indywriter -- wife, mama, & bacon-bringer-homer

The Education of Miss B

2010-01-25T12:41:00.003-06:00

I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.

-Mark Twain

Mr. Twain had the right of it. There is so much more to our education than what we learn in a classroom. The classroom should provide a solid base for us to build a lifelong education. But what if your child's schooling did interfere with his or her education?

Our school system, like so many others across the country, is facing economic turmoil. Classrooms are currently packed to the gills in most buildings. Extra programs are being cut. And now buildings are being closed and structures are being dramatically altered. Previously our grades were grouped as follows: elementary schools containing K-5, middle schools containing 6-8, and high schools containing 9-12. As of next year however the structure will change as follows: K-3 in elementary schools, 4-6 in intermediate schools, 7-9 in middle school, and 10-12 in high school.

We are from a city that once boasted three thriving high schools. One high school closed several years ago, and this restructuring signals the closing of another high school. Several elementary schools have closed over the years as well as one of the middle schools. Money does need to be cut from the budget...

But the real question for me is how long do you gamble with your child's education before you take action?

It's so easy to jump in and say that you never take a chance with their education. This is too important to do anything less than the best. But if we step off our soapboxes, we will see that it's not so black and white as all that.

This school system is the same one from which I graduated. I feel that I got a very strong education, one that prepared me well for college. But lately, I have worried that Miss B isn't getting that same quality of experience. Class sizes have grown and teachers today have to be able to handle a more diverse group of students. I feel that this most affects those students at the top and bottom of the class.

Teachers must spend so much time making sure students are caught up, that sometimes there's not much left for those either far ahead or woefully behind. How do you give so many kids individual time and attention? Most frustrating to me is that the school system apparently lacks any sort of gifted program for elementary students.

Back in olden times, when I was in grade school, they started a program where gifted students were pulled from class once or twice a week to work on different projects. We learned things like brainstorming and critical thinking. We did real research. They don't offer anything like this anymore. Nothing extra for high achievers.

But what happens when you leave a bright student to their own devices? Sometimes that brightness can dim a bit. There is no stimulation beyond the everyday work that they finished a long time ago.

I want to be clear that I don't think Miss B has had any bad teachers. She has generally liked them all and has indeed learned each year. I also want to be clear that I don't think Miss B is a genius or a special case. But that's the problem. She is clearly above average, but nothing else is offered to her beyond puzzles in her spare time.

So what's a good parent to do?

Our school system is restructuring. This may help the quality of education. I really don't know though, as our school board is well known for not sharing information with the public until a vote is taken. Our superintendent started at the beginning of this month. A lot needs to fall into place before next fall. In our town there has been the kind of devotion to tradition normally reserved for professional sports teams. This distracts from the more important issues. While the town waits to find out which mascot and colors will be kept, I want to know what opportunities my daughters will have next year. Full day kindergarten for Sister Goldenhair? Gifted and talented magnet classes for Miss B? These are the real issues.

And this is why we have applied to another school district for admission. It will cost us, though not as much as private school tuition would. I would love for both girls to attend the church-backed private school where Sister Goldenhair currently attends pre-school, but we cannot afford this option as we have grown fond of things like food and shelter.

If all goes well, the girls will attend schools that are actually closer to our home than their current school system. And they will also hopefully benefit from a school system that carries one of the highest average test scores in the area (our current system falls below the state average, and that sure doesn't say much).

And I am still on the prowl for opportunities to improve this situation. This is my job for at least the next 13 years.

It's one of the most important responsibilities I have. They deserve my best.

Anyone got a bar of soap handy?

2009-09-28T11:54:00.002-05:00

Last week Miss B used the f-word.

No, no... Not that f-word. The other f-word. The f-word I never want to hear from either of my girls: FAT.

Cyberspace allows us a certain level of anonymity. If you've never met me, you probably never gave much thought to what I look like. Before I had kids I was tall and slender. While I am still tall, I'm not exactly slender. I think I have a pretty average build (thanks in part to my height). I have wanted to lose some weight and eat healthier, but I have always been careful how I talk about this around my girls. I never talk about being fat or big. We don't call people fat.

So when my firstborn child came into my room in tears and proclaimed, "I'm fat!" My heart both broke and stopped.

I tried not to overreact. The first words out of my mouth were, "You are not fat!" Then I asked, "What's going on? Why do you say that?"

"These pants won't fit! They won't even zip!" Her school uniform pants clung guiltily to her frame.

I must admit that Miss B has filled out a bit this summer. Her appetite has picked up. Her face is rounder and her body, while still young, is showing signs of maturity (that's discreet speak for "she's getting a chest"). I have watched these changes with relative dismay. Where's my baby going? And why must her replacement have an attitude? I would not be surprised if Miss B suddenly shot up a few inches.

So the reality is that she is bigger around the waist than she is used to being. But even if she were truly overweight, I never want to hear my young daughter reduce herself to a one-word definition involving her size. I never want to hear my daughter do this, regardless of her age.

But I digress...

"What size are those pants?" I ask after following her to her room.

"10. Those others are 10's too. They don't fit either."

Sigh. "Honey, you don't wear a size 10. You wear a 12. You've worn 12's all summer. Remember when I told you to go through your uniforms to take out the stuff that didn't fit? I asked you to try things on and weed out the stuff that's too small. You haven't grown that much in the last month. You must have missed these."

Miss B was greatly relieved. So was I.

I made sure to follow up, treading lightly all the while.

"So Honey, you certainly are not fat. If you are concerned about how your correctly sized clothes fit or about your energy level, then we can try to make some healthier choices. Like maybe your first choice after school shouldn't be watching TV. And maybe you don't sneak snacks* that you think no one will see. We can all do better and then we'll all feel better and have more energy."

I think she felt better. I'm now convinced that she doesn't really think she's fat. I don't want to delude her by any means. If she really needed to lose weight, I wouldn't tell her everything was fine and offer her a cookie (to make her feel better). But if that were the case, I don't think that telling her she's fat would be the way to help. I have to take responsibility. I buy the food. I cook the meals. I try to walk a fine line between having some treats on hand and not having too much temptation. I worry about my caloric intake, but I make sure I don't mention it. I will say that something is "bad for you," but I always try to relate it to health not size.

And folks, Miss B is only 8. 8!! I had hoped that this wouldn't be an issue at all (and if it was it would be a lot later). I don't remember this kind of stuff until I was in 5th or 6th grade. Miss B is in 3rd.

Does this mean I'll qualify for early retirement?

* Miss B was caught sneaking swiss cake rolls last week. These are packaged in pairs, but I separate them to pack in lunches. She ate a whole package and didn't ask first. As we do not starve our children, we do not like for them to sneak food without asking.

Sew Cute Shop Amy Butler Birdie Sling GUEST GIVEAWAY!!!!

2009-09-08T15:06:00.000-05:00

Sew Cute Shop Amy Butler Birdie Sling GUEST GIVEAWAY!!!!

Stop by Grosgrain for some fabu giveaways! The link above offers you a chance to win a lovely bag in fabrics chosen by you! If only it were always so easy to get a new purse...

Happy Father's Day, Woody!

2009-06-20T00:22:00.004-05:00

Button, button, who's got the button?

