"


~RCH~

All that and cookies, too.

Life is moving happily along here in our new (to me) hometown. The girls are enjoying school, and now that Labor Day is past they're done with the hot weather schedule; they finish up at 2:40 now instead of 1:40. Every school in the district has air conditioning except for the high school -- a beautiful old castle-looking building that DH's grandparents (on both sides) attended -- so I'm not sure why they needed a hot weather schedule (or how a single hour makes that much difference), but whatever.

I've signed Uno and Dos up for Girl Scouts. They'll be daisies! ("Daisies," Dos reminded me when they brought home the paper and begged me to let them join, "are your very most favorite flower, Mom.")

I had reservations at first: I am not a joiner (but the girls are, so I need to get over that and let them live their lives). I worried about the time commitment (but they only meet once every two weeks, so that's already better than twice-weekly karate last year). And the cookies! Don't get me wrong; I loves me some Girl Scout cookies. But how will I ever lose weight if I have cookie-pushers for daughters? (No response yet for that one, lol.)

My very wise parents wouldn't let me be a Brownie, I remembered, so might there be something unseemly about the organization? I reached back 26 years to reconstruct the context of that decision. I think (feel free to correct me, Dad) that aside from the time commitment, they objected to the Girl Scouts' feminist agenda; that would have been, after all, right at the height of the brouhaha over the Equal Rights Amendment (to which they were opposed). But then I remembered that I self-identify as a feminist anyway, so the Girl Scouts ought to be the PERFECT place for my daughters! :-)

I relented (DH had said yes without a second thought). We took the girls to the school cafeteria on a Tuesday evening, got some brochures, and filled in all their paperwork. Before I signed on the parent consent dotted line, I read to them the Girl Scout law and asked if they'd be willing and able to keep it:

I will do my best to be
    honest and fair,
    friendly and helpful,
    considerate and caring,
    courageous and strong, and
    responsible for what I say and do,
and to
    respect myself and others,
    respect authority,
    use resources wisely,
    make the world a better place, and
    be a sister to every Girl Scout.

I have to confess: I got a little misty-moisty eyed on that last line. I don't know why; maybe because I believe so strongly in the universal sisterhood of women, or because I love how close my girls are to each other, or because I miss my own family so much. But that phrase -- be a sister -- yeah. (*Cough!*) My allergies flared up.

They haven't had their first meeting yet. Apparently, it's a new group and it took a while to find a troop leader. (They asked me -- I'm sure they asked all the moms -- and I felt guilty saying no, but believe me when I tell you that I am not troop leader material, lol.) They finally did find someone, though, and we met her this morning before school when we dropped off our money for troop t-shirts to wear in the homecoming parade. (The girls are very excited about that, let me tell you!)

I think it will be good. The organization will nicely supplement the world view I hope to instill in them anyway; it'll give them something fun to do; it'll be a good place to make the right kind of friends. I think we're all excited -- even DH because, of course, there are those cookies....


~RCH~

Snapshots of Uno

Born for the Stage

We went to a fish fry / barbecue yesterday at the home of FIL's good friend Larry (who, apropos of nothing, speaks with an impossibly thick accent and a mumble). Larry has a big above-ground pool that the girls swam in last summer when we visited, but this year our bathing suits are in storage -- and besides, it was an uncharacteristically cool day.

Uno and Dos were devastated -- nay, heart broken! -- that we wouldn't let them swim. Never mind that Larry also has a huge yard for running around in. Never mind that he has a killer swing set, much better than the rusty, rickety thing we left behind at our old house. Never mind that he has a basketball hoop. Never mind that there were about 15 other children present whom Uno could have rallied for the game or adventure of her choosing.

No, all she and Dos could think about was swimming. "Mom, please? Let's just go get our suits out of storage. Or I could swim in my regular clothes. Please? Huh? Or sometimes people swim in just their underpants; could we do that? Or what if you quick drive to Walmart and get us new swimming suits? Or--"

No. The first answer was no. The final answer was no. No, no, no.

Uno looked at me, horrified. "I don't even know who you are anymore!" she squealed, and then turned and ran away covering her face with her hands.

All this drama and puberty still to come! Wheeee!


Heart of Gold

Uno made a new friend at school last week (though she can't remember the girl's name, lol). She made a big show of their parting when I picked her up on Thursday: She hugged the girl, held her hands and said something I couldn't hear, then hugged her again before bidding a final goodbye.

As she walked out to the car she said, "Mom, that friend has a disease. Sometimes she gets too much sugar and it makes her act funny or sometimes she doesn't have enough sugar and then she might get shaky and you have to tell a teacher or the playground lady. She has to try to keep it right in between, but sometimes it's hard for her."

"That's called diabetes," I said. "It can be a tricky thing, especially for kids."

