tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29811908457370996262024-02-21T10:16:46.595-07:00you drive mommy to writeif mommy doesn't get these things out, she's quite liable to explode into little bits all over your frozen mozzarella stick lunch.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-16007624881636264312014-01-29T14:34:00.000-07:002014-01-29T14:34:12.484-07:00My Puny Genetics Are Going to Buy That Dentist A Lexus (or, My Coronation Day)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GaXu744wPjPa7GzZ1TDl7T77uPNTa9nKvSmMrD25rC2zvrCLJQ0pnO5WKxSR7X05AdziU32fMIk0FWJddkhmpRdJFBmcIhDPBhCPSdt3cCiuowpvgwBUJkNX9fPpn8W5lYOtm0Mm8yo3/s1600/my+royal+crown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GaXu744wPjPa7GzZ1TDl7T77uPNTa9nKvSmMrD25rC2zvrCLJQ0pnO5WKxSR7X05AdziU32fMIk0FWJddkhmpRdJFBmcIhDPBhCPSdt3cCiuowpvgwBUJkNX9fPpn8W5lYOtm0Mm8yo3/s1600/my+royal+crown.jpg" height="192" width="200" /></a><br />
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Whenever I dreamed of the day I would become royalty, I always imagined my crown to be... bigger.<br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-60171096165699465922013-04-19T17:03:00.000-06:002013-04-19T17:03:41.844-06:00Humanity RestoredIn an effort to defragment from the atrocities of the world today, I thought it wise to humor my children with a trip to the pool. We had a late start, but 1pm turned out to be a fairly good time to splash around without crowds at the local YMCA. Abi made great strides in her swimming practice, and Braeden learned to kick his feet under water like a frog. In terms of swimming it was a winning day.<br />
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The world came back pretty quickly though once we left the gym. We climbed into the car. As I checked on the kids and their buckles, my mind swerved back to bomber hunts in Boston, explosive threats in Denver, and friends fighting threatening illnesses. I drove south along the road, considering the onslaught of hardships that have been seeping into my days, and the days of so many. I stopped at a traffic light, chewed on a sore hangnail, and allowed myself to slip into a small scaled, morose little daze.<br />
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There, on a perpendicular street which departed a large shopping center, a man stood on the corner, facing west. I kept checking the traffic light through my daze, as my mind left my car, and settled on this man. In a few short seconds I noticed items cluttered by his feet. I couldn't tell you now what the items were. I thought I saw a small orange traffic cone, but my eyes climbed too quickly, and I saw he held a sign. <i>A beggar, </i>I thought, and began my guilt ridden self talk of avoidance. <i>He isn't facing me. I don't need to consider if I have anything to help him. I couldn't possibly read his sign from here. </i><br />
<br />
But he felt my eyes on him. His body still facing away, he turned his head, and looked straight at me. I had not brought my eyes up to his. They were still affixed to the board in his hand. He noticed this, and took full advantage of my hesitant curiosity.<i> </i>He flipped his sign, quickly and purposefully in my direction, to reveal one word:<br />
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Smile.<br />
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Turns out I had exactly what he needed, and I provided it in abundance. melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-64471160023186314532012-11-19T14:13:00.001-07:002012-11-19T14:13:34.468-07:00Win, Lose, or Draw Turkeys?As many parents do, I have become somewhat obsessed with the ability of my children to lose- games, or competitions, in this situation (of course, there are other losses to come which I fear, but one step at a time, people).<br />
<br />
It is kind of a natural progression. At first, we let our children win to build their confidence. We lead them to believe that yes, mommy is too stupid to win at Memory or Connect Four, too slow to run up the stairs first, and aren't they clever to be able to conquer a grown-up. They are amazing, and unstoppable, and they know it. Then the inevitable happens. They challenge a friend, sibling, or someone less interested in fostering their tender confidence, and they get trounced. The result? A sob-fest. At which point, any conscientious parent realizes they are about to instruct the lessons of Loss Management. <br />
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Once that begins, it's day to day. Some days, they will hear they didn't get the lead in the school play, and they will be disappointed, but know it is okay. Other days, they will be too tired to fall behind in a video game, and they will crumble. Then there are days like Braeden had today, where all you can do is sit back and watch the turmoil unfold in front of you like beautiful, sparkly train wreck.<br />
<br />
We played a small, card version of Whac-A-Mole, at his suggestion. It's a simple game, save for my parental manipulation of wins vs. losses. He won the first game. Quickly into the second game, I pulled ahead. His face grimaced, and fell into his hands. A moment later, his trembling voice said, "I'm okay!" He won the next card pile, pleasantly, and when I gained the following pile, he started weeping heavily, turning his face against the seat of his chair, but again he called up, smiling, "I'm still okay!" I won the game, and he really broke down. A moment later.... through his bawls, he was assuring me that he was fine. Rationalizing his way through emotional decay. Now where on earth did he get a trait like that?<br />
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I'm thinking we'll do crafts the rest of the day.<br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-87842429111868799142012-09-21T13:24:00.000-06:002012-09-21T13:24:22.203-06:00I don't think this is what they mean by "Expanding Vocabulary".This week in third grade brought an unanticipated milestone. That's not to say the milestone itself was unanticipated, rather the timing was a great big question mark. We all know it has to happen sometime, right? Girl child came home from school with a brand new word- the notorious F-bomb.<br />
<br />
I have third-grader quality details of how the word actually came up during the course of a normal school day. Anyone with any experience having, or being, a child knows that the reliability of information can be sketchy. Plus, heaven knows I don't want to incriminate the poor kid who feels the need for attention by acting out with an "advanced" vocabulary.<br />
I just mostly feel pretty sad about it.<br />
<br />
... and grateful that Girl made it all the way to age 8 1/2 before even hearing it.<br />
... and <i>amazed</i><b> </b>that<b> </b>she didn't first hear it <i><b>from me</b></i>! <br />
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<i>In the eternal race between 'civility' and 'Jersey', 'civility' takes a momentary lead! </i><br />
<i>Woohoo!</i>melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-5528443591836280002012-07-19T12:06:00.000-06:002012-07-19T12:06:13.946-06:00Run GirlI managed to complete my first (only?) half marathon in June. Yes, it hurt. It was pretty fun though. Not just the event, but the training and the hype and the stoking myself up for something new. I'm in need of some sort of new 'thing' to do now. Suggestions welcome, but that's not really the point of this post.<br />