2009-06-19T23:16:00.009-05:00

Sew, Mama, Sew! has been featuring posts pertaining to all things sewing machine related. I thought I'd get in on the excitement and post a simple tutorial on making a buttonhole. This tute features the Janome sewing machine. This is my mom's machine, but sometimes I like to spend quality time with a great sewing machine. :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the tute and feel confident to go out and try it for yourself. Most machines work in a fairly similar manner, so give it a whirl!

Mouse over "Notes" in the frame below to view more detailed information.

Any questions?

A letter to my first born child...

2009-05-06T15:42:00.004-05:00

Dear Miss B-

You are 8 years old now, and old enough to know something that breaks my heart to admit: I don't have all the answers. Yes, I do know when you haven't brushed your teeth. I also know that you didn't brush the bottom layers of you hair. How do I know this? Because neither thing happens until I ask you about it. So if I didn't ask, I'm pretty sure you haven't done it yet.

But there are times, many times in fact, when I don't know what answer to give you. When we hear a story about someone hurting a child, I cannot tell you why it happened. Sure, I can say that someone was angry, hurt, confused, crazy, or just plain bad, but I cannot explain why one person will react with such an extreme, violent reaction.

When you tell me about someone not being kind to you, I can try to look at the situation from that person's point of view. "Maybe MeanKid was having a bad day today and took it out on you." "Perhaps MeanKid was jealous that you were able to do that so easily." But the truth is, even if those excuses are true, I cannot explain why anyone would ever not love you.

This is the biggest mystery to most mothers. Sure, I know that my kids have their moments, but how could anyone not adore you? Someday soon, a boy will break your heart. And mine will break as well. I can see what a great person you already are, but I can also see the wonderful potential your future holds. It hurts this mother's heart to even think about you being rejected or unappreciated.

You are the complete package. You are beautiful inside and out. You were an adorable baby, and now you are growing into a lovely young lady. You wish you were blond and had blue eyes, but your light brown hair and gray eyes are more striking. Those freckles you hate, they are just the perfect addition to your sweet face. And more importantly, let's talk about your heart. You are so tenderhearted that you try to please everyone, rather than disappointing them. While I love your willing spirit, I worry that you will be hurt more easily. But you are smart. And I love that you are outgoing and friendly. You are that lucky mix of bookworm and social butterfly. You are intelligent, but not awkward because of it.

And yet someday, some seemingly nice boy will make you doubt all that I know is true. You will think you are ugly and awkward, dumb and selfish. You will believe these things, and I will never be able to understand why. Sure, I will know that this boy or best friend has hurt you, but I will never be able to figure out why you believe them. You, who is so special and lovable. You, who is so giving and gentle. You will cry and hurt and wonder who will ever love someone like you. But just turn around... I will always be there with my hand raised to volunteer for such an opportunity. And while you may tell yourself that Mom's love doesn't count, just know that not only do I love you... I like you too. I'm the lucky one here.

My love may not make everything easier for you, but it will never be something you have to doubt.

Love always,

Mom

An awesome giveaway...

2009-02-25T19:24:00.003-06:00

If you are the sentimental sort, you should think about entering the current giveaway at The Benner Daily. Shealynn, who makes some beautiful camera strap covers herself, is giving away a custom inscribed necklace from The Vintage Pearl. You could choose to add your kids' names or a favorite quote to the beautiful heart-shaped design. D0 yourself a favor and follow the link to see for yourself (but do come back and check in... don't be a stranger!).

Say What?

2009-02-20T22:37:00.003-06:00

One of my favorite parts of raising these two little people, is watching them grow and learn. Both girls have made me smile with peculiar turns of phrase, altered words, and misheard lyrics.

Miss B, like many kids, seemed to get sick all the time. Luckily when she had tubes put in her ear, this seemed to clear up. But when she was little, it would always tickle me to hear her ask if she had another ear "confection." Who knew that a lack of sleep and intense ear pain could be so sweet?

***

Lately Sister Goldenhair has been digging the Backyardigans CD in the car. And so she has been singing songs around the house more too. Her current favorite: Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

Row, row, row ya boat
Walkin' down the street
Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary
Walkin' down the street.

I have asked her what that boat is doing in the street, but she just thinks I'm joking. And I also asked who Mary was. SG says, "Mary? Mary Walkindownthestreet." Poor Mary, I bet she runs out ink signing her Christmas cards!

***

When Miss B was 6, we were leafing through an American Girl catalog. They were announcing a contest to find the Real Girl of the Year.

Miss B got very excited. "If only I hadn't gotten my hair cut! If I let it grow I bet I could win! I could be the real girl!"

Huh? I looked at the page wondering what in the world she was talking about. Then I saw it.

"Um Honey, that word is hero. Not hair." Unfortunately the contest was for girls older than Miss B who were heroes of a sort... not girls with spectacular hair. She was crushed.

***

Let me encourage you parents out there to write down all those funny and adorable things your kids do. You always think you'll remember... but you won't. You'll be able to recall some of them, but a lot of them will end up forgotten. Worse, they will be things that you know you have forgotten. There was that funny word she had for, um, something. She used to sing this adorable song... gosh, what was it? You don't want to forget the sweet way she used to replace her L's with Y's (I don't yike it! Poppy, will you take me to see the yights?). And what about how she used to call High School Musical: Hi-no-mee-go-ho?

Some will stay with you, others will be lost (hopefully to at least be regained when grandchildren repeat those same traits). But who wants to take the chance? You take pictures of your progeny, take the time to record those fleeting elements that can't be photographed (and often won't be performed for video). Revel in the mundane moments that make life with a little one so magical. You just might need those memories to make the teen years more tolerable!

Familiarity breeds contempt....

2009-01-23T10:08:00.004-06:00

Ask any parent about the shows their kids love to watch and you're bound to get at least one utterance of, "I don't know why kids love that show. It drives me crazy!" And some parents have declared certain kid's shows as unwelcome.

Barney has always been persona non grata in our home. He is avoided at all costs, along with the Teletubbies. No Barney toys or Teletubby sheets pass through our doors. My kids don't have clothing featuring Baby Bop or Dipsy. But I've begun to notice that some other shows are wearing out their former welcome. These shows used to be tolerable, but repeated doses have revealed fatal flaws.

And so I give you, kids' shows I love to hate...

1. Caillou - As fans of the Goodnight Show on Sprout, we were a bit upset when they changed the programs used in this block. They dropped the very well done Jakers! and Sagwa in favor of a very, very, vveeeerrrryyy long blockof Caillou. Caillou is a bratty little boy who seems to alternate between being very simplistic and throwing tantrums. But everything works out for Caillou in the end. And isn't that the lesson we want to teach toddlers?

2. Angelina Ballerina - I was a bit puzzled that Angelina was included in a programming block meant for toddlers, as she seems better targeted to school-age kids. But then I was puzzled what all the fuss was anyway. Little girls have been obsessed with Angelina since her debut. As a parent though, I find Angelina selfish and, again, bratty. Every situation revolves around Angelina and how she thinks it affects her. Many, many episodes feature at least one scene where Angelina declares, "It's not fair!" before she eventually bursts into tears. She also seems to get into a lot of trouble, and though her parents are featured, they almost never address the issue. Parenting through denial: why not?

