The playground should be for swinging, not dumping.
And if she catches you, you're getting The Look, because litter isn't cool.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Friday, 29 April 2011
Friday, 22 April 2011
growing up
Well, now, this turning forty (yes. ME. FORTY!!!!!) isn't so painful after all. I mean, it was a great day!
My family and I ate Chinese, then after a flying stop at home where I learned I now have a job (squee!) I went to my book club meeting (Love those women. I am BLESSED to have them in my life.) where I was caught up in rolling, choking laughter and camaraderie and a lot of wine and flowers (two different kinds!) and a lovely pressy and so much fun, plus munchies and cake. Then I came home to two wide-awake kids (who then had left-over birthday cake) and this morning?
Bacon, coffee, and more birthday cake.
Really, who could ask for more?
I'm not sure how I expected to feel about turning forty. My mother (who was not expected to live past her twenties) used to say she thought of every year as a gift. I always thought by the time I was forty, I'd be settled, with kids and a husband and a great group of friends....
Oh, wait. I am.
And I'm actually really happy about it.
Here's to another forty.
My family and I ate Chinese, then after a flying stop at home where I learned I now have a job (squee!) I went to my book club meeting (Love those women. I am BLESSED to have them in my life.) where I was caught up in rolling, choking laughter and camaraderie and a lot of wine and flowers (two different kinds!) and a lovely pressy and so much fun, plus munchies and cake. Then I came home to two wide-awake kids (who then had left-over birthday cake) and this morning?
Bacon, coffee, and more birthday cake.
Really, who could ask for more?
I'm not sure how I expected to feel about turning forty. My mother (who was not expected to live past her twenties) used to say she thought of every year as a gift. I always thought by the time I was forty, I'd be settled, with kids and a husband and a great group of friends....
Oh, wait. I am.
And I'm actually really happy about it.
Here's to another forty.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
playing catch-up
Last Friday, I was laid off from my job.
This was not the best time to have this happen - it never is, is it? - but it wasn't the absolute worst, either. I'm counting my chickens before they're hatched, but I've had some (preliminary) good news on that front already, and I think bigger and better things are soon on their way.
My ticket's bought, my itinerary set - I'll be going to the States next month. A flying visit (no pun intended!) for my step-mother's memorial service. I can't wait to hang out with my Dad, and am going to see Erin too! (Am trying to set up some other blog-friend meet-ups too, but everything's still up in the air. No worries - it's early days yet.)
I've been busy - Rosey's getting baptized on Sunday (it, uh, slipped my mind and we never had it done) and the preparations for that (The whys! The hows! The yes, the minister is going to get you wet(s)! The fancy dress! The anticipation!) are extensive. It should be a pretty service, full of pomp and circumstance and Cass reading a verse and her relatives grinning. I'm really happy that R is being baptized in the same church her brother was (although he was much, much smaller - darned second-child syndrome and lousy maternal memory) and that B and I were married in, and I'm happy that the minister that R and C happily chat with and are learning from gets to assist in the process of welcoming Miss Rosey into the church.
Beyond that, we're having a lazy Saturday, planning to have a walk later - maybe some running through fields and kicking of rocks, maybe some exploring.
After all, it's a beautiful day.
This was not the best time to have this happen - it never is, is it? - but it wasn't the absolute worst, either. I'm counting my chickens before they're hatched, but I've had some (preliminary) good news on that front already, and I think bigger and better things are soon on their way.
My ticket's bought, my itinerary set - I'll be going to the States next month. A flying visit (no pun intended!) for my step-mother's memorial service. I can't wait to hang out with my Dad, and am going to see Erin too! (Am trying to set up some other blog-friend meet-ups too, but everything's still up in the air. No worries - it's early days yet.)
I've been busy - Rosey's getting baptized on Sunday (it, uh, slipped my mind and we never had it done) and the preparations for that (The whys! The hows! The yes, the minister is going to get you wet(s)! The fancy dress! The anticipation!) are extensive. It should be a pretty service, full of pomp and circumstance and Cass reading a verse and her relatives grinning. I'm really happy that R is being baptized in the same church her brother was (although he was much, much smaller - darned second-child syndrome and lousy maternal memory) and that B and I were married in, and I'm happy that the minister that R and C happily chat with and are learning from gets to assist in the process of welcoming Miss Rosey into the church.