"Yeah, that's what she said. She has a diabeety."

DH came with me to pick her up the next day. "Dad!" Uno said first thing. "My friend has a diabeety! Can you get to work on a cure for that? I need to bring it to her on Monday."

Yeah, Doc, could you get right on that? :-)


~RCH~

Tangent

DH's parents were both public school teachers: His dad taught music, at all grade levels, for 35 years; his mom recently retired from her position as an aide in a high school Special Ed classroom. Last night, after DH indignantly read them the Superintendent's letter, the three of them got to talking about the olden days when all the really great teachers were still around.

This may be a had-to-be-there moment. Or maybe a have-to-know-FIL moment. In any case, it struck me as hilarious.

FIL is pretty old school; he believes in clear discipline and a firm hand in guiding the youth under his watch. For approximately half of his career, corporal punishment was allowed (though he only paddled a student once -- and after that, the legend of the paddling was a sufficient deterrent). This story isn't about him, but that fact will provide a little context.

"Hey," said DH, "remember Mr. SuchandSuch? He was awesome. One time Joe Schmoe forgot to bring his book to class. Mr. SuchandSuch looked right at him and said, 'Son, I want you to count the steps out to your locker. Get your book. Then count the steps it takes you to get back to class. Add those numbers up and divide by two -- I want to make sure you get a little math in! -- and that's how many times I'm going to bust your [butt]!' And that's just what he did."

Everybody chuckled. When the laughter died down, FIL sighed.

"Yeah," he said, smiling fondly and without a trace of sarcasm. "He was a really nice guy."

LMAO.


~RCH~

Back to School

Uno began her career as a first grader this week (Dos will start kindergarten on Monday). Her teacher seems nice; it sounds like Uno has already begun building her cadre of devoted followers; her last school seems to have prepared her very well for the curriculum here. Despite the butterflies and insomnia I suffered the night before her first day (it's as bad as if I were the one starting a new school! :-P), I have every confidence that she -- that both girls, actually -- will thrive.

Poor Tres, though. All day long she asks, "Where Uno? Where [cousin]?" When Dos begins all-day kindergarten next week, Tres will have nobody to play with! Except for me, of course. And Grandpa. And Grandma. Okay, so I guess she'll be fine. ;-)

The educational culture here seems quite different than what I'm used to. The girls attend a school that houses Pre-K through 2nd grade; another school in town handles 3rd-5th; then you have your traditional middle school and high school. First of all -- though I don't have a problem with it (it's probably good not to have great big 11yos playing alongside 4 and 5yos) -- I've never heard of dividing kids up in that way.

The main thing that concerns me is the approach to behavior. It may be totally standard; my perception of the differences between here and where we came from may be unfairly biased in favor of my home region. Who knows? But here's the thing: Where we used to live, the schools focused on positive behavior. Uno's old school had implemented Rachel's Challenge and all year long emphasized kindness, compassion, and inclusion. Good behavior was recognized and rewarded. At this new school -- which, remember, goes only up to the 2nd grade, so we're talking about 7 and 8yos at the oldest -- we parents were given extensive information on what constitutes inappropriate behavior: Bringing firearms to school; cyber bullying (with a list of what that entails) as well as the traditional sort; wearing clothes that expose your midriff; wearing clothes that depict or support gang or drug activity; etc.

Seriously? We're worried about 7yos wearing belly-baring marijuana leaf t-shirts and carrying their Glocks to school?

The children, too, have been thoroughly debriefed on these policies and their attendant consequences. I asked Uno yesterday at dinner how school had gone. "I didn't get detention!" she replied. Uh... good! :-P

Maybe I'm naive and idealistic, but I believe children will rise to meet the expectations important adults have for them. Not becoming a gun-toting, gang-banging, cyber bullying 2nd grader is a reasonable goal. But I want more for my girls. I want to inspire them to achieve and contribute and and uplift. I want them to make friends and be friendly to everyone. I want them to stand up for the Little Guy. I expect them to do the right thing, not simply avoid the wrong thing.

I'm not so concerned about academics -- I figure it's up to the student to get a good education, and I know my girls are motivated and excited to learn -- but DH is. We got this letter from the Superintendent in our packet of information:

Dear Parents,

Under the No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) of 2001, the district is required to notify you that three schools in the district did not make adequate yearly progress (AYP) minimums on state testing in the spring of 2009.

The law entitles you the choice of attending another school but, at this time, there are no choice schools available or any intergovernmental agreements to receive [our town] students with schools in the area. It may interest you to know that it is the policy of our Board of Education not to accept students from other area schools not making AYP.

If you would like specific information or an explanation as to why your child's school did not make AYP and what the school is doing to improve test scores, or if you would like further information concerning the NCLB mandates, please make an appointment to meet with the school principal.