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On Monday, after swimming at the local Y with the kids (okay, my kids don't swim yet- it was knee deep bobbing), girl child asked how old you need to be to use the cardio machines. We asked a knowledgeable Y employee, and kids can start using the machines at age 7, as long as they work out beside a parent. As she is 8, she was compelled to take the necessary machine orientation as soon as possible so that she can come running with me at the gym. On the one hand, I am really excited that, through my actions, I am inspiring my daughter towards a healthy lifestyle in a time when obesity and its complications are strong. On the other hand, I am nervous that over obsessing about fitness will make me drive my daughter to an eating disorder. I don't want her being one of those people that gets stress fractures from over training for anything either.<br />
<br />
Okay, I realize that this is one of my 'crazy mom' moments where I am worrying about all extremes in true maternal style. After all, she had a cheeseburger and french fries for dinner last night, and has been splashed out on the couch streaming Netflix all morning. Plus, she has never wanted to go running with me outside, so I think this is mostly an electronic fascination paired with a desire to publicly do things that grown-ups do. Still. You know. I am a mom. I am entitled to all accompanying neuroses. <br />
<br />
So yesterday afternoon she had her orientation and is fully equipped and excited to get her tread on. After her orientation, for a good dose of balance, I took her to McDonald's for a milkshake where we sat in the parking lot and had a long discussion on the importance of being healthy and balanced, not skinny or injured. Our afternoon jaunt might not prevent any extreme from becoming reality, but it checked my balance box enough to salve the rawness of crazy mom. For now.<br />
<br />
First mother/daughter cardio workout is scheduled for this afternoon. Now I can set my neuroses to just worrying about short term concerns- like her losing control and slamming her face onto the treadmill control panel. Yes, that's much more settling.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-78179160353320023572012-07-11T01:15:00.001-06:002012-07-11T01:15:19.386-06:00Weary. Restless. Human.Gah. I hate negative blog posts. I never want to be someone who sits around bitching about anything. I am sorry. It can not be helped. I am tired of devastation. I realize this isn't your problem, but it is mine. And this is my blog, after all. While it isn't kind of me to make you read about the devastation around me, sometimes a person needs to put some emotions to rest, you know? Or, at least assuage them a little? Somehow (and, for me, that's by writing it out)? You can back out of our little reader/writer arrangement here, which is more than I can say for myself, but I think you won't by now. So, here we are. Me all 'tired of devastation' and you all 'sitting there, drenched in my emotional cloudburst'. <br />
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There were fires here, and the fires were terrible. My home was unaffected, so I should be, and am, grateful for that. It was exhausting though, whether you were evacuated from your home or not, to just be here in this town, watching it all happen. We were all on edge... some evenings, just walking the street where we live, talking to neighbors because it seemed like the only thing we could do to hedge our restlessness. We're just now breathing our relief with the fire's containment, but how much relief is it really as the historical aspects of the burn sink in? Everyone respects a fire fighter, but there is a newness in that respect now, within this town, that is actually difficult to explain. It has become passionate, I think. We are human though. As with all passions, it is not fair how time and a return to 'normal living' will moderate our feelings and our actions. We will remember what those fighters did, and how we felt. Yet, I can't help thinking their valor deserve better than our human-ness. <br />
<br />
A couple of friends have become severely and/or startlingly ill. There are fights ahead, and though we help and support all we can, there's a helplessness. If only there were more... more we could do. In some cases, I feel so capable of being more helpful, but geography presents insurmountable limitations. It feels crippling. <br />
<br />
I get it. I'm a grown up. I know this is the way life happens. The older you get, the more open your eyes become to the ever existent devastations. I get that there is only so much I can do about things. I don't wish to waste too much time wallowing in pity for myself or anyone else. There is simply too much to do for that. I know I need to just help where I can. Impact the people I can impact, and it is not as though life is without its positively gleaming moments.<br />
<br />
Everyone is allowed a little time to be weary of the human experience.<br />
Even me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On we go.<br />
Here's a towel. You should change out of those drenched clothes before you catch yourself a death of a cold. <br />
<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-28437155789793314052012-02-21T14:26:00.000-07:002012-02-21T14:26:01.100-07:00Kitchen QuiltingMy mother is a quilter, as was her mother before her. I have done one or two very small fabric quilting projects, but I don't really think it's for me. Sometimes I am a perfectionist. Other times, I really don't give a rat's patooty. Either way, I end up frustrated.<br />
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I've learned the best quilts tell stories. My grandmother made the one
on my daughter's bed for me when I was her age. One on my son's bed,
from my mom, tells the story of little monkeys jumping on the bed. A
table runner in my dining room is a wooded scene with bears from my Aunt
Candy. I have another table throw made from feed bag fabrics, t-shirt
quilts that document my life from high school to marriage, wall hangings
of mountains and horses and bears (oh my)! The list goes on and on. Quilts made from scraps and special fabrics bought, given, gifted, traded, from here or there, modern to antique. Each one has a story. I try to keep them all in my head, but heaven help me if I should ever be quizzed.</div>
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I realized, as I rummaged through my kitchen scavenging for lunch today that, even though I don't use fabric and thread, I sometimes throw together my own quilting projects... in my kitchen. </div>
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I like to cook when I have time to think about what I'm doing. Cooking doesn't bug me as other crafts sometimes do. Maybe it is the convenience of so many pizza joints if plans go awry, but I don't mind getting experimental in the kitchen. I can strive for perfection or be careless with my ingredients, and there's not much harm. Especially during weekday lunch time when I'm mostly cooking just for me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXs8xpsFLx0rgzGckHZFIFklCkrbwvDq9OknxGBxvJ5ghRdfwOnRVYap-KEqddqVeFHevpZnfOEhcD8Ry6tb4BMN2mq6Ivrwj1yqAQZN65D-9BYv80c6SBztRBv_7ftqBHAuSQujZAASaG/s1600/lunch+21feb12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXs8xpsFLx0rgzGckHZFIFklCkrbwvDq9OknxGBxvJ5ghRdfwOnRVYap-KEqddqVeFHevpZnfOEhcD8Ry6tb4BMN2mq6Ivrwj1yqAQZN65D-9BYv80c6SBztRBv_7ftqBHAuSQujZAASaG/s320/lunch+21feb12.jpg" width="320" /></a>Like quilts, the meals I stitch together sometimes also tell their own stories. Today's lunch: Grilled Chicken and Onions on Toasted Sourdough. <br />
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Hubby decided last October that he wanted to create his own pet sourdough starter. We named her Minerva. Once or twice a week, he harvests some of Minerva's yeast-iness and bakes a loaf of sourdough. A couple of toasted slices seemed like a good place to start for a sandwich. I dressed it with a teaspoon of light sour cream for a touch of smoothness.<br />