3. Dora, Diego, and almost every tween show - YOU KNOW HOW TYPING IN ALL CAPS IS CONSIDERED SHOUTING AND KINDA RUDE? A few minutes spent watching Dora, Diego, or *insert name of trendy tween show here* and you'll wonder if the whole script is typed in ALL CAPS! Subtlety seems to be lost on most of these shows. Why be subtle when you can shout? And the parents are mostly absent. Dora and Diego are little kids who are allowed to wander through the wilderness accompanied by animals. Repetition is a proven educational strategy, but Dora and Diego take it to extremes. Few programs are so successful at making me wish for sharp objects to plunge into my ears. And all tweeners need to SHOUT! Because everything IS A BIG DEAL! YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND!

4. Tween shows (again) - Stereotype much? If so, you would love most tween programming. Aside from the shouting, tweeners are taught valuable lessons: the really smart girls are nerdy and wear glasses, cool girls are mean, boys are dogs and playa-wannabes, athletes are dumb, band kids are geeky, parents are clueless, siblings are torture, teachers are just plain stupid, and if your parents really loved you they would buy you designer clothes and give you a huge bedroom. Are some of these things occasionally true? Sure, but not always. And why doesn't any show want to change up some of these over-played elements? Do I want my daughter to believe that if she is really smart, ugly glasses and nerdom must follow? Do I want to encourage smart-mouthed responses to all parental inquiries? What do you think? (Sorry, I couldn't resist that last one... blame Zoey 101.)

5. Max and Ruby - Or as I like to call it Simpleton and Shrew. Max is young, but he cannot ever conjure more than a one word response. And the audience is supposed to find him quite clever. Ruby is his domineering big sister. He may be simple, but she is dense. She never seems to catch on to his meaning/wishes/intent/whatever, and she cannot conceive of ever being wrong. And again, while you do sometimes see Grandma, you never, ever see parents. Ever. Nor do the kids ever mention them. For the ages implied for these characters (I'd guess Max is 3 or 4 and Ruby is 8 or 9), their behavior is wholly inappropriate. But I do begin to see how their folks might have cracked under the strain and ran away from home.

This is by no means a complete list, but you get the idea. I just think it's sad that some really great kids' programming gets overshadowed by such flawed shows.

Welcome 2009

2009-01-05T14:58:00.003-06:00

Some highlights of our Christmas season...

*When Santa asked her what she wanted him to bring her for Christmas, Sister Goldenhair replied, "Bacon and toys!" She got her wish. Uncle Roddy and Aunt Beth gave her two packages of pre-cooked bacon. SG was very happy. She does however attribute the bacon to Santa (or perhaps to his influence). "Santa brought me bacon... and toys!"

*Though Miss B asked Santa for a plasma tv, cell phone, laptop, and Nintendo DS. She was however well pleased by the soccer ball, watercolor paints, Titanic book, and Razor fold-up scooter Santa opted to leave instead. Her words: "It's funny how Santa knows what I really wanted, even though I never asked for it." Yes, my dear, that is funny. But I assured her that Santa was a hardworking fellow who payed attention to details.

*While SG's first real visit to Santa was somewhat catastrophic, this year she was in love. She is a shy little girl when among strangers, but apparently Santa is a stranger no more. Our visit with Santa at the local mall found her snuggling into his side as if they were old friends (and this was before she knew she was getting candy from him too!). It was very sweet to watch.

*Miss B partied 2008 away with her cousin Jacob at my bother's house. Originally plans called for her to be with me and SG (while Woody went to a party at a coworker's house), but Jake and "Rock Band" beckoned. She had to decide whether to stay with me or go. She was reduced to tears at the thought of her poor mother being lonely. I assured her that I did have SG after all, so I would be fine. It turns out SG was out by 8:45pm. The night was a bit long and boring then. Oh well, Miss B promises to spend next new year's eve with me, just to be fair. :) She's so sweet.

The girls had a lovely holiday, and so did I. My favorite part was spending time away from work and with family. And I was up late everynight finishing some sewing projects. Finally finishing everything was such a relief! It's so satisfying to give a present that you really worked hard on. It's even better when the recipient appreciates the work of something homemade (and they all did!). I hope to get some pictures of what I made posted, but I forgot to take them before I gave the gifts away... as usual.

Emergency kind of says it all, doesn't it?

2008-12-02T10:34:00.006-06:00

Actually it doesn't.

I'm sure you have taught your kids to call 911 in the case of an emergency. Some of you have probably even had "drills" with your little ones. Those drills or discussions were also likely followed by stern warnings that 911 is only for emergencies and not for fun, pretend, or when you are mad that your little sister took your doll (even if it is your favorite doll).

And how did you define emergency? My conversations with Miss B usually used the scenario of the adult in charge of her being unconscious. Surely, if the adult in charge were seriously ill or injured they would tell her to call 911, wouldn't they?

Turns out, they wouldn't.

Mid-September we had an incident involving my dad, known here and to others as Papaw. Papaw was all set to watch Miss B, as school had not yet started for the year. Usually whenever this scenario takes place I walk Miss B in the house and give any last minute info to my dad. But this time Sister Goldenhair was having a rough morning. She was very upset that she wouldn't be left with Papaw too. She was already crying when I pulled into the driveway.

I told Miss B to explain to Papaw why I couldn't come in with her that morning. I knew SG would never stay in the car without having conniptions nor would I ever get her back in the carseat if I took her inside. Miss B got out of the car and approached the house. I backed out of the driveway and could see into the living room as Miss B went inside. I saw her walking around as if looking for Papaw, before she went into the kitchen. All seemed well, so I drove away.

Ah, Gentle Reader, I was wrong.

Several hours later, as I was busy at work, I received a call from my mom. She said that she and Miss B were in the Emergency Room with Papaw.

Apparently when Miss B went into my parent's house, she found my dad on the floor. He had fallen earlier that morning. Miss B ran outside to get me, but I was just turning the corner. She went back inside and "helped" Papaw get up. She helped him to the couch, where he collapsed again. He was conscious the whole time. She fetched him drinks and covered him with a blanket. Finally he asked her to get the phone when he realized he could not stand himself up again.

If you're thinking this is where he comes to his senses and calls 911, you're wrong.

He called a neighbor to help him up (so he could get to the bathroom). The neighbors stayed for a few minutes then went home. The neighbor called my mom at work (ironically for the very hospital my dad would soon visit). He told her that dad had fallen and wasn't making a lot of sense when he talked. He thought she might want to take him to the doctor or ER. My mom asked about Miss B and was assured that she was fine.

Shortly thereafter, I received my phone call.

Parents and caretakers, please learn from my mistakes!

1. Talk to your kids about appropriate use of 911. I did this, but not extensively enough. Miss B was worried about Papaw, but she never thought about calling 911 because he was conscious and telling her what to do. This is a real tough one to explain to a kid. She knows now that she can go to another room and call for help if she is worried.

2. You always leave contact numbers for your caregiver, but give a copy to your kids. Miss B didn't know where the numbers were posted at Granny and Papaw's house. So she couldn't call me or Granny at work. My cell phone is also programmed with speed dial. Miss B knows that #4 calls Mimi, #5 calls Granny and Papaw (I have also programmed Woody's speed dial with the same numbers). Should they be with us, they can easily call someone familiar in case they are worried.