Sincerely,
the Superintendent

I'm not a big fan of teaching to the test (as the NCLB Act has required), so I take this letter with a grain of salt. And as I said, I think the responsibility for her education lies with each student. A motivated learner can get a great education in a crappy school; a lazy or indifferent student can leave the most prestigious academy as a functional illiterate. I've seen evidence of both outcomes. I do think the family educational culture can make a big difference, but I personally have no concerns about that.

Our new district has a high drop-out rate (a huge billboard on the way out of town shouts, "If I can, you can! Get your GED now!") but the high school does offer AP classes for the smarty-pantses; where we came from, nearly everyone graduated from high school but there were no AP classes and many (often the ones from farm families) chose not to go to college.

(Your mom goes to college!) (Sorry; I've been hanging out with DH too much.)

Anyway. Is it six of one and half a dozen of another? Failing schools that expect the worst but offer advanced classes vs. a positive academic environment that doesn't do enough to promote higher education? And why am I worrying about their prospects for college when (a) Uno is only 6yo and (b) I'm technically a college drop-out, myself (I graduated from a junior college, then worked a year toward my bachelor's degree before deciding I couldn't afford it)?

But honestly, it's more than just the schools. This whole town feels (to me -- and it probably is just me) like it has an anti-intellectual bent to it. Where I grew up, and where we most recently lived, people lived by the motto that the glory of God is intelligence. People valued education, whether in school or gleaned from a life of hard work and virtuous living. I don't sense that here.

Am I looking backward with rose-colored glasses, though? Is this evidence of classism on my part? I grew up in a white collar, middle class neighborhood; this town is decidedly blue collar and less well off. So maybe I'm just a snob...?

Ouch.

I don't know. But as I said at the beginning, I have no doubt that the girls will succeed and thrive -- and I, too, intend to bloom where I'm planted. I may experience some culture shock initially, but I will acclimate and soon I'll be posting glowing reports of our new town, our new schools, our new life. I just need a little time to adjust, I guess.


~RCH~

Everything is everything

Blazy

I have been blog lazy for more than a month. Of course, in that time I've road tripped to the Seattle area and back, taken a brief break, and then moved my family 1,500 miles away. That leaves a lot to write about, probably, but not much energy to do it.

Sorry.

(Though I half finished a post about WA before we began the big move. When I upload the rest of the pictures to Flickr, I'll post it.)

Pi

I just finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel and now the pleasant little book that had bobbed along, lulling me to sleep at night a few chapters at a time, has got me wide awake. Animals or no animals?

Seriously: Animals or no animals?

And now that everything is colored differently, how will I ever get to sleep?

Vow

I am not a good conversationalist. Small talk does not come naturally to me, and big talk can also feel strained. It's frustrating because my brain won't shut up; I'm constantly composing soliloquies that never get spoken. But half the time the words won't translate into actual language, and the other half I'm worried about coming off like SNL's Chris Farley Show ("That was so STUPID! Why did I say that?!") so I keep my thoughts to myself.

Sometimes I think I could take a vow of silence and nobody would notice. (Except maybe my girls. They would wonder why nobody was telling them to quit fighting and/or whining, I guess.)

Bathroom

We have moved to the Midwest, to DH's hometown, and are living with the in-laws until our house sells. So far it's been fine (though it's only been a week so it still just feels like a visit). They have three upstairs rooms that they haven't used since their children left home: DH and I use one, Tres has another, and we've got the computer set up in the third. We would have put Uno and Dos there, but it isn't big enough for their bunk beds so they're downstairs in the small piano room (FIL is a retired music teacher) across from the master bedroom.

The house has only one bathroom, which mostly hasn't been a problem.

Boxes

We rented a storage shed for all of our stuff. We have our clothes, the older girls' beds, and Tres's crib -- but everything else is still boxed up and locked away. Oh, and we have the computer, obviously. I demanded the computer (the ILs have never owned one).

Happy

I turned 34 a few days ago (thank you for the birthday wishes, all who sent them!). Tres kept calling it Happy Mama Day, and wondered when it would be time for Happy Tres. DH asked the girls for gift suggestions: Uno told him I needed a diamond necklace; Dos thought Sham-Wow would be nice. He asked me directly, but I told him I didn't need a thing.

Metropolis

In case you wondered, the giant Superman statue is as kitschy-cool as ever. (Michael, did you think so?)

Saudades

My brother and dad came with us on the move to serve as alternate drivers (we had two cars to bring). Michael flew home on Wednesday, and my dad flew home today (well, yesterday; it's 1am but still Sunday night to me). The era of living near my side of the family is really over now. I'm excited to dig into our new life here, I really am, but ... geez.

We had a wonderful road trip out here, though. Even I-80 through Wyoming didn't seem so bad. I'll always remember it fondly.


