Deer me

It isn't hunting season that has these deer down.

Nope. It's exhausted homeowners. And wind. And rain.

And, well, maybe embarrassment.

The buck has been unable to stay up since we found the two does mounted one morning.

Good Samaritans have tried to erect the deer on various occasions, but the wire beasts continue to be found moping on the ground.

The other day, a couple we'd just met informed us we are the "Dead Deer" house. Ho ho no!

I feel guilty for writing this post  about holiday decor back in 2008 BC (Before Children). I didn't realize the homeowners were probably too busy saying things like "Take that golf club out of your ear!" and "Get your finger out of your sister's nose!" to their own little elves to care two antlers about reindeer on the lawn.

Any holiday decor is a testimony to the holidays that someone cared enough to haul the electrical nightmares out of storage.

Next year, those deer are hibernating.

Friday Favorite: It's the little things...

I like Lucky Brand clothes.  We get catalogs from them. The winter issue arrived and I laughed out loud when I saw it.

If this is the style this season, well... I just don't get it. Could they be for real?

Is it just me, or does this model look like a (sexy) homeless man who stole some bag lady's sweater to throw over the flannel he found that was so small he couldn't button it?

And look at the expression on his face.  My mind came up with all sorts of scenarios of what he must be thinking.

Give it a try. Leave a comment on what you think a caption to this photo should be.

Maxisms

Our week was full of Maxisms. Here are a few:

Monday:
The boy child had been ornery all day. Frustrated, I asked, "Who are you?"
He said, "Maximus the Magnificent."
Hmmm. I'm sure this all might be connected.

Tuesday:
Max: Did you see Miss Bri's dress? It was pretty, pretty, pretty.
Me: Did you tell her?
Max: NO! (grinning and nodding knowingly) I want it to be a surprise.

Saturday: 
Max: EW! What's that smell?
Me: Steamed broccoli.
Max: It smells like Elmo poop.

Sunday:
Max: Mom, you're a princess. I'm going to buy you a crown.  A crown you put on your head, not the kind you draw with.
Me: (privately to confused hubby) Crayon. He's speaking with an accent.

Not on my schedule

When I get anxious I organize.

I'm not a naturally organized person.  I don't see life in black/white, right/wrong, yes/no.  When a gal's perspective is so grey,  it's hard to choose what goes in which file or gets stashed in what box. But I envy those who can.

I often recall a friend whose mother organized her closet when we were in junior high. She had little labels that separated the types of clothes.  Plus, they were categorized by color.

At the time, I thought that might be what everyone else's mom did.

As a mother of two, too-soon-to-be inquisitive tweens, I marvel at my mom's restraint when I asked her why my closet wasn't like my pals.

My spirit was calmed in the order of it all.

So I began picking up my mom's Family Circle and reading each month's ideas on organizing the life I didn't have yet.

As a child, extra-curricular activities filled my calendar.  I color coded it so my parents could read it easier so they'd know when and where to drive me. In college, I realized I had to create a calendar for me. As a teacher, I scheduled every minute of the hour. Sure, we might end up spending 22 minutes on an item I'd planned spending only 3 minutes on, but it was a nice guideline.

Yeah, yeah, yeah:The best laid plans of mice and men.... I know you can't prepare for everything but trying and failing sure beats living with the regret of not trying at all.
A schedule is a lifejacket in the unexpected storms fate throws my way.

My calendar-keeping gets on some people's nerves.  And I could spend lots of time fretting about it. But you know what?

It's not on my schedule.

Channeling Andy Rooney on Technology

Warning: I'm going to get all Andy Rooney grumpy pants here.

What is the deal with these codes I have to type in on the internet to prove I'm not a self-actualized robot?

They used to be a jumbled word.  Then they became upper and lower case. Next, it became two words. NOW, it's numbers and words.

Confession: I have been unable to comment on blogs simply because I can not type in the proper code. After four times--yes, FOUR--I give up.

My failure makes me feel...old. And I'm NOT old.

Read in the appropriately curmudgeon voice:

• "Back in my day, we didn't have email. We wrote letters."
• "When I was a kid, we didn't have smart phones. We had to look things up in encyclopedias."
• "We didn't have Pinterest to plan our childhood parties. We had McDonald's Playland and a birthday cake."
•  "When I was in the third grade we moved to a small town where you didn't even have to dial a prefix. Just four numbers.  Most times I dial now, it requires more numbers than I have fingers and toes."