3. Men, we know you're tough. Please know your limits, especially when you're with children. My dad has always been a tough guy. He doesn't whine when he's sick (nor does he linger). He's the kind of guy who always had some sort of blister, burn, or cut on his hands, but never seemed to notice (deep down I think he believes that builds character). He worked in the building trades and was hard working and tough. It's hard for him to reconcile himself with a body that can no longer keep up. Had he been willing to ask for help, he could have been treated sooner (and Miss B might have missed this episode all together). This can apply to women too. Suck it up, people! Is it so bad to be human?

4. Understand that you are not able to forsee every negative possibility. This is totally a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but I am working on it. I try to prepare the kids for everything, but I know that I can't. This all happened about 3 months ago, and I'm finally able to not beat myself up over everything. If only I had gone inside! If only I had drilled Miss B on emergency situations more often! If only I had tatooed her with my office phone number! If only... Yeah, I can play this game all day long. All night too. Luckily, everything turned out well, or I would still be playing the blame indywriter game.

5. Sometimes all's well that ends well. This is closely related to number 4, but some things belong in the past. Use what you learned and move forward. Should you be more cautious, perhaps. But be sure that your child is not living with the event as a daily presence. Yes, this all freaked me out quite a lot. But I never shared the totality of my fears with Miss B. Have I talked to her about calling for help? Yes. Have I told her about all the worst case scenario stuff? No way! She is still a kid and while she should be educated, she doesn't need the bejeebers scared out of her. I want her to live with joy and awareness, not fear and trepidation.

And all was well in the end. Papaw is diabetic and has trouble with his legs. It turns out he had an infection in his bad leg and was running a high fever. He had also been off his oxygen for awhile, so that didn't help matters. He spent a few days in the hospital and hasn't had any problems since that day.

Oops, I did it again!

2008-12-02T10:34:00.001-06:00

First a note... I'm sorry for neglecting you. So much has been happening in real life that I was caught up in living it, instead of blogging it. I will try to do better. Can we be friends again?

Please?

I must also apologize for using a vastly over-used song title with this post. I sincerely regret any resulting melody that may be now trapped in your brain. My bad.

I may not recover from this...

2008-08-29T10:11:00.002-05:00

My little girl has turned 3. Sweet Sister Goldenhair is continuing to grow up. I have given both my girls strict instructions to stay little forever, but they pay me no heed. And while SG was so good at being two, I am forced to recall that three was a more challenging for age for Miss B. And so it seems to be going for SG.

What makes the terrible threes so terrible is that it's harder to figure out why they are so upset now. They can communicate so much better than when they were two, but still they fuss. You are able to give them a little more freedom, but still they melt down. They are mastering new skills and abilities, but still they scream.

I. Am. Tired.

SG has entered her threes in the fine tradition established by her sister: kicking and screaming. And it never ceases to instill a bit of awe in me that while I seem to be the meanest mom in the world to her at times, I am still the one who can hold her close and calm her down. I hug her tightly and tell her I love her. And her response is, "No." I repeat that I love her and that I know how good she can be, and she soon settles.

Sometimes this calming only works after banishment to the bedroom or corner. Then I am met with a red-eyed, tear-stained face when she apologizes. We always hug and kiss (and she will usually use this opportunity to wipe her snotty nose on my shoulder). While the end result is nice, everything before that is pretty rough.

And my girls have begun to butt heads. Their relationship seems to have gone from mutual admiration to mutual exasperation. SG loves to mimic, and it would seem that nothing drives Miss B crazier than to be copied. And it would seem that nothing drives *me* crazier than to hear the girls fight. Someone almost always ends up in tears.

This sibling rivalry is what I have most dreaded since giving birth to SG. I knew it would come. I just hope it never goes beyond superficial annoyances like copycats and tattletales. I want my girls to be friends as well as sisters. I want them to care for each other and be there for each other. If I can't have them stay little forever, then is friendship too much to ask?

One is not the loneliest number

2008-07-01T21:07:00.007-05:00

So I'm back. Did anyone miss me? This has been the crazy season at work, and warm weather means more outdoor play at home. That results in less computer time.

But enough excuses...

And though I usually focus on my life as a mother, today I'm here to talk about my lunch date: me.

Let me explain something first. I have always been someone who needs and craves alone time. I can become quite grouchy if I don't have at least some time by myself. There is one exception however. I do not like to eat alone. Oh, I can grab a quick meal at home by myself, but I do not like to eat out alone. I cannot really give an exact reason why this is so. I think I feel exposed and on display.

If you've ever seen the remake of Sabrina starring Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford, then you might recognize the following quote:

"You seem to be embarrassed by loneliness, by being alone. It’s only a place to start."

And so today I started. I needed an oil change and lunch, and while the two don't normally go together, our Walmart has a Subway (ah, the joys of modern life). So I bought a book and sat alone and ate. It wasn't bad. I've definitely had worse company.

It was actually nice to be quiet and be an observer. It reminded me of something my mom once told me about when she and my dad were dating. Mom lived in West Virginia with her parents and Dad was living in Indiana with his brother and sister-in-law (so he could get a good job). Dad would tell Mom that he would try to call her on Saturday, so Mom would literally wait by the phone for his call while playing solitaire. Mom and Dad have been married nearly 41 years, but my mom does regret waiting for calls that sometimes never came. She says if she had it to do over again, she would have made Dad promise to call or set a time.

I learned many things from my mom, but I definitely learned not to wait around for the whim of a guy. And I try to keep an eye on what I'm teaching my girls. So I hope I am teaching them that they can be alone and be happy. They are the authors of their own stories, and they deserve to know who they are and to be comfortable enough with that person that they can enjoy solitude.

The character from Sabrina who I quoted earlier also said, "I met myself in Paris." While it is certainly a great deal less poetic, I can now say, "I met myself in a Subway... and the pepper turkey and the company were delicious."

You're Gonna Miss This

2008-05-14T13:06:00.003-05:00

Okay, *you* probably won't miss this post, since you are here now. But what I'm referring to is actually a song. You may be shocked to learn that this mom is a serious music lover.

Actually if you've read any previous posts, you already know this. But I'm not just someone who enjoys music, I really listen to it. I know all the words. And, my apologies to those within earshot, I cannot resist singing along. I firmly believe that there is a perfect song for every situation. So music is a big part of my life.

And those songs that seem to speak to me the most aren't the romantic ballads that boast of life long love (though those are great). As is usual with me, it's all about the kids. If a song is about kids or if I can apply it that way, it gets me. I'm a total sucker. And since I can cry at the drop of a hat, I cannot duck the label of sentimental sap.

Ah but friends, it's the only way to be!

While I do live in the moment, I am also well aware of how fast time passes. Whenever I look at Miss B, I remember the days when her hair fell in perfect curls around her sweetly chubby, baby face. Now she is 7! I don't know how it happened, and though I have dragged my feet as much as possible, time keeps moving forward.

And while Sister Goldenhair in her infinite toddler wisdom swears she is a baby, my heart knows the truth. She is big girl now (though I hope she will always insist, "No, I the baby!"). SG will be 3 this summer. How can this be?

And since I am a good mom, I will forever be a contradiction. I will strive to raise strong women who grow to be wise, loving, and gentle in spirit. But I will remember and miss the times when they weren't all those things yet. Who wouldn't miss being the most important person in someone's life? And yet that what parents give up when they do their job. I know I will always be important to them, but one day they will marry and start their own families.