~RCH~

Photo-Off Challenge: Whimsy

As it turns out, whimsy is a difficult concept to force. I tried all sorts of staged conceptual photo shoots (and I found a really great new location, Mary, if you want to come up before we leave!) but nothing seemed authentically whimsical.

I submit, then, for your approval, this photo of Tres in the tutu she wore for two days straight. She thought she was soooooo fancy (and for half of the first day she walked around with sunglasses on because I kept saying, "Hey there, fancy lady!"). It's just a snapshot, and I could certainly wish away the distracting background, but Tres is nothing if not whimsical and I just love her cute fat tummy and her belly button. :-)



(Oh, and on a side note, can I just mention how completely adorable Tres's vocabulary and pronunciations are these days? My favorite is when she feels sleepy and tells me she's "tylered." I never correct her. In fact, I encourage the baby-isms. It always makes me so sad when kids learn the real words, lol.)

Anyway. Mary, your next challenge is (drum, drum, drum, drum, drum) texture. Have fun with it!


~RCH~

Pretend productive

Because the girls have a lull in their swimming lesson schedule, I thought this week would be the perfect opportunity for them to store up some good Grandma & Grandpa time -- and for me to whip the house into showing shape without the "help" of those little tornadoes. (Tres follows me around as I clean, rearranging things and singing, "Cleem up! Cleem up! Evvy evvywah!" Cute, yes; helpful, no.)

I've spent the day working in the office -- you know, the one of "piler" fame; I've finally had to find a more attractive system for storing all those papers. DH -- good man -- has not once uttered a smug I Told You So, though I guess now would be a good time for it if he wanted to. Oh well. I'm sure he's just glad it's finally getting cleaned up in here.

This room is taking longer than any of the others, though, because it's not just a matter of putting things away -- every paper needs to be scrutinized, decided upon: File in a drawer? Put in this notebook or that box? Shred it? And, of course, there is the temptation to stop and really look at everything: The beautiful scrapbook of our friendship that K2 made me for Christmas one year; baby shower photos; a love letter (oh brother) I wrote to DH when we were newlyweds; a drawing Uno made me when all she could do was scribble.

One thing really caught my attention and set me to reminiscing, though: A handwritten letter from a high school acquaintance, a response to one I'd written her upon seeing her name in our hometown paper's bridal registry.

I loved this girl and hated her all at the same time -- loved her because she was beautiful, dark-haired and mysterious, smart and sarcastic and sophisticated; I hated her because she was all those things and I just knew the boy I loved would fall for her if given half a chance. (For the record, I don't know if he ever did. But if I were him, I would have, lol.) Her name was Tanja -- with a J; no conventional Y for this one. I told her, when we first met at a writing group, that the spelling of her name reminded me of a recent foreign exchange student at our school -- Vanja, from Bosnia -- who had been sent home because she (allegedly) killed and ate her host family's cat. She liked that.

I always wanted her approval. I wanted her to think I mattered, that I could be sophisticated rather than ... small, that I had some kind of talent. Although we attended different high schools, she somehow ended up signing my yearbook: "Some people drink coffee to stay awake," she wrote. "Some people drink coffee because they like the taste. Coffee is coffee; I'm glad you drink tea." She knew I drank neither, but the sentiment of her metaphor meant the world to me.

I wrote her a letter a few years later, when I saw her name in the paper, to tell her (vaguely, in a non-creepy, non-stalkery way) how much I had admired her back in the day, to ask how she was doing (aside from the obvious), and to fill her in on my life. She wrote back, scrawled in loopy black ink on thin white paper, that she had been charmed by my correspondence (and my pen! lol), that she had admired me, too, and that I had "the soul of a poet."

::Blush::

We never wrote or spoke again after that, which was fine; as I said, we were acquaintances more than friends. But it was nice -- especially in those days -- to find reciprocated affection where I wouldn't have expected it. And though she turned out to be not much more than a footnote in my life (we only hung out for a few months one Spring, for the short period she came to my writing group), it was nice to find her letter tucked away in a binder in one of my many piles.


~RCH~

Swimming lessons

The girls finished up their first session of swimming lessons last Thursday (I've got them signed up twice to reinforce their skills; they'll start again next Monday). Last year they had to repeat Level 1, ostensibly because they were afraid they might drown if they put their heads in the water for any length of time. More likely, Uno was simply addicted to the melodrama of her professed fear (and Dos was playing along). She's so over that. This year Uno is drunk on the power of Level 2; she and Dos are in the big time now, baby!









Neither of them passed Level 2 on this first go round, but not because they were afraid and not because they didn't try. The swimming teachers tell me very few kids do pass that one right away; it goes beyond Level 1 basics like holding your breath to trickier things like floating. My girls have to learn to resist the urge to lift their heads and look around mid-float -- but once they've got that down, it'll be on to Level 3! Woo-hoo!