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I made my <a href="http://meliswrites.blogspot.com/2012/01/happy-2012-eat-well.html">chicken noodle bowl</a> recipe for dinner last night. I had one and a half thin-sliced marinated chicken breasts left over. I chopped one up and sauteed it with two sliced Cippolini onions. I had never even heard of Cippolini onions until I started sharing a winter vegetable share from a local farm with my friend Kat. CSA veggie delivery day is like Christmas! Maybe a little muddier.<br />
<br />
Sauteed onions and marinated chicken had to be topped with cheese. I had made the boy cub a tortilla cheese roll-up for lunch and had some extra shredded Colby Jack. Turns out I could salvage some spinach from an old box of lettuce I had in the fridge, so I tossed that on top too. With a little fruit on the side, lunch was complete.<br /><br />
My kitchen scraps threw together a really beautiful little treat! All stitched together, it was my own little wholesome quilting project. It sure didn't last as long as most of the other quilting projects I keep in my home, but it sure was delicious! <br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-81225292261262299442012-02-14T00:11:00.001-07:002012-02-14T00:11:27.301-07:00Preschooling<br />
Browsing the children's books in Costco this weekend, I stumbled on a really cute little 2-pack of books that seemed to teach some basic preschool skills to kids ages 2 and up. I am not sure what appealed to me about the books. The cute cover characters perhaps. Or maybe it was the smug little face drawn in the 'o' on the brand logo. Whatever it was, we ultimately decided to purchase a pack for the boy child as a Valentine's gift. Yes, evil mom gives workbooks as presents... he will learn that fun IS work. He will enjoy being pressed into early studies, dammit! Toys are for the weak!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04Fit7-DJoVwn7GVPy6wJmZYHJlHKFWO1AMzVEmoG7DB86wYVtaW5CFSeUEcXGvpuBSmxEhUq_aDOezm3qz5RtsSsZTDOCzqEMPRTiZFsb25e1eVCSlVLtBMpHYghGqSfcaLdSDtS8y6b/s1600/Brae+Pasting+sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04Fit7-DJoVwn7GVPy6wJmZYHJlHKFWO1AMzVEmoG7DB86wYVtaW5CFSeUEcXGvpuBSmxEhUq_aDOezm3qz5RtsSsZTDOCzqEMPRTiZFsb25e1eVCSlVLtBMpHYghGqSfcaLdSDtS8y6b/s320/Brae+Pasting+sm.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
Well, the truth of it is, my slave driving plots backfired. I couldn't tear the boy away from his workbooks this morning! For two and a half hours, he stuck stickers and cut lines and pasted together a host of items from boats and rockets to frogs and birthday cakes. He didn't want to stop. With each item we completed, he insisted we carry on. He was a little irritated with me when I made him play his video games so I could have a 5 minute break to get a drink of water and use the bathroom. <br />
<br />
... and how his skills did develop! His cutting precision improved. He used a glue stick for the first time. He counted the snips his scissors made, and felt pride in properly placing eyes, a nose, and mouth on the face of a panda. We had such a great time!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOCsKv0yGUNYf8UU2_Zi_PXtqHFrAYTSPhpUAPipOg3qbOaNIPWxL_PsY993-DfMWJOL34UxMj5PghbOwjHU8QlMincRhbteTL8BW5RdYctkw2RepNnrb8SizqnRTHy_auQ91Al58CA9C/s1600/Kumon+Fun+sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOCsKv0yGUNYf8UU2_Zi_PXtqHFrAYTSPhpUAPipOg3qbOaNIPWxL_PsY993-DfMWJOL34UxMj5PghbOwjHU8QlMincRhbteTL8BW5RdYctkw2RepNnrb8SizqnRTHy_auQ91Al58CA9C/s320/Kumon+Fun+sm.jpg" width="191" /></a>While I don't often generate a strong opinion on consumer products, I have to say I found these small workbooks to be easy to use, visually riveting for my little guy, and well worth the money. For $7.99 we couldn't have even enjoyed a movie together for two and a half hours. <br />
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We purchased the Kumon books for Stickers & Paste, and Cutting Paper, and I don't know how long I can wait before returning to Costco to see what other books the Kumon company has for us. The Sticker & Paste book was thoroughly defeated in its singular day of use. It has nothing more to offer us. The book on paper cutting might take us through tomorrow, but it is a long shot. I have a feeling there will be disappointment at reaching the final pages.<br />
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It was exciting. This little guy is so enthusiastic about so many things, he himself is a gift. I suppose I expected him to get a kick out of learning and practicing some of these early skills, but I didn't expect it to hold his attention for quite so long. Not when competing with Lego Batman on the PS3, after all.<br />
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Good heavens. Less than a year and a half until Kindergarten. We are striking up that flaming hunger for learning! May it burn and burn in him for the rest of both of our days. melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-87550404174840685412012-02-07T11:22:00.000-07:002012-02-07T11:22:59.625-07:00mis-placed heartsI received the most beautiful love letter today:<br />
<br />
<i><u>YOU</u> <u>ARE</u> <u>MOST</u> <u>BEAUTIFUL</u></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>YOU ARE MY DREAM WIFE-</i><br />
<i><u></u> TODAY I AM REMEMBERING</i><br />
<i>YOUR LIPS-</i><br />
<i>TOMORROW YOUR EYES</i><br />
<i>AND THE NEXT DAY...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I LOVE YOU </i><br />
<i>AND LOVE</i><br />
<i>ALL YOUR WAYS</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>THANKS FOR LOVING ME</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>LOVE,</i><br />
<i>J-BOY</i><br />
<br />
Wait, who thinks I love him? J-Boy?<br />
<br />
Sadly, I don't know any J-Boy who loves all my ways and finds me to be his most beautiful dream wife.<br />
I then notice that the note is written to T-Girl.<br />
Sigh. I am not T-Girl.<br />
I am saddened that lucky T-Girl will never receive her sweetly composed love note.<br />
<br />
But, hey, listen... T-Girl, if you're out there... you hold onto that J-Boy! He's a sweetheart to leave you notes on what he thinks to be your windshield while you do your food shopping. <br />
<br />
... and J-Boy, while I should probably say you're a lovestruck moron for missing the clear indications that my CRV was not your T-Girlmobile (the plates, the telltale car seats in the backseat, the massive juggling bag cluttering the trunk), anytime you ,or any of your buddies, want to leave a love note on my windshield telling me I am most beautiful... bring it, baby. I am going to be smiling the rest of my day pretending you are remembering the lips and eyes of this jobless, witless, goal-less, middle-aged mother of two. <br />
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Ahhh... vicariously T-Girl.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-54845338779339708912012-01-01T16:47:00.000-07:002012-01-01T16:47:10.076-07:00Happy 2012! Eat well!I was spending a good bit of time thinking of what smart and poignant post I might make for my very first blog of the New Year... but NOOOOoooooo. All you people really want is my Noodle Bowl Recipe. Know what? That's the important stuff anyway! Eat up, my loves!<br />
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<b><u>Melissamese Chicken Noodle Bowl</u></b> <br />
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<i>Chicken Marinade (qtys are estimates. Let your personal cooking chi be your guide):</i> <br />
1/2 c. canola oil<br />
1/4 c. sesame oil <br />
3 cloves garlic, chopped<br />
1 TBSP Asian black bean garlic sauce <br />
1-2 TBSP hoisin sauce<br />
1/4 tsp ground fresh chili paste<br />
1/4 c. rice vinegar<br />
1/2-1 lime's worth of lime juice<br />