How on this green earth am I going to manage by the time I qualify for senior citizen discounts? It will probably be an eye scan. Of course,  I'll probably develop cataracts and it will misread.

Maybe, by then, I can buy a computer program to figure out those darned codes for me.


Follow up: My husband told me this makes me sound much older than I really am--especially because of the phone number thing. It was a very small town. 

And I'm not old.  Not yet.

Friday Favorite: Just Smile and Wave

 

Armadillos jump when they're scared--and hit the oncoming car as a result. 

What do I do? Smile and wave.

 I'm not tough. I've never been very big.  If I can infuriate someone with a smile, I win.  

Warning:  A couple of times this philosophy backfired in a big way.

1.  After a basketball game, one of the opposing team members decided she didn't like a certain cheerleader (yeah...me) in the stands talking to a player (the friend who gave me this tile). She talked smack.  At first, I acted like I didn't know she was talking to me. Then I did the "who me?" and just smiled and waved.  It's a good thing I have athletic friends.  That girl pounced fast, but she never touched me because it was like I had body guards who scrambled to intercept her.  Go team! 

2. The day before I got married, I pulled up to the edge of parking lot as a girl in a green sports car almost collided with me.  Then she had the audacity to flip me off. Shocked, I smiled and waved. She backed up her car and leaped out.  She beat on my window and used all of the cuss words she knew.  Again, I smiled and waved. Instead of smiling in return, she jumped on my car and called me a "stupid, white trash b****." I fluttered my eyelashes and pointed to me (sitting calmly in my car as my mother nervously jotted down the psycho's license plate) and shook my head before pointing to her ON THE HOOD OF MY CAR BEATING ON MY WINDSHIELD.

Hey, if life is a parade, I'm not going to watch it pass by. I'm climbing on top of the biggest float.

Just smile and wave, ya'll.

What's your coping mechanism?

Super Tuesday

It's Super Tuesday.

Practice your right to vote.

If you're an American, it's kind of your responsibility.

But, hey, it's a free country.

Want to know which candidate aligns with your beliefs? Take the test at Project Vote Smart.  You might be surprised. I was.

Read 11 Facts about Voting regarding young voters at Do Something.org.

Friday Favorite: Was blind but now I see

Lasik surgery was amazing. 

I just wish someone would have told me to wait until after I had children. Apparently hormones are mischievous with eyesight. After having my son I had to get glasses again.

So, six weeks after my daughter was born, I wasn't surprised to notice I wasn't seeing too well again.

It did alarm me I could wear my prescription sunglasses over my contacts and still not see as well as I'd like.

All day I worried about my eyesight.  Thankfully the sunglasses kept me from being a road hazard.

That night I went to remove my contacts and reached for their container. 

Contacts were still there. 

Now that was a quick recovery.

Learning to see again

After 10 years of Lasik bliss, I discovered I needed new glasses in December. My major clue was when I skipped a dear friend's birthday party because...get this...I was afraid to drive at night.

I know. I sound ancient.

Nope. Just blind.

Another clue that I might have needed an optometrist was that for the last year or so a recurring dream haunted me. I stood in front of a mirror trying to remove a contact. Then I'd freak out and think, Stop pulling at your eye or you'll tear off your retina. You had Lasik, silly. You're eyes are great.

Wrong. So wrong.

I assumed it was some sort of symbolic dream where I needed to take a closer look at my life or something. Nope. Just my subconscious telling me to get glasses.

So I did.

But I lasted about as long with glasses this time around as I did the first time. Even though I tried to be stylish and purchased several different styles, I really didn't like exercising in glasses that slipped down my nose.

In the fifth grade, a sweaty nose was a slip and slide for pesky glasses while I played football or took ballet. I tried on my first pair of lenses and was hooked. When I tried contacts again for the first time in a decade, it felt great. The soft lenses are so much more comfy than those hard gas permeable contacts I wore. And I can do yoga and Pilates without fogging up my glasses.

So, I still wear my trendy glasses, but I can also do the contact thing.

I like options.

Feeling lucky?