Swimming skills are important, but even more than that, I'm glad they've learned that the pride of accomplishment feels better than the icky-sticky attention of melodrama. :-)


~RCH~

Movin' on up to the East side

...to a deluxe apartment in the sky -- aka DH's parents' house. :-P

So here's the story, for those who don't know it already: As one of only two doctors in our rural county (and the only one who works full time hours), DH has been on the fast track to burn out here. His contract with the hospital expires this month. He has been offered a job as the ER Director of his hometown hospital and we have decided to take it. He will work through the end of July, and then in August we will pack up and head to Illinois, where we will move in with his parents until we get settled (I love them, but hopefully that won't be too long; I am a girl who values her independence).

We thought about this decision long and hard -- years, even. DH cornered me in the kitchen one afternoon during his parents' first visit out here; he said he thought we ought to consider going back to the Midwest. He said he felt like we needed to be closer to his family. I burst into tears at the idea, still exhausted from our move out of West Texas. He would get recruitment letters every day from all over the country; I would shred them immediately before he saw the mail. The time wasn't right. I wasn't ready. A good opportunity hadn't presented itself yet (or, um, survived the Premium Series 11-page crosscut shredder).

DH's parents went home; we wrote off his impression as just a brief sentimental moment. But the idea didn't completely leave him (or me). He heard through the grapevine that the hospital back home was making changes -- a new CEO had been hired; they were thinking of beginning a hospitalist program and revamping the ER. In previous years, there had been no job openings in his hometown, or there had been but they weren't a good fit. Now things were different. Last summer when we visited his family, he and I took an afternoon to informally meet with the new CEO. It went well. I felt good about it. DH felt good about it. He was told he had a job if we wanted it; we said we'd consider all the options and let them know.

Meanwhile, changes were happening in our rural town, as well: Rather than recruiting new blood to help ease the workload, the hospital bought out the practice of the other doctor already here -- one who is nearing retirement age and who works less than full-time hours. The change didn't directly affect DH -- his over-full hours remained the same as when the other doctor ran his own private practice -- but the expense incurred by paying for the other doctor, his staff, and his facilities meant that the (already poor) hospital lacked the funds to hire some hypothetical energetic young doctor to work with DH. Our county has a federal designation of Medically Underserved; it looked like it would stay that way indefinitely (and, for some reason I can't figure out, deliberately).

In considering the options, personally, I felt peace about either one. Stay or go, life would continue on as it always has for me and the girls. They aren't yet old enough to have deeply emotionally invested friendships; my life revolves around their care; the things we do could be done here or in IL, no big whoop. Of course, going would mean I wouldn't be able to see my family or lifelong friend Beckle as much anymore -- definitely a negative for me. On the other hand, we've had three glorious years living within 90 minutes of my side; DH's family has never had that chance. Maybe it's their turn now. Maybe it's time for the girls get to know their other grandparents (and aunt and cousin).

And, of course, there is the matter of their health. DH's parents are slightly older than mine, and have lifelong habits that have aged them further. MIL has been hospitalized three times in the last year or so with seizures. I'm surprised that FIL hasn't had a major health crisis yet -- I guess his stubborn will is good for something; it's kept disaster at bay for now. DH has only one sibling, a younger sister, and while she lives near their parents, she's a single mom trying to work and finish her education and carve out a life for herself. It did feel like we were needed there.

DH's health, too: He's running himself ragged here. He cannot keep up this pace indefinitely.

And so after months of weighing the pros and cons of each decision, months of pondering and prayer, we decided: We're moving on. We've loved it here, but it's time to begin a new adventure elsewhere.

News spreads quickly in a town of 2,000 people, and the reaction has been mixed. I can't go anywhere -- the grocery store, the swimming pool, the gas station, the movie rental / concrete store -- without being accosted by someone who wants to ask about our plans. Many are supportive -- they feel sad to see us go, but understand we need to do what's best for our family. Some relentlessly interrogate me: Why are you leaving? Is it because you want more money? Who's going to take his place? Some conversations are downright awkward, like when the grocery store checkout boy told me that his dad was furious about our decision. I smiled sheepishly and offered a wan sorry. "No," the kid said. "I mean he's really mad. He was like, 'Dammit! Just when we get a decent doctor in this town the SOB--' Not happy at all." Uh.... Yeah. It sucks. I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?