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Muddle that mix in the container of your choice (I use a gallon ziplock bag). Violently slash criss-crosses along thin sliced chicken breasts (or whatever kind of chicken chest you wanna use) and drown them in the marinade for a couple of hours before grilling them cooked. I'm not to tell you how to grill them. Work it out.... but don't grill them until you have the rest of your bowl pretty much assembled... unless you want your chicken cold-ish, which really doesn't matter. It's still awesome.<br />
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<i>Here are the bowl layers, pretty much in order from first in to last in (qtys are- as much as you like. I'm not eating it.):</i> <br />
sliced Napa cabbage<br />
fresh bean sprouts (canned ones are soggy and gross)<br />
shredded carrots<br />
cucumber slivers (or julienned, if you like to talk all fancy)<br />
sliced green onion<br />
cilantro<br />
a nice big handful of rice noodles, cooked and cooled however cool you want it<br />
marinated and grilled chicken breast<br />
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Then, if you consider yourself saucy, you can add an Asian sauce of your liking. I love Tyler Florence's Peanut Sauce from <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/tyler-florence/chicken-satay-with-peanut-sauce-recipe/index.html">this recipe</a>, adjusting the sambal to personal taste. Those allergic to peanuts in my home just use plain hoisin or soy sauce with great joy.<br />
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Mostly the joy is because I made them a yummy dinner. <br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-82915323527219365132011-11-16T10:13:00.001-07:002011-11-16T10:30:51.672-07:00Illegal Possession of Pudding?I have to credit our little neighborhood school. They do a good job of instructing our elementary kids to "say NO!" to drugs. So much so, that my daughter and her girlfriend tried boldly to tell my father he should not be going out to have a cigarette after having his dinner at Texas Roadhouse a while back. After enacting that scene for something like 15 years, I've deemed it fruitless. Still, I was really impressed at their caring and their sense of empowerment. That might be one of the strongest assets towards saying no to drugs, after all, as a child. Of course, knowing what substances are actually "drugs" helps too. <br />
<br />
We ended up discussing drugs at dinner the other night. Abi told me a lie in an effort to side with a friend and keep from fighting with him. I told her that it wasn't okay to follow friends just to avoid conflict...<br />
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"What if he asked you to do drugs? Are you going to say 'yes,' just to avoid conflict? That's not okay!"<br />
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She seemed to see point, and immediately kicked into a school scripted "I know what to do!" mode. "No! I would say no! I know what the drugs are, Mommy. They taught us in school. Marijuana, alcohol, and uh... ta.... tapioca." <br />
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"Tapioca? Really?" I asked. "They told you tapioca is a drug?"<br />
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"Um. Yeah. It's that stuff that is in the cigarettes that Papa smokes."<br />
<br />
Lightbulb.<br />
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"Tobacco, honey. It's called tobacco."<br />
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Sigh. Baby steps. <br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-66939976127265760092011-11-11T11:53:00.001-07:002011-11-11T12:07:12.138-07:00Too much baking, not enough engineering?Returning home from gymnastics yesterday:<br />
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<i>Me: </i>"Come on in, Brae. Let's wash your hands and have some lunch."<br />
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<i>Boy: </i>"But, Mommy, I don't want to wash my hands!"<br />
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<i>Me:</i> "You have to, honey."<br />
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<i>Boy:</i> "Why?"<br />
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<i>Me:</i> "Because we just came from the gym, and your hands have germs on them."<br />
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<i>Boy (Looking at hands, moving them closer and closer until they are touching his eyes):</i> "No they don't. I don't see any."<br />
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<i>Me:</i> "Babe, germs are microscopic. That means they are so small that you can not see them with your eyes. You have to have a special tool called a microscope to see them." <br />
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<i>Boy:</i> "Can we make one? I will get some paper, and...."<br />
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<i>Me: </i> "No. Brae, we can't make one."<br />
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<i>Boy (Pouting):</i> "Why not?"<br />
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<i>Me:</i> "I do not have the things we would need in order to build a microscope, honey."<br />
<br /><i>Boy:</i> "You don't have the ingredients to make a microscope?"<br />
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<i>Me:</i> "No, dear. I don't have the ingredients."<br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-30123559235681528782011-11-03T23:17:00.000-06:002011-11-03T23:17:03.138-06:00Gag me with a fashion trendOverheard in the Chick-Fil-A playroom:<br />
Glamour Mommy to daughter: "Oh, look at these cute boots, honey! Why can't you wear cute boots like this?"<br />
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Oh, how I wanted to answer for the young girl:<br />
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<i>"Because, Mommy, I don't want to be bound at the feet and strung up at the disco." </i><br />
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Colorado Commandment #1: Thou shalt not wear cold weather gear encrusted with sequins if thou art not Michael Jackson.<br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-66611434618857429262011-10-14T12:03:00.000-06:002011-10-14T12:03:32.365-06:00Bikers BewareI truly need to do some research around the bike laws here in Colorado. In fact, I am sure some of you, my pals, out there know a good deal more of it than I do. I knew Jersey bike laws pretty intimately, but here.... is it different? Or are people just stupid?<br />
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Look, I'm a parent. I get that it <i>feels</i> safer to teach a child to ride a bike on a sidewalk, if it's available. You want to keep the kids active but away from cars on the street. It <i>feels</i> smarter to teach someone to ride <i>towards</i> oncoming traffic, so the biker can see what is coming towards him or her as opposed to having traffic sneak up from behind. I ride a bike too (albeit only in leap years between 3:15 and 4 pm on March 27th if it's a Saturday and the weather is nice, or something akin to such rarity). I know what feels safer to a biker. Thing is, when I was a kid, I was taught that, no matter what you feel is safer, you follow general traffic regulations. You ride with traffic, not against it. You don't ride bikes on sidewalks any more than you'd drive your car on one. Why? Well, because that was the law, but more importantly, if you do it any other way you are far more likely to either smack into a pedestrian or, if you are less lucky, get creamed by a Ford F150 (South Jersey). <br />