I made this bouquet for a friend recently. She loves the gambling. Even though I rarely buy a ticket, we have a running joke among a group of us that whoever wins the lottery has to take the rest of us on a glamorous vacation. Anyway, dear C has been ill and couldn't make her runs to the casino to get her fix. So, I thought I'd take a little of the fun to her.

Close up, I swear it looked more like three flowers. Each petal was a ticket.

It seems like a good idea for St. Patrick's Day next year.

Big boy toothbrush

Pulling the purple Abby Cadabby brush and toothpaste from its package, I said, "Max, do you want to brush with a big boy toothbrush?"

He ran all the way to the bathroom while chanting, "Bzzzzzzzzzz."

Although it wasn't an electric toothbrush like Mom and Dad's, he didn't seem disappointed. He brushed his teeth for ten minutes and cried when we finally took it from him.

This morning, I urged him to brush carefully and tried to guide it to better clean his teeth.

He furrowed his brow and jerked the brush from my hand. That didn't stop Mommy Who Cleans Relentlessly. I dove back in, trying to explain that he needed to brush the backs of his teeth so that the milk wouldn't rot them. (Hey, I clean him relentlessly, but he's still on two bottles a day.)

He jerked the brush from my hand again and aimed it at my face.

I said, "What are you---" and he shoved the brush in my mouth and waved it around. Then he pulled it out, stuck his hand on his hip (still holding the toothbrush), and said, "Bubbabwaha gungha bu, Mama."

Translation: How do you like having someone shove that thing in your mouth? Not nice, huh, Mama?"

Flu

My husband and I took the flu mist. He was fine. I ached and felt icky. Getting out of bed didn't entice me. I kept thinking, If I hadn't had the vaccine, I'd think I had the flu.

(insert head thunk here)

I just learned that the mist is a live virus. After I took it, I signed a thing that recommended against people with asthma and allergies taking it. I have both.

(insert head thunk here)

I guess I had a mild case of the flu.

Now, the real question is whether or not to get the H1N1 vaccine.

Mummified Fairy

What happens to fairies when they die?


Make this mummified fairy for your next Halloween party!

Thanks to my brother for sending the link. I now know why I gave him a pressed fairy book once (like a pressed flower book, but with fairies). We must share a similar sense of humor.

Good things

1. My friend Jesse suffers from trigeminal neuralgia. This disease is so painful it's nicknamed the suicide disease because so many sufferers take that road as an escape. He and his sweet wife Alecia learned this week he is a good candidate for microvascular decompression surgery. They'll be in Cincinnati on Tuesday for the procedure. Hope is a wonderful thing.

2. My friends Stephanie and Josh sent an exciting piece of mail this afternoon. They submitted their film to the Sundance Film Festival. Creation is a wonderful thing.

3. My writing group, The Inklings, finally scheduled a time where we can get together in Edmond and critique. On the morning of the meeting, I'm hopefully having a hair appointment with "my Amy,'' whom I miss desperately. Friendship is a wonderful thing.

4. I've had the good fortune of hearing from several former students this week. They seem to be doing well, their futures are bright, and I'm so proud of them. Promise is a wonderful thing.

5. I feel sick, sick, sick--but I'm going to bed early. Rest is a wonderful thing.

What a pain

I never want to be one of those people who always complain about an ache or a pain.

So, until recently, I didn't really do anything about mine except suffer. Every day. Every moment. I kept thinking it would go away eventually. During pregnancy, I experienced sciatic pain at night while I slept. It felt sort of like an jolt of electricity tingled down my left leg. After giving birth, I felt that all the time, but it was worse. There was a little cluster in my back that hurt all the time. I couldn't bend over. At all. Until recently, I never picked up Max without hurting. In home videos, I noticed that I move awkwardly because I'm trying to move in the way that hurts the least.

A couple of weeks ago, I almost dropped Max twice and my back gave out on me once and sent me to my knees. Plus, the tingling started down my right leg. It occurred to me that I was planning a first birthday party, which meant I'd hurt every day for the last year. It seemed impossible for me to fathom.

So, I made an appointment with a doctor. I'd been to him two other times in the last year and mentioned the pain, but this time the appointment was specifically for that reason. Long story short, he told me that I "just got old faster than most" and that I would "probably hurt for the rest" of my life. Yep. Seriously. You can imagine how devastated I was.