It's hard not to feel like we're leaving the town in the lurch. DH went out of his way during his tenure to recruit residents from regional programs to cover the ER, and one of them looks like a good candidate to take DH's place when he finishes his residency next year. But in the meantime...? DH has one full-time and one part-time PA who, I assume, will continue to work at the clinic -- but the town (really, the entire county) will be down to only one doctor for a while. How much blame goes to us, for not renewing DH's contract (within our right to do, and done for legitimate reasons), and how much to the hospital for choosing to fund the other doctor's retirement rather than invest in the future viability of the hospital's own clinic? *Sigh.* I am convinced that we are doing the right thing, but no amount of passing the buck -- even when the buck rightly belongs with someone else! -- makes it easier to see the community in need. DH, certainly, feels heavily the responsibility to his patients, which is why he has offered to work through July (his contract ends at the end of this month) to set things in order and tie up loose ends with as many patients as he can.

So. Here we are: Preparing to begin again somewhere else -- maybe this time to plant roots? Eh, who knows, lol. I am excited about the adventures change always brings, excited to be closer to another lifelong friend, K2, and within plausible driving distance of my sister and her family in Atlanta. It'll be fun to look for a new house -- DH's hometown has lots of nice Victorians and antebellum looking places (just pray with me that our house here will sell quickly!).

Onward and upward, I guess!


~RCH~

No cause for alarm!

Subtitled: The trouble with prepositions

Uno and Dos had been fighting all through breakfast; I kept encouraging them to work it out without telling me every little thing the other had done (they haven't quite figured out the fine line between tattle telling and real need-to-know information). Honestly, after a while I just tuned them out because I'm an awesome mom like that. And then....

UNO: But I don't want to make out with a girl who sticks her tongue out at me!

RCH (snapped back to attention): What did you just say?

UNO: I said I don't want to make out with a girl who sticks her tongue out at me!

RCH (panicked about where she could have learned that): What does that mean?

UNO: It means she made a mean face and stuck her tongue--

RCH: No, no, the other part.

UNO: It means I don't want to be friends with her right now even if she says she's sorry.

RCH: Oh! Make up! You don't want to make up with her. Not make out. Okay. That's fine. You guys just ignore each other for a while until you can be friendly again. No problem.

*Phew!*


~RCH~

Photo-Off Challenge: Romance!

Mary challenged me to photograph romance this time. No ideas immediately sprang to mind, perhaps because I knew I couldn't photograph my girls for this theme, lol. So.... What to do? Kissy lovey romance? Mystery adventure romance? Nostalgia romance? Nature romance? Romance romance romance! I rolled the word around in my head for a few days and then started shooting, despite still having no clear picture of what I wanted.

Here are some of the better outtakes:



The photo I ultimately chose depicts a lifelong love of mine. I think of it and my bosom swells (yes, kids, my bosom, lol). My eyes dilate and my heart beats faster! I lose focus on all else -- on everything but this, the unexplored road:



They don't call it wanderlust for nothin'. ;-)

I don't know if it's the best photo I've taken in the last week -- though I do like the colors! -- but it's the one that speaks to me the most (it whispers something like this). Romance is, by definition, incredibly personal, right? So along those lines, I'd love to hear from you readers / lurkers: What says romance to you?

Mary, your next challenge is sort of inspired by this one, and also by the water challenge you gave me a while ago. I want you to photograph WEST. Have fun! :-)


~RCH~

An addled adage

RCH: Don't count your chickens before they hatch, Uno.

UNO: Why not? If you wait until after they hatch, they'll just run around and you won't be able to count them!

You know, she has a point....


~RCH~

Super obnoxious parental bragging

(You have been warned.)

Today was Uno's last day of school. They don't do a kindergarten graduation here, but she'd have been the freaking valedictorian if they did! In her final report card, her teacher wrote, "I have enjoyed Uno and her bubbly personality. She is a smart girl and a good worker." Well, yes. :-) (And hooray for the work ethic; that's more important than the smarts.) Among her accomplishments:

She got a certificate (with a coupon from Burger King -- glad to see the school is promoting healthy eating habits, lol) for having the highest math scores in her class.

In a one-minute timed test of letter naming fluency, she scored 79 (43 or above indicates fluency); for letter sounds, she scored 77 (30 or above expected); for phoneme segmentation she scored 67 (40 or above expected).

She won the Kindergarten Sportsmanship Award on Field Day. (Really? My daughter?) She also took 3rd place (out of 3 kindergarten classes -- so something like ~60 kids) in the long jump; 2nd place for sit-ups, the softball throw, football toss, and the 100 yard dash; and 1st place for jump rope, hula hoop, and chin-ups. What an athlete!

Finally, she got a certificate -- and a fancy necklace! -- for having perfect attendance.

So there you have it: Uno is officially bubbly, well-rounded, and dependable. Give that kid a gold star and an application to Harvard already! ;-)


~RCH~

Photo-Off Challenge: Portrait

My Photo-Off Challenge this week was to take a portrait -- which is my favorite type of photo, incidentally; I much prefer setting up thoroughly planned portrait shoots with my girls to random snapshots. So yay for that.