And while I am well aware of all that I'll miss, there are times when I wish they weren't quite so good at being kids. When they bicker, whine, and pout I find that I wish they were past the stage du jour (I blame sleep deprivation for actually believing that this will improve before they pass the teenage years). But all too soon I remember just what that means. No chubby hands holding my cheeks for the perfect kiss. No one begging me to do that silly dance one more time. No one sitting on my lap. No one wanting me to play games with them or read Llama, Llama Red Pajamas and Goodnight Moon to them one more time. Someday my family room won't be devoted to a children's play space. How terrible!

And someday, my home won't be their home anymore. Yikes!

And so I'll share another song with you: You're Gonna Miss This. You will. Sure, whenever I'm cleaning up after the latest bout of the Mysterious Barfing Flu, I say I won't miss it. But even then, I will.

And if you have kids, you know what I mean. So take a minute to enjoy Trace Adkins ode to living in the moment. And remember to remember, 'cause you *will* miss this.

Thriving on Chaos

2008-05-02T09:21:00.003-05:00

As a graduate student in somewhat stressful one-year MS program, one of my professors required students to purchase a book by Tom Peters titled Thriving on Chaos. The overall idea is that successful people are able to adjust to the craziness around them.

This book could easily have been written by a mom. No matter how crazy it may be at work, it never compares to the stuff that gets thrown at me at home. I could write my own book: Thriving on Chaos and How To Remove the Subsequent Stains. It would be an emotional tour de force; one mom's attempt to make it through one week without anyone getting sick, injured or insulted.

But most moms know that this actually impossible.

You may recall my last post was about the scourge that is head lice. Since that post my life has been chaotic (but thankfully not in a Britney Spears sort of way). Miss B was soon louse free, but immediately thereafter was afflicted with Fifth Disease. Luckily, she seems to have had a minor case. But of course she was covered with the lacey rash that accompanied her bouts of nausea, which required some strategic fashion choices.

Sister Goldenhair escaped this ailment (as did everyone else in the family), but we had to watch out for a couple weeks to be certain. But SG did have another bout with the Mystery Fever (insert ominous music here). Nothing specific was diagnosed, and she soon recovered. I even spent a day hovering near the brink of death. Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating just a tad. But I was an utterly miserable specimen for 24 hours.

We've had the school carnival, a mini heatwave, a cold snap, and a consuming Craftster swap. All since I last blogged. And of course there has been the day to day, average chaos that consumes us all. I often thought about posting, but would decide that it would take too long to tell it all. But finally I got enough distance that I didn't feel compelled to share all infinite minutiae of each event (lucky you!).

And so I close this chaotic entry with some of the best news I've heard in a long while (and no it's not that my criminal background check came out clean, meaning I'm a go for the 1st grade field trip to the zoo): My maternal grandmother (my sole remaining grandparent) is coming out for a visit at the end of the month! She has always been one of my very favorite people. And I am thrilled for every opportunity I have to spend with her. I'm glad she'll get to see my girls too. What can I say? I am my grandma's girl.

The two most frightening words in my world: HEAD LICE

2008-03-25T22:17:00.004-05:00

Did your skin just crawl? Mine sure did.

Nearly one year ago, Miss B came home from school with an uninvited guest. I happened to take her to work with me as she was feeling a bit puny. We walked through the hallways near my office to get some water when I saw something in her hair. I thought it was just a piece of fuzz.

An average day went from average to one of the worst in about 3 seconds. As I tried to move the fuzz, it moved itself. I nearly screamed. My daughter's head was crawling with bugs. How had she not gone crazy? I ask this question because just a few days later, I found a louse on my head. On my head. On. MY. Head. My first reaction to this was to call my mommy and cry.

And I still haven't gotten over it. Every itch of my head triggers flashbacks to the days of RID and lice combs. If it's possible for someone to get Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from head lice, then I know that I have that. I can be very strong in the face of danger and tragedy, but I cannot in any way not lose my mind when there are tiny little bugs crawling on my head! And my husband is afflicted with male pattern blindness. Just as he cannot see dosage information on medicine labels, notes asking him to do something before I get home, or numerous other things in plain sight, Woody could not seem to see any of the nits or eggs in my hair. This meant that I spent at least an hour every night combing my hair with one of those awful little red combs with the wire teeth.

Finally one night I didn't get anything in the comb. Then it was two nights. After about 2 weeks, I decided they were really gone.

But now they are back. Some how I made it through my entire education without getting lice. And my daughter not only gets it and gives it to me, she gets it again. I'm already starting to crack. I haven't found any on me or Sister Goldenhair (though I cannot be certain since I was checking her hair with a flashlight as she slept). I just hope that all will be well with everyone else.

And so I will take my heebie jeebies and go to bed. Any bets on what I'll dream about tonight?

A letter to my teenage self

2008-03-11T13:49:00.003-05:00

There's a song currently in play on country stations (I listen to a lot of different types of music, so please no harassing comments *g*). It's by Brad Paisley and it's called "Letter to Me." It's all about him wanting to writer a letter to himself at age 17. It's full of advice and comforting words.

This has got me to thinking. What would I say to myself as a teenager? What would I change? What did I worry about back then, that I shouldn't have? And so I present a letter to a teen aged indywriter...

Dear indy,

I know high school is a strange time in a girl's life. You are with your friends all day, but you're also with people who drive you crazy. You want to make your own decisions, but you still have to abide by your parents' rules. You care a lot about what's going on in your little world, but you know there is a bigger world waiting for you.

First of all, don't let that cocky guy in history class get to you. He won't be successful at that prestigious school he got into. They will finally do something about his propensity for cheating. And really, you shouldn't worry about him anyway.

Enjoy your time in music classes. You haven't found time since then to own or practice a saxophone. You will miss it.

You really might want to reconsider your intended major. While you enjoy the topic, you will never get a job in your field.

Tell your mom thanks. She deserves it for putting up with you and your moods (yes, you do have them). You guys will be friends. And when you and your dad butt heads (again), know that one day you will get along and even talk on the phone. He will mellow when you move out of the house, and he will love your kids.

That's right, you will have two beautiful children. I'm not gonna give all the surprises away, but you should know that motherhood is more than you ever dreamed possible. It's not all glamorous and guaranteed love, but it will change you in every possible way. And those changes are for the better (except for what happens to your stomach, but the trade off is worth it).

But you should know that you won't have those kids with who you think you will. You will dump your current guy when you're in college. You will be thankful for the paths you chose not to take and will wish you did it long ago. You will meet someone. He won't be a doctor or a lawyer, but he will be a good man and a good dad. Even better is that you love his parents. His mom will become a very good friend to you.

Your brother will always be a dork, but you will get along well (and not just 'cause he's your brother).

You will keep in touch with your best friend. You will still hang out, and you will be happy to see that the guy she marries loves her very much.

You know that you grumble a bit about spending every spring break in WV with your grandparents and family, but you secretly love every minute of it. But don't grumble. Don't joke about not going to the beach. Let your grandparents know how much you adore them.

Sit with Grandpa and listen to his music with him. You will learn to love it someday, but he would be trilled to share it with you. And play gin rummy with him until he's tired of it. I know you get bored with it after several hands, but you can't imagine how much you will wish you could still play cards with him. You should know that he will be gone too soon. You will hurt for a long time and you will miss him forever.