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Well, last night I almost creamed some fool teenager biking against traffic. I pulled out of a parking lot, down a side street and I approached a main thoroughfare through my neighborhood. The streets were empty. It was nearing 10pm. As I neared a stop sign, I saw a bicycler on the "wrong" side of the street. He carried a flashlight, and shined it right at me so I could see him. Okay. He was on the "wrong" side of the road, but I appreciated that small safety measure, even if I was temporarily blinded. He wasn't the problem. The problem was that his buddy, biking 10 yards behind him, rode without a flashlight, also on the "wrong" side of the road. If I had not paused long enough to watch the flashlight kid carry on a bit down the road, I might have smacked right into his darkly dressed pal. The boy had passed almost completely in front of my vehicle, about a foot from my bumper, before I even saw him. Riding in the dark on the "proper" side of the street would at least have allowed my headlights an opportunity to catch him. And I'm pretty sure if I smashed a kid the fault would fall to me, even if he was the one being a moron. I would win the physics game, but lose the legal one. Plus, I might feel a little bad destroying even a dumb kid. <br />
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I think if this incident were isolated, I would simply mutter "dumb kid," and move on with my life instead of ranting here on my blog... but about 2 months ago, as I was walking my kids to school, my son was literally run over by a kid who was riding to school on his bike- on the sidewalk. My boy took the hit and rolled off of the curb into the street. I am grateful every day that a car was not coming at that time. Now, okay, the rider was a very young kid riding his bike. I could tell the young biker tried to stop his bike and simply could not. I accepted his apology and asked if he himself was okay (he must have only been 6 or 7). None of this makes it okay to me that this boy was riding a bike on the sidewalk nearing the school. A lot of people walk the sidewalks in this area. Bicycles are moving vehicles that can cause injury. My son recovered quickly, but it leaves me wondering... what is the law around things like this? Shouldn't we be teaching our kids to at least hop off of the bike and walk it on the sidewalks within a few blocks of the school? My boy recovered from his fall quickly, but he is still very haunted. He wants me to pick him up whenever he sees a bike on the sidewalk. Which is far too often.<br />
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So now I have a new research project. Time to know the Colorado law. It's a good thing for me to fully understand, truthfully. Maybe I won't feel so bad about screaming at people that they are reckless fools if I know the law is on my side. Mehh. I probably won't feel bad anyway. <br />
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<br />melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-58752014161290960522011-10-11T21:38:00.002-06:002011-10-11T21:48:03.364-06:00What the heckWe rise early on Tuesdays to get the seven year old to choir practice at the school.<br /><br />"What the heck?" the three year old chimed this morning.<br />"It's still dark outside!"<br /><br />What the heck indeed.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-53488995813991879722011-10-09T22:35:00.002-06:002011-10-09T23:49:51.313-06:00In the kitchenIt has been a day of excellent cooking qi! I can't take full credit. I started by mooching qi from my neighbor and dear friend, Kat, as we made and jarred green tomato chutney and white wine/oregano jam. It was a task of obligation, largely, as our gardens were packed with green tomatoes and herbs yet the first snow of the season slammed us this weekend. It was time for the last harvest. As it often does, obligation delivered greatness, as the flavors were simply smashing.<br /><br />From there, the kitchen adventures landed me in the middle of a fantastic Broccoli Cheese Soup recipe for dinner. Bonus: the kids actually ate the stuff. Alright, they needed mild bribery, but it wasn't much. They did great.<br /><br />The day ended with a batch of my awesome chocolate chip cookies. Tough to beat that.<br /><br />I am pretty excited about today's cooking, actually. We did go out for lunch today, but we have been working hard to eat at home more often in an effort to control spending. It seems we have seen some success too after a few weeks of this. It is only encouraging to find the preparations from our own kitchen to be delicious. It makes it seem less like cutting corners and more like expanding our horizons more economically.<br /><br />As I was baking cookies tonight, I remembered my mother baking cookies when I was a child. She would add just half of a 12 oz bag of chocolate chips to the batter. It wasn't until I had an oven of my own in which to bake that I realized the recipe called for twice that amount. People had said I was a spoiled child, but clearly my childhood was riddled with deprivation! A cookie with twice as many chocolate chips was pure luxury!<br /><br />As I thought on this tonight, I considered that Mom reduced the chips in order to make them go further. Stretching the ever critical dollar to one more batch of cookies. I appreciate her frugality. Interesting though that reducing the whole recipe by half was never the way she handled this. We had plenty of cookies. It was always just the chips that were reduced.<br /><br />Well, whether I am trying to cut corners now or not, I have seen the light. Once you've tasted luxury it's hard to go back, and while I can sacrifice dinner out 2-3 times a week, some 'quality of life' decisions can not be compromised. The chip count stays true to the recipe.<br /><br />So, we will see what the coming week in home cooked meals brings. At least I can rest assured that dessert will be spot on!melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-38083532447548375932011-06-07T23:49:00.004-06:002011-06-08T00:19:44.824-06:00Take me out to the ballgame!It looks like it will be the season of the Detroit Tigers this year, as Abigail begins her YMCA Summer Baseball League. I am excited about it. After day one of practice though, I am a little nervous about whether or not this sport will stick through the short season, much less for coming years. She seemed a little bummed after practice today and didn't seem to have fun, though she couldn't really articulate why.<br /><br />Maybe I shouldn't be too surprised. She was the only girl at practice today and we have had some gender issues. Before school ended, she told me during a car ride, "Mommy, Michael at school was making fun of me today." I inquired to the nature of the 'fun'. "He made fun of me because I said I was playing baseball this summer. He said girls can't play baseball." My inner Warrior Princess pulled her Chakram and prepared for battle.<br /><br />"He said you were not able to do it? Abi, would I have signed you up for something you could not do?" My battle cry sounded.<br /><br />"No," she said.<br /><br />"Do you think then that you are able to play baseball?"<br /><br />"Yes!"<br /><br />"Abi, for the rest of your life, it is possible you will run into this from time to time- a boy telling you that you can not do something because you're a girl. There is just one thing, Abi, that you can not do because of the fact that you are a girl. Do you know what that is?"<br /><br />"What?" she asked.<br /><br />"Have a penis."<br /><br />She seemed to like that answer.<br /><br />Well, and alright, I realize that, with the powers of modern science, even that is not a complete truth, but come on, there is only so much I am going to get into at this point with a seven year old.<br /><br />Yes, I know that I am just asking for that comment to go full circle- to hear from a teacher or another parent that she is repeating the 'penis' comment someplace. I did tell her it's not a very respectful thing to say in front of others... but I also clarified that if someone is bringing up being a girl as a disadvantage in the first place, the disrespect has already started, so... well... game on!<br /><br />I like baseball. I like having a baseball playing daughter.