However, I'd met a therapeutic masseuse in the office one day. After a few minutes of talking she told me she thought she knew what was wrong. Last week, I went to see her and am so glad I did. At one point she shifted my hips on the table and pressed here and lifted there...and I felt nothing. No pain. No pressure. No discomfort. I almost sobbed with relief. Apparently, it's fairly common for women to get their hips out of alignment during pregnancy. Who knew? Um, apparently not the doctor!

In a book, she pointed out what was hurting and why. She poked and prodded the same places the doctor had--and I nearly leapt off the table when they both did a test. But with her, she said, "Ah, that's what I thought." With her massage and yoga exercises she instructed me to do, I've felt little to no pain for the last week.. For the first time I've been able to play with my son without wincing.

I enjoyed being a mother before, but now it's even better.

So, if you ever know in your gut that something isn't right. Don't let people tell you otherwise. Keep trying until you get what you need. It's worth it.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I'm a typical American in the sense that I'm a combination of a lot of different people from different countries. My grandmother's father was an Irish citizen. So, I always feel a little Irish, especially in March.

A few years ago, G and I went to San Francisco and Napa Valley during Spring Break. We happened to go on a wine tour on St. Patrick's Day. We met the nicest couple from Ireland. They laughed about how Americans make a much bigger deal about St. Patrick's Day than Ireland does.

Well, aren't we lucky? Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Happy Birthday, Barbie!

Barbie is looking great at fifty, don't you think?

Long after my friends had "outgrown" her, I adored her. My friend Katie had an older sister. Together they had created quite a collection of Barbies, clothes, and accessories. When Katie decided she was too big to play with Barbies, I was overjoyed when she passed them along to me. It meant even MORE clothes and glamor!

Check out the history and fun facts about Barbie here.

Reasons I love my iPhone

I'm slow to embrace new technology. I find something I like and stick with it. So, I wasn't in a rush to get this iPhone thingamajig Garrett was so pumped about.

But I totally see the light now.

Here are a few reasons I love my iPhone.

1. It has a nightlight on it.
2. That can look like a lighter so I can wave it above my head and pretend I'm at a concert when music plays.
3. It has a light saber application so I can battle evil and hear the cool sound as I kick Vader's butt. (And no, I don't feel stupid pretending my iPhone is a light saber. The Force is with me.)
4. It has a Magic 8 Ball app. All I have to do is ask a question, shake the iPhone, and my future is secure.
5. I can check out movie times and watch trailers anywhere at anytime.
6. I can read the New York Times in the middle of the night while I'm feeding Max.
7. I can learn a vocabulary word daily.
8. I can find my way way to the closest subway station with its cool GPS.
9. It has a white noise sound that also has the sounds of fire, crickets, fans, rain, etc.
10. I can keep my calendar on it.
11. I can keep my address book on it.
12. I can talk into it and it types a semi-accurate list of things-to-do.
13. I can take cute pics of Max with it.
14. I can listen to music.
15. I can hold it up to a song that's playing and it will tell me the name of the song and who is singing it.
15. I can read novels on it.
16. I can look up reviews on a product online while standing at the store.
17. I can check my email.
18. It's a phone.
19. It looks cool.
20. I'm sure there are many more things I'll love that I don't even know about yet!

Facebook

Eek. My pals have pestered me about it for a loooong time.

I've finally done it.

I've entered the world of Facebook.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

But...um...wanna be my friend?

Tale of Superbaby

In the spirit of the season, Max decided to visit Sleepy Hollow and Washington Irving's home, Sunnyside, last Sunday. He expected a calm outing.

He took this photo of his grandmother by a bust of Washington Irving.
They all checked out the house--and were slightly annoyed that they weren't allowed to tour the upstairs because it was "a busy weekend." Geez, what a waste of money!

But the land around the home truly was beautiful and exactly how The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is portrayed on film and imagination.
It was a nice day.

But then Superbaby heard the call. Someone was in trouble.

Thanks to cell phones, no one uses phone booths anymore. Yet, he managed his transformation.

Look! Up in the sky!

It's a bird! It's a plane!
It's Superbaby!


While attending a Ragamuffin Parade where kids all wore their Halloween costumes, this woman thanked Superbaby for keeping her from going near that raging river seen in the background. Instead, he made her cuddle him. Thanks, Superbaby!
It's all in a day's work for Superbaby.

Still, he was happy to go home and relax in his chair.