And your great aunts? They will be gone sooner than you think too. Enjoy "the old ladies" whenever you get the chance. They always enjoy you and your little ones.

Just know that the things you worry about now, will not be the same things you worry about in the future. You will be blessed in all the ways that really matter.

So take a deep breath and relax. Enjoy your life (and dump that guy you think is so great).

Love,

indy

In the meantime: Life

2008-02-05T12:43:00.000-06:00

So it's been awhile, my friends. I have been neglecting my little piece of cyberspace here. It seems that I have been quite busy with the business of life. I've been playing with my girls, sewing some very belated Christmas gifts, and remodeling my bathroom (and anyone who has remodeled a bathroom or kitchen knows that the whole house becomes involved). The girls have been sick, as have I.

But something else has kept me away. A part of life as vital to our existence as birth itself: death. I lost my beautiful, sweet-spirited grandmother. Grandma had been in a nursing home for the last several years. She was far away from me, and after my aunt died two years ago and my maternal grandmother moved away from the area, there was no place to stay except a hotel. So I hadn't seen much of her since Sister Goldenhair was born. And while this saddened me, I was also ashamed. I feel like I should have done more to get to her, but the expense, distance, and childcare arrangements made it impossible to coordinate.

I can remember talking to her on the phone and asking her how she was feeling. She would usually mention some ailment, but this was always followed by, "But I've got to grin and bear it, or die and leave it." I guess it was finally time for her to leave her suffering behind. She suffered a couple of strokes and then passed away.

I was charged, shortly before her death, with making a photo board to display for her funeral. I sorted through photos and was please to find my favorite pictures of Grandma. There are a series of four pictures taken when we went on a family vacation to Florida. I was in between first and second grade and Grandma had never been in the ocean. These pictures depict my father (usually referred to here as Papaw) and my other grandmother alongside my Grandma. They got her to kneel down in the water, and she got nailed by a small wave. I remember us all laughing and Grandma soaked in salt water and tears of mirth.

I found pictures of her as a sister, as a mother, as a wife, and as a grandmother. But I love most the ones of her alone. They seem to show so much more of who I remember. There is a picture of her with her white wig in her hand, her head covered with short, fluffy, white hair after her chemo was all over. And she was laughing. She seemed to always be in on some joke or another. Another picture showed her standing in front of a green house with her hands on her hips. She is smiling, but she looks like she was ready to take care of business. I didn't recognize the house, so I asked my mom. It turns out that it was a house that my grandma used to clean. My dad grew up working, and he learned it from his mother.

But I remember grandma from her later years. She lived off of social security in a small home. And she would laugh. I remember the way her eyes would crinkle as she chuckled at one thing or another. And she always made oatmeal cake when her kids came to visit. And she always had cookies for me (before I could say "Grandma," I called her "Cookies"). And fried apples, she always cooked me fried apples with dinner. And she wouldn't let my dad force me to eat food I didn't like. Grandma was like an angel to me.

As many young kids do, I went through a phase where I didn't want to visit my grandparents. I loved them, but it was a six hour trip. And if we stayed with Grandma, I usually had to sleep in her bed. But every year for spring break we made the trip and spent the week with my grandparents. It might have been tedious for a couple of years, but I am so glad that I spent that time with my family. And it has had a deep impact on me as a parent. Before I married Woody I made it clear that I would not be moving far from our families. I wanted our kids to be able to see their grandparents as often as possible. And they usually see them about once a week or more. I always made due with seeing mine about twice a year.

And so while I haven't been sharing my thoughts here, I have speant a lot of time thinking lately. While I'm glad that Grandma isn't suffering anymore, it's never a good time to lose someone you love. And it doesn't make it any easier to see your parents grieving over their loss. The hardest part of all of this has to be watching my dad cry for his mother. The next hardest part is trying to grieve as I need to but without upsetting the girls. Miss B is old enough to understand the abstract idea that her great-grandmother is dead. But because they were never able to be very close, it still isn't an event that deeply affects her. Luckily, I'm more to the point of remembering happy times and feel less need to cry.

And so I will leave you with my memories of a great lady. Her laugh, her spirit, and her love of the Lord. Fried apples,biscuits, cookies, Pizza Hut, cream horns, and ice cream sandwiches. She beat cancer twice, survived a heart attack, and buried a daughter. I remember her smile when she would see us at her front door. And best of all, I remember that she was always proud of me and took joy in my accomplishments (including my girls).

That wasn't in the brochure...

2008-01-04T10:00:00.000-06:00

Motherhood is a blessing. I cannot imagine my life without my beautiful and talented girls by my side. I wouldn't change a hair on their heads.

Motherhood is just as wonderful as "they" say it is... except when it isn't.

While all those things I said were true, it doesn't mean that I haven't had little fantasies involving running away from home, entering the Witness Protection Program, or having Calgon take me away. It seems sometimes that motherhood is like a sorority during pledge week. To the uninitiated it all seems so perfect and supportive. You see all the members of Tri Gamma Mamma with their sleek hairdos and well-dressed tots. You want to be a part of this group.

But just like other misguided sororities, hazing runs rampant. And once you join, there's no way out. Let's face it, motherhood is not for the faint of heart. Yes, as a mother you will experience great love and emotional bonding with your child, but you will also experience moments of heart-stopping fear. Your body can produce and nourish a person, but it will never be the same again.

And so, for your reading pleasure, I give you a list of things I never thought I'd say:

I hope someday you have a kid just like you. -- Not my proudest moment and not because I used "the curse" on my kid, but because I'd hoped to hold onto it until she was in her rebellious teen years. What can I say? Sleep deprivation does bad things to me.

Thank God! I'm so happy I ran over the tricycle! -- No, I haven't resorted to running over toys that have fallen from favor. This one involves that fear I mentioned earlier. I was just moving my car back a few feet in the driveway. I had seen that Miss B (who was close to 3 at the time) was safely away from the driveway, but when you feel something under your wheel and hear a child's screams and cries... I lost ten years off my life that day. But luckily, the only other casualty was the trike (at whose demise my daughter screamed and cried).

Fine, do it. Knock yourself out. -- That's right. I channeled my mother. This was her preferred phrase of exasperation. Think of it as shorthand for: "Listen, dear child, you are annoying me with your persistent harping. I am giving in because my ears are about to bleed, and I don't think that allowing you to do this will result in bodily harm (for either of us)." I swore I'd never say it, but it did take much longer to come out than "the curse."

At least I learned how to get chocolate-milk-based-barf out of cashmere. -- I really think that this one is self-explanatory.

And yes, despite the fact that I have never once vacuumed while wearing pearls and high heels, this motherhood thing does live up to the hype. And when you think about the miracle that are children, it makes the sleep-depriving, barf-covered, life-span-reducing, please-will-someone-end-this-nagging moments worth every minute, even if I do resort to mentally planning my escape to Zihuatanejo.

When an Angel leaves this earth

2007-12-11T20:05:00.000-06:00

I don't know what it is, but lately it seems that I am reading one heartbreaking story after another. The characters are a little different from tale to tale, but the story always ends in one of two ways: a child is clinging to life or a child has died a horrible death. I am so tired of hearing about children being hurt by the very people who are meant to protect them.

