be accountable

I am accountable for my words.

I'm indirectly involved in a situation that cropped up in the neighborhood recently - I say indirectly, because I wasn't a part of it but affected by the outcome. Situations that make me grit my teeth and knot my hands up are draining. And bad for the psyche. While it all seems to be blowing out to sea now, the things adults do in the name of pride astound me.

Communication-wise, we live in a digitally-based, always instantly recall-able world. I know that anything I write here will be tied to my name (and that of my children) forever. I can write rants about whatever I want, as long as I realize that  whatever I write will always be able to be found - and attributed to me.  Something that gets forgotten sometimes, in this age of facebook, twitter,  and instant messaging is that all this data is stored.

A perennial point for bloggers: Do I have the right to talk about my children?  Post pictures?  Refer to them by their real names?  Is there a cut-off point - a cut-off age? Should I worry that people will read what I've written here and use it to tease my kids? Are my children property? Do i put the kids in danger by posting their faces? There are a lot of different answers - the short and sweet one being to go with your comfort level. The rest is up to the individual blogger.

My stance is that I DO have the right to talk about my children. They are part of my world, and figure largely in my writing. I will not embarrass my kids here on purpose - I can't imagine?? - but I have no guilt about relating their stories. When I first started daysgoby, they both had nicknames, but those wore off after about a week. Referring to them without using their correct names felt stiff and wrong, like I was writing about paper dolls.
 My children are not my property. I don't own them. They have their own stories that they'll tell as they get older. While they live with me and interact daily, while their lives touch mine every day and our lives get bound up together? I think I do have the right to talk about them.

At least until one of them asks me to stop. (And yes, they both do know about this blog.)

Oh, and my husband. I've called him Bear for years - because at first it was a privacy issue (I had no idea how he'd feel about being outed on a blog) and then it was habit. Given his job, though, I think I'll keep him as Bear. Because I don't need him to be accountable for my words.

I can do that all by myself.

a moment eclipsed

I was coming out of the supermarket tonight, not thinking, just happy to be heading home. I stepped out of the re-constituted air and out of the garish lights into the comparative cozy-ness of the car lot, and stopped, lifting my head and taking in as much as I could of the evening air.

A cold clear breeze was blowing, smelling of mid-night walks in navy light and something awakening after a long, long sleep.  The kind of wind that makes you think of bare ground and ponds newly shed of ice and the absolute stillness of trees right before they begin to green.

I drew that air down to the bottom of my lungs and wondered if the reaction to the changing of the season hits all people like this, if there is some sort of primal thing that releases quiet joy in us all.

I rode home with the windows open, smiling at the moon.

the wild, wild woods

It's pretty easy to get my kids to behave. All I have to do is take them out on their bikes and show them the dangers of living where we do.

Things like:
showing them the GIANT BEAVER teethmarks on the freshly fallen trees by the river..... (hungry beavers)

and how the ice on the river looks like sharp monster teeth, all jagged and cross....

and the MUTANT FISH ALERT signs that are everywhere.

Actually, it's kind of a wonder they go outside at all. Huh. Must be the spring air and the sunshine.

 Beware, children! Evil things lurk in that there underbrush!

It's been lovely the last few days, and there's been lots of bike-riding and running outdoors. Hurrah for spring! 

WHERE have you BEEN, lovely????? We've missed you.

sheen is a nutbar

Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson




I'm supposed to be putting together quotes (uh, merchandise quotes, not copying the Emerson) and all I REALLY want to do right now is put my head down on my desk for awhile.  Damned cold. And I blame the time change too.

I should have some news on the school possible closing front next week - the big school board meeting is the 23rd. I think we've done about all we can do and now we....wait. (I'm not so good at waiting.)

Happy things! The sun is out, Rosey just went to her best friend's birthday party, and I heard a robin this morning! (Scintillating blogging, I know)

Somewhere deep in the archives of this blog is the account of Rosey's friend P's FOURTH birthday. P just turned SEVEN. I was one of those kids who had long-term friends as well (and while, okay, three years isn't that long in the grand scheme of things) I can see that tendency in R.  It makes me happy.

Now! This week, so I don't implode over the school issue, I intend to make a LOT of cookies and maybe some soup. Feel free to send recipes.


Maybe I'll make some nut bars too.

power struggle

Most nights, it's just me and the dog in the livingroom. He grunts and kerfuffles and scrounches around on his rug and I read blogs, research small school statistics and wonder what those thumping noises are coming from the kids' rooms.

He's pretty good company.

Sometime between 10:30 and 11:30, I tell him it's bedtime, and he heaves himself to his feet, gives me a long, sorrowful Lab look, and leaves the room. Next, I hear him floof!ing down in his crate in the next room with a heavy sigh. When I go through the kitchen , I shut the crate door, and then he's all tucked in until morning.

Well, that's how it usually goes.

Tonight, he came back out from the kitchen and whined. Now Jasper and I have a routine of bathroom breaks, and he should NOT have had to go at that hour, but still....he whined. I was three-quarters of the way through finding my shoes and grabbing his leash (because the I's gonna 'splode whine sounds verah much like the I still kinda have digestive troubles whine, and NO ONE wants to mix the two up.) when I realized he wasn't looking anxiously at the front door.

Jasper was facing the kitchen.

Hmm. This was new.
I walked in, flicked on the light, and saw instantly that there has been a power shift in my household.

And there doesn't seem to be any chance of a reversal. Sorry, Jasper.

 *Alternate title: Please, Mom? Let me fillet him once? Stoopid dog.*

anticipation

Every morning I peer at my Facebook and wondered if it's happened yet. Who will it be, I wonder, and what will they be liking?

I'm talking, of course, about the cross-over of friends lists.

I have a lot of blogging firends on Facebook, and I have a (smaller but no less important) list of local friends who don't necessarily blog, but know the blogosphere is out there and read, either occassionally or daily.

I'm waiting for the day those two worlds collide.

So far, it hasn't happened. But I can't shake this feeling it will be any day now.

I love exposing people to new writers. I still mourn the passing of my blog reader. Since I (begrudgingly) made the switch to Google Reader, the empty space where the people I wanted to promote still mocks me....

monarchy - it's what's for breakfast

Rosey was in fine bubbly form this morning, going on about the King and how he was good and

(I didn't catch all of it. I was too busy with my snout in the coffee mug)

and wait a minute? Where on earth was she getting this King business?

Honey, I tried to explain, it's the Queen. Her husband is the Prince.

No, she said, dragging out the milk container, it's the King. I saw him on tv.

I took a deep breath, ready to launch into my (lacking) knowledge of how the British monarchy impacts Canada, (was there a princess-Barbie angle I could use here?) and she rushed on

And he's magic, too! Magically delicious!

Damn Bear for bringing home the sugared cereals and unleashing them so early in the morning.