<br />We will take it one season at a time, and be grateful for every day she isn't talking about cheer leading!melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-82060898957404047842011-04-13T23:49:00.003-06:002011-04-14T01:18:28.174-06:00Anatomy and GeographyAlright, I'm beginning a post here without really knowing how I am going to say what it is that I have to say. I do know that the nice thing to do, here at the beginning, is to provide full disclosure that matters usually considered 'Too much Information' are discussed below. It doesn't bother me; I've decided to plow ahead with the writing, but now plowing on with the reading is up to you... and I think we both know you've just stepped way too far to even THINK of turning back now. Well, for what it's worth, I do assure you, any discomfort you feel will be well worth it in the end.<br /><br />Back data.... the TMI part: I just recently came off of my monthly period. Having two small children (read: zero privacy whatsoever), they often inquire about feminine hygiene practices. It's mostly old hat for the girl now that she is 7, and has seen a lot of this. The boy, however, specifically as he himself is potty training, is investigating potty rituals, and is now perceptive when practices are outside of the norm. Tampons- previously a fun, colorful wrapper yanked from a box, surrounding a chewy, fibrous lollipop- are now seen in action, and the questions swirl. I think lessons of anatomy, and safety are important at this age, so I have started telling the boy that, no, I am not putting something in my bottom (and he should not put things in his bottom)... I have specific girl parts that he does not have, and he has boy parts that I do not have. We talk about those parts, and talk about the fact that the girl parts are for having babies, and we talk about the fact that when women are old enough to have babies, but don't have babies, bleeding happens. I have always thought that I drench (pardon the pun) the conversation with more facts and detail than is actually digested, but I give them what I can, and usually at least some information is... (sorry) absorbed.<br /><br />Forward leap: lunch today. Boy and I went to Whole Foods. It's usually a special treat for Mommy. No different today. We gathered yummy lunchings... a slice of pizza, items from the salad bar, a cup of soup, a roll. We sat side by side on the patio and ate heartily. He is often quite a conversationalist, and not a whispered one at that. So we communicated openly about many things... what we were eating, if we liked it, if we didn't, if we wanted to share, if one of us would finish something, what we were going to shop for next in the store, in what order, and how we weren't going to fuss when it was time to leave the fun parts.<br /><br />We were there at the height of lunchtime, so the patio was far from empty. As we were close to being finished, the boy started picking up on other conversations around us. A man sitting behind him was on a cellphone discussing some fund raising for a cancer center. Beside him, a couple of working gentlemen at a table discussed their interests and global travels. I suppose one of the men started talking about China, because the boy excitedly proclaimed, "China! He said China! Mommy, you have a China! Girls have a china, and boys have penises..."<br /><br />I choked a chuckle as I realized I was sitting in the middle of my real life. My real life, surrounded by curious people who were eating their lunches on a patio at Whole Foods, listening to an almost three year old little boy review his latest lesson. At lightning speed, my mind considered options of 1) correcting his phonetic misunderstanding of female anatomy or 2) applauding his attention to details learned at potty moments. I figured the best course of action would probably be to exploit his age appropriate attention span and quickly change the subject!<br /><br />"Yes, Braeden. That's right... so, which gummy bunnies do you want to get, the green box or the orange box?" He fell for it. Public humiliation minimized.<br /><br />Alright, so I have some work to do on clarifications.<br />At least the little guy will understand why we call our planet <i>Mother</i> Earth... what with her having a China.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-73377129555557977792011-03-24T00:33:00.004-06:002011-03-24T09:50:39.197-06:00Why Dragons Should Eat ChildrenWe spent a bit of time at the zoo this week. While there, we visited the smelly Hippo house that also houses the Penguins, an Albino Python, and a Komodo Dragon. Or, so I thought.<br /><br />We walked into the building, and I bee-lined for the Dragon. I can skip the dumb penguins, but I always get excited to show my kids a real life Dragon. We looked high and low in the exhibit for the beastie before seeing the sign on the glass (yes, right in front of our noses) bearing a long, two paragraph tale about the Komodo Dragon. I stood there, and began reading the sign- highlighting the important parts vocally to my two year old (who can't read, by the way).<br /><br /><i>... Hektor (the Dragon), seemed to be limping. The keepers watched her (yes, Hektor was apparently a girl), then decided she needed to be examined. The vets looked at her and determined she had a spinal neck injury... </i><br /><br />It was at this point that I noticed a boy, maybe 8 or 9 years old, standing next to me, staring at me as I read. I looked, inquisitively, at him standing there.<br /><br />"It's dead," he said to me, dryly.<br /><br />"It's...?... The dragon died?!?" I said. "Man, you just gave away the ending of the story I was reading. What's up with that?"<br /><br />Undaunted, he said, "Well, that is the funnest part of the story thing," and dashed away.<br /><br />Funnest?! The Dragon was slain!<br />It's terrible news.<br />And still no excuse for such a pointed spoiler!<br /><br />Freaky kid.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-49135035325694948222011-03-23T22:50:00.003-06:002011-03-24T00:25:32.707-06:00Hush Little BabyThe school calendar is giving us a break this week in honor of the season, and it's been fun having Abi more in our days. True, we need to strike the right daily balance of activity versus down time to appease all of us (which seems easier with Braeden alone), but it's been an adventurous balancing act. Monday there was too much out and about. Tuesday there was too little. Today was spot on, and I could tell it by the way they got along. <br /><br />They have reached their disagreeable sibling phase. Until recently, Braeden was the sweet little one who often followed Abi's instructions. Lately he has discovered the joy that is found in frustrating and irritating his big sister. She also has developed a very short fuse in dealing with him, which really just fuels his fires. Though this is a new phase, I do want to say that I am impressed they have done so well for so long, and I feel they still do well by each other quite frequently by any normal sibling standards. <br /><br />Back to today, for example. We spent the morning terrorizing the Stride Rite outlet so the kids could actually have clean sneakers that fit them. Once through, we had a quick lunch, then set off for home. The kids wanted to go to a playground, and in fact started shouting at me about it at lunch. Well, I certainly wasn't going to tell them we would play straight away after they humiliated me so harshly at such a fancy restaurant as McDonald's, so I made them a deal that we would not go anywhere until after Braeden had taken his nap. In the car, however, I did tell Abi that if he slept on the way home, we might go someplace for when he wakes up to take advantage of the warmth of the day. Braeden knew that he needed to nap before anything fun happened, so he relaxed in the car. Abi asked me to turn off the radio and immediately began singing <i> Hush Little Baby, Don't Say A Word </i> to him. Over and over again for 10 minutes she sang until he fell asleep. She was so proud of herself. "It always works for him!" she whispered to me when he had dozed off. <br /><br />Well, I thought it was such a sweet thing for her to do. Granted though, it was a bit self-serving. She knew his sleep was the key to her playtime... go on and temper the credit you give her for this kindness, she'll earn it back as I tell you more. <br /><br />We went to the playground for an hour as Brae woke up. The kids had a great time and really didn't even fuss when it was time to leave. On the drive home, Braeden looked over to Abi and said, "Abi? Can you sing to me the song that put me to sleep?" She was only too happy to oblige, and when <i> Hush Little Baby </i> was over, she sang other songs she had made up for him all the way home. <br /><br />I couldn't help but smile as she sang. Despite the more frequent tears and tense voices, when the stars are aligned it is nice to see they still have these moments of leaning on each other.