I think there are few things worse than inflicting pain on a helpless person or animal. And yet the punishment rarely seems to fit the crime. You often find harsher sentences passed down when someone kills a stranger, rather than their own child. And how hard is it to read about newborns being thrown away or killed by a mother, knowing the number of childless couples desperate to adopt a baby? I always wonder what must happen within a murderer's brain. How does someone go from being an average Joe to rationalizing the murder of their own offspring?

I have often wondered if the so called "safe haven" laws should be extended. Why not make it easier for overwhelmed parents to get help? I can see that a lot of children might be abandoned by their parents, but often these parents have virtually abandoned their children long ago. They are not supportive emotionally and are often barely supportive financially. But at least the kids are alive. It is far from ideal, but something needs to happen to help these children before they become another headline.

Every parent has had moments when they are less than proud of themselves. Their buttons have been pushed, their sanity is at the brink, and they want to scream/cry/get away from their offspring. So what makes some parents able to keep going, and what makes others cross the line? How do I get to the point that I tell myself it is okay to hit/whip/scald/burn/beat /strangle/torture my child? And how do I have the nerve to offer any defense at my trial for those actions? How do I dare argue that I am being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment when I offered no such concessions to my own flesh and blood?

How do I find an answer to the questions that plague me whenever I hear that another child has suffered at the hand of a caretaker or parent? There aren't any easy answers. There aren't any easy solutions. But hopefully society can make it a priority to find the solution. It's time to speak for those who can't speak for themselves and who don't have any political or financial power.

I know this post has been a departure for this blog. I try to keep the focus on my family, but I feel that these children need someone to talk and worry about them too. And I do. In my heart, they are all my children. I miss them. I mourn them. And now I want to help them, even if it's just by getting other people to think about them the same way. I don't want to lose another angel. Heaven knows that we need more angels here on earth. So speak out for those with no voice, be a friend to the friendless, and protect all the children in your life.

An "Enchanted" evening with my daughter...

2007-11-27T12:36:00.000-06:00

I must admit to a bit of scheming last week. Miss B was to have a skating party on Tuesday night and we were to bake cookies for Thanksgiving on Wednesday evening. I convinced Miss B to bake cookies on Tuesday, skip the skating party, and go out to see Enchanted instead.

I knew it was the kind of movie that would either be very good or very bad. Luckily for us, it was excellent. We loved every minute of it (and B was very excited about the preview for the upcoming Chipmunks movie). It got a bit nerve-wracking for Miss B towards the end, but I reassured her that everything would work out fine. And of course it did.

It was quite funny. I teach a college course on Disney and hope that this film comes out on DVD in time to use it next semester. If you have ever poked fun at fairy tales, Disney princesses, or silly showtunes, you will love this movie. If you adore fairy tales, Disney princesses, or silly showtunes, you will also love this movie. It has something for everyone.

And I suggest you take your favorite 7 year old with you. This certainly enhanced my movie-going experience. I rarely see movies in the theatre, so I especially hate to feel disappointed by a film (which would explain why I was so angry after watching Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle... my most recent movie theatre experience). It was nice to spend that time together and to talk about the movie later. I've got a cool kid, and I like for her to know that's how her mom feels about her.

*Note to Parents* This movie is rated PG. Young children might get a bit frightened or nervous near the end. At one point it seems as if the heroine might die. Later the wicked queen turns into a dragon (ala Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty) using very realistic looking CGI effects. Please know your child and prepare them or walk them through accordingly.

There she goes...

2007-11-15T14:35:00.000-06:00

There she goes again,

Racin' through my brain,

And I just can't contain,

This feeling that remains.

-Sixpence None the Richer (among others...)

So while Sister Goldenhair has returned to her efforts to be the ultimate two year old, Miss B has turned seven. Seven. How dare she grow up before my very eyes? There is something so satisfying, yet so very heartbreaking about watching my firstborn grow up. I remember the very second I first saw her. My life was forever altered. It was as if all I had ever done was leading me to this moment in the delivery room.

And I have delighted in motherhood ever since. Sure the pay stinks and the appreciation isn't always there, but I dearly love the role I have in the two miracles I help to raise. But this unexpected pain is so bittersweet. I always knew it would be hard to have her leave home someday, but I didn't expect to feel a twinge at every milestone.

I adored Miss B as a baby. She was soft and sweet, outgoing yet still Mommy's girl. She grew into an inquisitive toddler with curly hair and big blue eyes. Her sense of humor has always been present, as is her love of words and dancing. She has always been a blessing to me, a girlie girl in love with all things pink and sparkly. She's even a big part of the reason I fell in love with the house we bought.

Our home is a typical Midwestern ranch house built in 1956. It was well-kept but out-dated, and though many features caught my eye, it was Miss B that sold it. She ran through the house in pure, unadulterated, 18-month-old joy. I could hear her little feet thumping on the hardwood floors as she laughed and danced in each room. My heart was won over in that instant. Sure, the pitter patter of little feet is cliche, but I can still remember how I felt when I first heard it.

But now she's gone and really started to grow up. First it was starting kindergarten and turning six, now she's seven. First grade. Losing baby teeth left and right. Getting calls from a boy (!). I have always been aware of this inexorable progression, but it was really brought home last weekend. My brother got married and Miss B and SG were asked to be flower girls. While much of the attention was focused on SG (would she or wouldn't she walk down the aisle? would she through a fit?), I couldn't help but notice how Miss B seemed so grown up.

Sure, she danced and giggled like a little girl, but she also behaved beyond her years. Her hair was pinned up and tiara-ed, and she got to wear a dab of makeup. But it was more than appearance. She was always there to take her sister's hand and lead her or to quietly help SG know what to do. Many people noticed the blond cherub sprinkling petals, but I don't think many could ignore the quiet beauty of this princess. She has grown in beauty since the day she was born. Her blue eyes have turned a bit gray and her hair no longer curls, but she still takes my breath away.

When she was born I loved her for what she was, now I love her for who she is. She is funny, articulate, bright, sensitive, caring, a good sister, and a blessing to all who know her. Sure, I still get frustrated with her when her room is a mess or she doesn't listen. She is in many ways still very much a child, but she is in many ways so grown up. I'll happily deal with a messy room if I know that she is trying so hard to be a good sister and friend.

It's just hard to watch a part of my heart grow both more dear and closer to maturity at the same time. Part of me wants the world to see and appreciate this beautiful diamond, but part of me wants to hide this jewel away to secretly enjoy. She's always been my girl, dependent on me for so much. But now she is her own person in so many ways. And so I try to support her in all her dreams, even if they will one day take her away from me. 'Cause if I thought it was hard to some day let her go, it would be harder still to make her stay.

She says things are fallen into place

Feels like they're fallen apart

I painted this big ol' smile on my face

To hide my broken heart

If only she knew

This is where I don't say what I want so bad to say

This is where I want to but I won't get in the way

Of her and her dreams

And spreadin' her wings

-- Billy Ray Cyrus (who ever thought that Billy Ray would say it best?)

Absence makes the heart grow fonder (and brings the babies out the woodwork)...

2007-10-26T23:21:00.001-05:00

First things first, Woody is much better. It seems he was suffering from a "rare, but serious, side effect" to his cholesterol medicine. Who knew? He also has a bulging disk in his neck, so his problems aren't all solved. But at least he can hold a pencil!