Beyond that, we're having a lazy Saturday, planning to have a walk later - maybe some running through fields and kicking of rocks, maybe some exploring.
After all, it's a beautiful day.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
Monday, 4 April 2011
april 3rd
The hoarfrost was thick on the car this morning, of course. But yesterday was gorgeous.
Yesterday afternoon the light was creamy and sweet and the air blew soft and I opened all the windows and let the staleness of winter waft out of the corners and away down the road. It was the kind of day where I wish I had a clothesline, the kind of day when I wander around the outside of the house, plotting I could put a sliding glass door here and a patio here, and the house would be brighter and seem bigger and oh, look at the green just peeping up on the ground and the light! the light has changed and the sandbox gets used and bikes get brought out and I finger my seed catalogs with loving intent.
It was fantastic, capped off with a soft sunset and peeping stars.
Welcome back, Spring.
Yesterday afternoon the light was creamy and sweet and the air blew soft and I opened all the windows and let the staleness of winter waft out of the corners and away down the road. It was the kind of day where I wish I had a clothesline, the kind of day when I wander around the outside of the house, plotting I could put a sliding glass door here and a patio here, and the house would be brighter and seem bigger and oh, look at the green just peeping up on the ground and the light! the light has changed and the sandbox gets used and bikes get brought out and I finger my seed catalogs with loving intent.
It was fantastic, capped off with a soft sunset and peeping stars.
Welcome back, Spring.
Friday, 1 April 2011
stay strong
Rosey has had a hell of a a time lately.
She came down with the flu (despite stoically getting a flu shot last season - these germs are tricky little buggers!) and now they won't leave. They insist they like my girl just fine, thank you, and regardless of time and medicines and just plain wishing them out, they've stayed. Set up housekeeping and everything.
Frankly, I wish they'd take their nasty little selves and go attack some other kid. Watching Rosey be pale and still is unnerving, to say the least. And she hasn't grinned at me in days.
She's mending, slowly. This morning there was a bit of colour in her face (still the terrible eye circles that look like we punch her regularly, damn it) and she wanted to go to school. She came downstairs pretty quickly, but s l o w e d down while eating breakfast and it was obvious her energy levels are really, really low.
She stayed a school a few hours and is now ensconced at the babysitters, where she'll nap and veg out and please! feel better.
I miss bouncy Rosey. A lot.
B took her to the doctor the other day. A virus, of course, was the culprit - one that was quietly decimating the local towns, and had been lasting five days to a week. According to that time-table, she should be feeling better soon.
Just not fast enough.
She came down with the flu (despite stoically getting a flu shot last season - these germs are tricky little buggers!) and now they won't leave. They insist they like my girl just fine, thank you, and regardless of time and medicines and just plain wishing them out, they've stayed. Set up housekeeping and everything.
Frankly, I wish they'd take their nasty little selves and go attack some other kid. Watching Rosey be pale and still is unnerving, to say the least. And she hasn't grinned at me in days.
She's mending, slowly. This morning there was a bit of colour in her face (still the terrible eye circles that look like we punch her regularly, damn it) and she wanted to go to school. She came downstairs pretty quickly, but s l o w e d down while eating breakfast and it was obvious her energy levels are really, really low.
She stayed a school a few hours and is now ensconced at the babysitters, where she'll nap and veg out and please! feel better.
I miss bouncy Rosey. A lot.
B took her to the doctor the other day. A virus, of course, was the culprit - one that was quietly decimating the local towns, and had been lasting five days to a week. According to that time-table, she should be feeling better soon.
Just not fast enough.
Friday, 25 March 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, 19 March 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
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.
Things like:
showing them the GIANT BEAVER teethmarks on the freshly fallen trees by the river..... (hungry beavers)
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.
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
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.
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.*
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