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-77869678191287064522011-03-16T09:43:00.007-06:002011-03-19T23:59:34.767-06:00Darn you, TLC.So, the nature of a guilty pleasure is being positively ashamed about the personal satisfaction said pleasure provides. Therefore, it goes without saying how horrific it is for me to reveal to you that my latest guilty pleasure is watching <i>What Not To Wear</i> on <i>TLC</i>. I can truly hear all of you that really know me laughing hysterically. Rather makes you wonder how I can learn so much and apply so little, eh? I know, I know. But look, I'm not here to defend my lack of grace and style. I want to discuss a far more important issue. <br /><br />I'm staring down the barrel of 35. A matter of minutes here in the mountain zone, and my birthday will throw me into the back half of my thirties. I've scoffed at friends who have had trouble accepting their thirty-fifth birthdays. <i> "What's the big deal?"</i> I thought. <i>"It's just a number, and it beats the alternative!"</i> Though I recognize these to be true when it's my time bomb that's going off, my aforementioned guilty pleasure has given me a whole new framework around which to walk the tightrope of my insecurities.<br /><br />If you've sacrificed an hour of your life to laugh at, sympathize with, or relate to one of <i>WNTW's</i> makeover stars, you'll know that when Stacy and Clinton transition us to or from their commercial sponsors, we are often flashed a fashion guideline on a bright street sign. It's as though we should follow these instructions as we would instructions to YIELD or to use CAUTION in a SCHOOL ZONE. At first I thought they were silly... ignorable... until recently... when I realized that one of the signs read, "No miniskirts over 35!" <br /><br />Well, okay nevermind the fact that the only time I wore a miniskirt BEFORE 35 was at an 80's theme party and I donned a pair of opaque black leggings for modesty's (and Cindy Lauper's honor's) sake. The fact is, I became starkly aware that this one step- aging to this one particular number- is taking something away from me! I bet it's just the first in a long line of things. Next I'll be too old to wear my hair long, know all the lyrics to the latest rap hits, or watch the next <i>Twilight</i> movie. Then I'll be too old to roller skate with my kids, wear spandex, or put on a bathing suit that isn't skirted. Then I'll be too old to wear V-neck sweaters, drive a Jeep Wrangler, or wear a skirt without support hose... and it all starts just because Stacy and Clinton tell me I can't do something I never did anyway. <br /><br />35. I never thought it was all that old until now.<br /><br />Crap. I only have 5 minutes left to wear a miniskirt...melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-41186438117336576692011-02-06T22:58:00.002-07:002011-02-07T00:10:32.993-07:00Nightmares can come true.The family went out for dinner Friday night in more or less a celebration of hubby getting a new job. He had been looking for a while, and is so looking forward to his new position. This led to a pleasant dining excursion... until Abi dropped the bomb.<br /><br />"Mommy, my friend at school was talking at school about doing cheer. It's something they do at basketball games and soccer games, and it looks like fun. They are doing something at (a local high school), and I want to go!"<br /><br />"Abi. Are you telling me you want to be a cheer leader?" I asked.<br /><br />"Ya!!"<br /><br />I stopped myself just short of bursting into tears and screaming. This dinner was, after all, to be a happy occasion. <br /><br />I asked her if she wouldn't prefer to be the one ON the basketball court playing basketball, or ON the soccer field playing soccer. Do you know what she told me?!?! She said, "no, because only boys do those things." I swear, she's trying to kill me.<br /><br />I told her that there were many athletic things that she could do, and if she needed me to show her women playing basketball or soccer or softball or volleyball or other sports, then I would make sure she sees that. She was excited about the prospect... but was sure to point out the cheer leading clinic registration form she brought home from school. <br /><br />Now, in my heart, I know that my daughter has the upbeat spirit of a cheer leader, and I know what I really should be doing is allowing her every opportunity to at least try the healthy things that interest her. But I ask you this... <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> cheer leading healthy? <br /><br />I'm thinking kind of no. That's not to say it isn't a strenuous athletic activity that requires a strong bit of talent and fitness. I'm not talking physical health here. I'm talking about the psychology of being a <span style="font-style:italic;">cheer leader</span>. Yes, I'm calling on the stereotypes, but I went through high school. I knew the cheerleaders were not friends for girls like me. I was the flannel shirt wearing, flat hair donning semi-grunge orchestra nerd girl who, mostly ineptly, threw elbows around playing street basketball with the boys. I mean, didn't I at least need a manicure just to talk to a cheer leader? Isn't there an undertone of being 'popular' as a cheer leader? I don't want that pressure on my kid.<br /><br />Alright, okay, you can say that I'm a grown up now and I should be above basic things like high school-ish stereotypes, but the truth of it is, I AM NOT!!! Now my daughter wants to be a cheer leader!... and I want her to be anything she wants to be! Just... not a cheer leader. <br /><br />Sometimes parenting can be a bummer... and I'm only at the beginning. :/melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-34249466503356702242011-01-09T10:07:00.002-07:002011-01-09T10:22:46.041-07:00A Sunday Moment from the Two Year OldDaddy watched Braeden play with the train today before it was put away with the Christmas decor.<br /><br /><br /><b>Daddy:</b> <i>Braeden, when I was a little boy, I played with that train. That was my Polar Express.</i><br /><br /><b>Braeden:</b> <i>Oh! Was it smaller?</i>melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-73320467947068165432011-01-04T09:18:00.014-07:002011-01-04T22:29:56.787-07:00Hamster or Heister?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkVi5cU4bHIjyb_a5Bn4ackh2nY1qEFyL0T1k-w7K50hItLh14hdItTNGmtzm0ovdv-5AxmRdaXH8dbtM4BzXmXYo7tP14aWl41NQ0JAeT9shYon2m6KHk6CgI14WIA055yV1mWcamOGD/s1600/natasha.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkVi5cU4bHIjyb_a5Bn4ackh2nY1qEFyL0T1k-w7K50hItLh14hdItTNGmtzm0ovdv-5AxmRdaXH8dbtM4BzXmXYo7tP14aWl41NQ0JAeT9shYon2m6KHk6CgI14WIA055yV1mWcamOGD/s320/natasha.