I asked DH if he would pose for me, but he refused. I thought about getting alternate models (maybe one of our babysitters, or random teenagers from the neighborhood) in case you're sick of my kids, but in the end ... well, I just didn't, lol. So here for your enjoyment, is a portrait of Dos among the weeds:


Exif info

Mary, for your next assignment I will see your portrait and raise you a self portrait. (Right? Is that how you say it? No wonder I never won anything in Vegas.) Yeah. So set that timer (or get a remote shutter release thingy) and look fiercely into the camera! Work both sides of the lens, baby. :-)


~RCH~

School Miscellanea

Uno brought home this paper the other day. I love it.



Dos had her last day of preschool today. This morning she dictated the following note to go with the end-of-year Thank You present for her teacher:

Dear Teacher,

I love you very much. You are the best teacher ever. You have very cute hair and a very VERY cute face. I will miss you.

Love, [Dos]

Are they the most awesome kids in the world or what? :-)


~RCH~

A+

You may or may not recall (and only if you read through the comments on one of my sleep posts) that DH was taking a college-level basketball coaching course from one of his alma maters, and that I stayed up crazy late several nights in a row typing (and editing) his dictated coursework. He received his grade and evaluation in the mail today:

Your responses were well thought out and thorough. I was impressed with your ideas. This is the first time in over a year in which I have given all available points. I hope you, in the face of your multiple obligations, will take young coaches in your area under your wing. And ... take your wife on a date! Good luck.

-[Instructor]

Yay! I'm so proud of our efforts! I feel like part of that grade is mine; I edited out plenty of talky filler phrases and empty junk to get to the meat of what he wanted to say. Plus I formatted it nicely and bound it attractively in a folder, lol. I'm sure the presentation counted for A LOT. ;-)

Mostly I'm proud of (but completely unsurprised by) DH. He worked hard. He doesn't do anything he's not willing to put his whole soul into, that crazy over-achiever of mine. He certainly earned his A+.


~RCH~

Vegas, baby, Vegas!

So DH took me to Vegas for Mother's Day! Or not quite, lol; he and the other basketball coaches in town had a 3-day (last Friday to Sunday) coaching clinic to attend, and we wives tagged along. We had fun girly time during the day while the boys were in class, and then we all hung out together at night. Some of the highlights:

I am a loser

Despite having lived next door to Nevada for much of my life, this was my first trip to Las Vegas (driving through and/or having a layover between flights to other places doesn't count). I have no moral objections to casual gambling -- I've fed dozens of quarters into pinball and video game machines at the arcade with my daughters (and don't even get me started on DH's claw machine habit!); I don't see much difference between that and, say, video poker. You spend your money; you get your minutes of fun; end of story. And what about raffle tickets for school fund raisers? Sweepstakes for commercial products? Office sports pools? All harmless (IMHO), as long as you're not using your family's grocery money or rent to get in on it.

Anyway, with that attitude I excitedly slid my first dollar into a penny-ante poker machine. I had to keep asking DH which cards to hold because I know nothing about poker. I'd win a few, then lose a few, then lose some more, until eventually my dollar was gone. So I put in some more. And later on some more. I tried different machines -- more poker, classic slots, a Wheel of Fortune game that I never quite understood -- and different denominations up to a buck. Again: Up, down, finally gone. At my best I was up to $8 (after having put in $5, so that gave me a net gain of three whole dollars) so I cashed it out and decided to play only with my winnings. When the $3 ran out, though, I put back in the other five. Because I'm a sucker like that.

I know the casinos are rigged against people like me. I know they use extensive psychological tricks to get you to believe you'll be the next to hit the jackpot. I mean, somebody's got to, right? Why not me? I kept sitting down next to people who were winning $500, $1,000 dollars (though I have no idea how much they'd put in to get there). Why couldn't I be next? Why not me?

But now, ~$40 poorer, I know the answer: It will never be me because I am a loser, lol. L-O-O-O-O-O-O-S-E-R! I do not win things. I especially do not win things in Las Vegas, where every game is stacked in the house's favor.

But I still had fun.

Casino games have cool names

Things like Super Duper Double Bonus Poker. Bucks Ahoy. Lucky Larry Triple Super Pay. So many more I wish I could remember.

I am not fancy

I don't think I could be fancy if I tried. I mean, sure, I can get cleaned up: I wear a skirt or dress every Sunday, and I know how to apply mascara. But mostly I don't; mostly I'm about as low maintenance as a girl could be. I don't know how to accessorize; I wobble around in heels, worried I'll break an ankle (though I do love a chunky platform shoe to make me taller than my usual 5'4); I've never had a mani-pedi (or either one separately); I buy the majority of my clothes at Walmart.