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558371510834219730" border="0" /></a><br />I don't believe I shared news on a relatively recent addition to our family earlier in the winter. After some thought and consideration, it was determined we would acquire a teddy bear hamster from a local pet shop. Thus, Natasha was welcomed into our home.<br /><br />Well, mostly welcomed. I mean... <i>I</i> was rooting for the bearded dragon. The girly girl wanted something cute and fuzzy, so she enlisted her father as a lobbyist. After mild negotiation, she was able to make the pet selection of her choice, and the lobbyist received primary responsibility for supervision of cage cleaning duties. Hey, all is fair in love and pet acquisitions.<br /><br />Natasha, however, does not seem willing to accept her appointed role of dim witted house rodent.<br /><br />One night, before her noisiness had her relocated to our downstairs level, she escaped through a poorly aligned Habitrail ball. After the better part of an hour, we tracked her to a cluttered corner of my bedroom. More recently, she found a poorly latched hatch in her little plastic penthouse. I watched her push it up again and again until she nearly popped out of it. I then solidly clicked the hatch, thinking myself the intellectual superior- for the moment. A few days later, in our family room, I happened to catch a light thumping sound, and I looked up to see her flopped on the floor by her cage, looking rather startled. I grabbed her before her getaway gathered much momentum, and back into the cage she went. I double checked that the hatch was secure, but later that same night, we heard rattling sounds behind our component system. Her cage was empty, and sure enough, she sat perched on a bunch of cables. Her blue plastic penthouse view was thereafter obscured by a layer of packing tape.<br /><br />Well, we were starting to think this plastic cage idea was very cutesy, but very ineffective. Did the tape solve our issue? Predictions?<br /><br />Yesterday morning, Todd was readying for work as the kids and I lazed around in bed. As he exited the bathroom in the hall, he exclaimed in a reprimanding tone, "ABIGAIL ROSE!" Well, I was shocked as to what in the world my daughter had done already when she had barely been out of bed yet. I immediately became defensive of her, yet listened to his next words...<br /><br />"NATASHA JUST RAN INTO YOUR BROTHER'S ROOM!" It seemed he was about to accuse her of being careless with her pet. <br /><br />Abigail looked confused.<br /><br />"Wait a minute," I said. I had distinctly checked the cage, and Natasha was in it when I went to bed the night before, and I really hadn't thought Abi had left the upstairs since waking. "Abigail, have you even been downstairs this morning, to take Natasha out of her cage?"<br /><br />Abigail said, "no!"<br /><br />The hamster was wrangled from Braeden's room as we considered this mystery. Abigail ran downstairs, and the metal barred door to the cage laid plainly open. We put Natasha back in the cage. We agreed at some point within 24 hours, a glass aquarium would be her new home. Todd affixed a butterfly clip to the cage door as a temporary solution and went to work. <br /><br />By this time, it was clear we had an escape artist on our hands. Little did we know her more disgusting crimes were yet unidentified!<br /><br />Todd and the children went out for the glass aquarium when he returned from work (notice, I still avert primary responsibility for housing the little beast). They decorated her glass enclosed space with its new amenities until dinner was on the table. After we ate, Abi was excited to relocate Natasha. She was excused to go look at Natasha while we finished eating.<br /><br />"Mommy!" she said. "There is a CHAIN in Natasha's cage." I asked her what color it was, and she said it was gold. Huh?<br /><br />Now I was confused. I don't often have moments when I think, <i> kids are so weird</i>, and just ignore my daughter, but I admit this was one of those distracted moments. MISTAKE! I didn't really take her seriously until she came at me holding a sticky, balled up cluster of tarnished silver, intermingled with a few moist pine chips and other... clumpy unidentifiable deposits.<br /><br />Eeww! I recognized the chain as one of my silver necklaces as I rinsed it loose from congealed hamster saliva and... other things. Not only had that little critter escaped, scrambled all over the house and somehow climbed the stairs up to our bedroom level, but she had swindled my silver necklace (I know not from where), tucked her treasure into her sneaky little pouches, and kept it there safe until she could deposit the booty to her inept prison! One can only speculate as to what her next steps would have been. Was she going to use my lovely necklace to bum a few extra smokes from her cell block mates, the goldfish?! <br /><br />We will never know.<br /><br />My necklace has been soaked in hot soap. The mini-swindler now resides in her transparent home. Time will tell if her plots of mischief are now thwarted. I admit, I give her a good bit of credit for being a clever little beast. Now as long as she stays within bounds I won't have to bring in a boa constrictor as her new warden.melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2981190845737099626.post-16649228332911789772011-01-02T07:30:00.006-07:002011-01-03T00:05:35.719-07:002010- A year in reviewHA!! No, I wouldn't do that to you. Even if you're a complete stranger, I would not subject you to a review of my last 12 months. It's not a huge secret that I wasn't a fan of 2010 from the start, and that remained pretty consistent. Alright, look, the year was not without its upswings. That in mind, I'll be generous and say it was a <i>FAIR</i> year. I had some nice visits with friends and family, under a range of circumstances. I watched my kids grow and develop in amazing ways, and in seemingly good health. I managed to live another year in a beautiful place surrounded by beautiful people. But as for the separations, deaths, stresses, and uncertainties of 2010, I have only this to say.... HUMBUG!<br /><br />So, I'm going to roll with this newfangled calendar year with a jaded acceptance of an often unpleasant reality and a mild dose of hope. 2011 won't be a starry eyed surprise. 2010 left too much of its baggage. But hey. It's not 2010 anymore. That's a start. <br /><br />In the event you were wondering, I'm not much up to making resolutions. That's not necessarily a life philosophy. I just don't feel I am in a position to resolve much of anything presently. That said, I'll work on stuff, just as I always do, with timely things taking on more timely focus. <br /><br />My fiery personality needs stoking. Yet, some dear pals are having babies! That means I need to try and be nice sometimes. That's what people are supposed to be around babies.<br /><br />A bridesmaid's dress awaits me in 2011. Heaven knows I don't have many of those left, so a little more discipline in the physical arena might be smart. <br /><br />I should probably mop my floors sometime this year. Yeah. That would be nice. <br /><br />You know, I'd also like to try to get back into writing some more, even if it's just right here in Blogylvania. It's simply not fair of me to keep from enthralling my loyal readers for such large spans of time, don't you think? <br /><br />I'd kind of like to take up smoking too. It looks like a nice way to break up the tension in a day. But no, that would be yucky and unhealthy and that's a pretty dumb thing to work towards. Maybe I can just take tea breaks that have to be alone, outdoors, so no one else inhales my second hand breakfast tea fumes. Sure, that works.<br /><br />So, into 2011, come what may. <br />I wish you a year brimming with life's fullness... and if it turns out to be full of better stuff than mine, then just shut up about it, won't ya?melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18329405231703247384noreply@blogger.com4