I figured I'd have unglamorous soul sisters in the other coaches' wives, who all seem as low-fi and practical as I am, so imagine my surprise when I found out that several of them had spent their Saturday morning (while I slept in, yay!) at the spa getting "treatments."

I do think it would be cool to go to a spa (and I certainly don't begrudge anybody else their facials or pedicures) -- but I worry the staff would size me up as I walked in, decide I wasn't their kind of clientele, and chase me right back out, lol.

Maybe some day I'll screw up my courage, pretend to be fancy, and see if they'll pamper me with their treatments anyway.

I still look 12 years old

Apparently. Whatever. What do you think?



So two of the wives and I were standing around the casino on Saturday night watching the third one play Blackjack (which she cleaned up on, by the way -- whooo!). I was leaning against a one-armed bandit, minding my own business, when a casino employee sauntered up to me with that tsk-tsk look in her eye. I thought I was about to get in trouble for hogging a slot machine without putting money in it. But no.

"Excuse me," she said. "Are you older than 21?" I told her I was. I told her I even had grey hairs to prove it, and showed her the wiry strands poking every which way from the top of my head. "I'm still going to need some ID," she said, obviously unconvinced. She stared at my driver's license a good long time before shaking her head and handing it back. "Wow," she said. "That is not at all how old I thought you were."

When the casino lady left, the other wives scooted closer to see my license before I put it away. "You're in your thirties? Huh! I wouldn't have guessed that either!"

The funny thing is that I once made plans with my sister to go to Vegas just for the privilege of getting carded. I had recently turned 21 and she was about to turn 22 (we're Irish twins), and thought it would be wonderfully vindicating to whip out those IDs and show the world that we were, indeed, legitimate adults. We never did go. (I worried they'd think my license was a fake and confiscate it, lol.)

I've always been annoyed to be mistaken for a much younger person. (Oh! Like the time we went to dinner on my college graduation road trip and the waitress gave everybody but me -- including my then 10yo sister -- big people menus and big people glasses, and I alone got the 10 and Under menu, a box of crayons, and a tiny glass. Grrrrr!) People tell me I'll be grateful for a young face when I'm older. I'm older now than I used to be, but the experience was still a mix of funny (50%), flattering (5%), embarrassing (30%) and irritating (15%). It would be nice to be taken seriously as a grownup, you know!

Anyway, I don't get it: I have grey hairs that grow more and more prominent all the time. I have wrinkles. I have tired eyes. What will it take to look like I'm at least out of my teens?

Maybe in another 20 years I'll find it flattering, lol.

It ain't called Sin City for nothin'

Our contingent took care of the sloth and the gluttony, but the lust -- even for Las Vegas! -- took me by surprise. We confined ourselves to our hotel and to the Strip, so I don't know how the non-touristy parts of town look, but the billboards alone made me wonder how parents in Vegas handle the sexually charged atmosphere. It seems to me you'd be having conversations a lot earlier than other parents do ("Mommy, why does that lady have no clothes on and why is she hanging on that man?").

We were continually accosted on the Strip by lines of people handing out cards with half (or fully) naked women on them. The (*cough*) "advertisers" wore t-shirts that read things like Girls Direct To You In 20 Minutes. The men creeped me out, but ... eh. You'd kind of expect it. (Not of all men. Certainly not of good men, which most of the men I know are. But you know the kind of pervs I mean.) What shocked me and made me sad were the young women handing out the skanky calling cards. Why would you do that to your sisters? I don't understand.

It's good to get away sometimes

I thought about my girls the whole time we were gone, but I didn't exactly miss them. Is that terrible to say? I get so few breaks from this more-than-full-time job; this was the first time I've left Tres overnight, and only the second time I've left the other two (as far as they know -- I did leave 5mo Uno once to go house shopping a few states away, but she doesn't remember that). Uno indulged in the melodrama of the moment as we drove off to the airport -- wailing and flailing her arms, oh brother -- but my (saintly) mom, who took care of them while we were gone, reported that all three of them did just fine once we were out of sight and that they behaved themselves all weekend. (I hope she's telling the truth, lol.)

I love them. The girls are never far from my thoughts. But I can't tell you how rejuvenating it felt to be a few hundred miles away from them for three days -- to be myself, alone for once. To sleep in! What with night feeding infants and nightmare-having children and future curfew-breaking teenagers, I didn't think I'd ever get a solid 8+ hours again! Wah! I had so much fun. I worried I wouldn't fit in with the other wives -- I was the youngest among them by 10 or 15 years -- but oh my goodness, it was awesome. I got to be a grownup. I got to relax and I got to have fun.

I think I ought to do it more often. :-)


~RCH~


PS - Big, BIG thank you again to my parents! THANK YOU!