So I spent last weekend in Baltimore for a conference. I was able to leave with the knowledge that although we didn't yet know what was causing Woody's problems, the MRI showed it wasn't anything truly terrible. Miss B is old enough to understand what was going on and to think nothing of it. Sister Goldenhair, on the other hand, was probably confused as to why her mommy got a little teary-eyed dropping her off that day.

This was the first time I'd ever been away from her for so long or such a distance. And while some people are able to put their parent side away for a time, I have no such ability. I thought about the girls constantly. I tried to enjoy my time away, but I found myself thinking about home and wondering what Miss B was doing in school or if SG was asking for me.

Baltimore has spent a lot of money trying to beautify the inner harbor area. At first it seemed quite picturesque. But then my inner mom took a good look and was properly horrified. Here is a picture taken in that area. Can you see the problem?

If you said, "Oh it's actually quite lovely." You probably don't have a small child, or at least if you have a small child you are likely not from a totally landlocked area.

If you said, "Holy crap! There's no railing! What in the world is supposed to keep kids from falling in the harbor and drowning?!"... Ah, welcome friend. Welcome to the world of panicked parenting! You're just one newscast away from a MRSA-induced panic attack. So the prospect of taking your child to a large, brown body of water unguarded by even a slight barrier is horrifying to say the least (I mean come on, not even a curb to keep strollers from rolling in? They're killing me!).

So while I am glad I did not have to worry about my kids taking a dunk in the harbor, I still missed them a great deal. And just when my longing was most acute, God would have a little fun with me. Cute babies were suddenly everywhere. Adorable toddlers abounded. Even beautiful little girls seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Even when I didn't see them, I heard them. Delicious giggles and sweet little voices floated in the air. Even frustrated cries in the shops were given a rosy tone. Happy or sad, those voices were music to my deprived ears. Like a homesick child at summer camp, I longed for the routine chaos of home.

It was hardest first thing in the morning and last thing at night. My evenings at home are spent snuggling with the girls and getting them ready for bed. SG and I have been singing "Baby Mine" together lately as I rock her to sleep (*sigh*). And mornings around here are pure magic to me. The girls end up snuggled in bed with Woody and I, dozing and tickling and just relaxing and playing before the day really starts. Oh how I missed this.

Despite all this I am planning to go to next year's conference in Chicago already. I did enjoy the opportunities to gain some professional knowledge and to get to know some coworkers better, and I do believe that it was good for the girls to have me go and come back. Maybe I will do a bit better next time around. But then again...

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me speaking words of wisdom, "Let it be"

2007-10-15T21:43:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. Long title.

But it's a song that is stuck in my head today. I think it's trying to speak to me, and I know it is a message I need to hear.

In case it isn't obvious from my other posts, I am a worrier. It is an irresistible force to me; if there is a potential problem, I *must* worry.

Do I hear one of the girls coughing? What does the whooping cough and croup sound like anyway? Are there any active cases of TB around here? What exactly are the symptoms of the plague?

I'm flying to a conference for work this week in Baltimore (home to one of the highest rising murder rates in the country). And as you can see, nothing is ever easy with me. That's not entirely true, but you get the idea. My worries of late had centered on this trip. It will be my first real separation from Sister Goldenhair, and I will miss Miss B's field trip to the pumpkin patch. I have worried about making sure they have someone to watch them while Woody's at work on the weekend. I've worried about packing their clothes early, because Woody doesn't always check what Miss B packs (temps last week lingered around 60 degrees and she took shorts and a tank top to wear at Granny and Papaw's house).

But today things changed.

Woody had been having some pain and was diagnosed last week with an infection. He took a dose of meds and woke up the next morning feeling completely relaxed. We thought that the cramping he'd had must have left his muscles spent and weak. But Sunday saw no improvement, and Monday brought more problems. He arrived at work with no memory of the trip and couldn't grip a pencil. A trip back to the family doctor resulted in a same day appointment with a neurologist, which resulted in a Wednesday night MRI appointment. Words such as "quadriplegia" and "paresis" have been bandied about.

Mother Mary? Check please!

Just how do I let this be? I mean the advice sounds great, and if you're going to take advice from a song it might as well be a Beatles song. But it's hard to embrace letting go and letting be when I haven't fully explored the realms of worry in this scenario. I mean sure, I've explored several disturbing options. WebMD? Check. Stroke symptoms? First thing that came to mind. Muscular dystrophy? There are 8 types to read more about. Could we keep our house if Woody went on disability? I warned you that I am worrier (I plan to go pro after the Olympics).

This situation reminds me of when I was pregnant with SG. We had a test performed called the quad marker screen, and we got some wonky results. My OBGYN's nurse called me at work to give me the results:

"Mrs. Indywriter, I'm sorry but your quad marker screen showed an increased likelihood of trisomy disorders such as Downs Syndrome."

"What?"

"Your doctor is out of town right now, but if you like you could talk to a doctor you've never met before."

"What?"

"We've scheduled a level 2 ultrasound in about 3 or 4 weeks so you can get more info."

"WHAT?"

I was insane by the time I hung up. I broke down and called Woody, crying hysterically. We managed to get an earlier ultrasound, but I was still consumed with worry the whole time. And though the results were promising, I was never able to feel complete joy during the rest of my pregnancy. That fear was always hanging over me. I've never been the lucky one before, so why should I expect it when it really mattered?

As it turns out, SG is perfectly healthy. And I have a new OBGYN.

But now it's Woody who's sick. And I can see obvious symptoms of problems. So this time it's not in my mind. It's all real. I just don't know what *it* is. How can I not worry about something like this?

I know that I shouldn't worry. I know that it won't accomplish anything. I know that it won't likely be anything nearly as bad as I imagine.

My computer is playing random music from my library right now and "Have a Little Faith in Me" is playing. I believe God speaks to us through any means necessary, and I think I know what the answer should be. My faith should be enough to give me peace in times of trouble (yep, Mother Mary is still hanging around). But doubt creeps back in with alarming frequency.

(Okay God, the theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark is on now. I must admit that I don't see the connection this time. And since the theme from Jaws is next, I assume you are looking to communicate through another medium.)

And so I will wait. And no doubt I will worry. Mother Mary will continue to speak to me, and I'll try to let it be. And I will learn to accept personal failures. And not worry about them. And the Father will hold my hand whenever I lose my way.

On joy and grief

2007-10-04T11:07:00.000-05:00

Recently we were thrilled to hear from our dear friends that they were expecting their second child. They had always wanted to have another baby, and she had been extra responsible in working to get as healthy as possible before trying. They were waiting to share the news with family until after a long-awaited trip.

My friend and I talked about the baby and how she wanted another girl. We talked about names and clothes and breastfeeding. She was planning how to make life with a new baby work for their family.

Sunday night she called me. I felt something was different from her greeting. And when she started to talk, I knew what she was going to say. I wanted to not hear it, but I knew.

They lost the baby.

At ten weeks pregnant people say things that they think will be comforting, but they aren't. The body knows when something isn't right. Women who are much farther along lose babies and it's harder when you're farther along. You can try again soon. At least it happened now and not later.

My friend summed it up with, "No one writes a eulogy for a ten-week-old fetus."

We met for lunch this week and she is holding up well. She has a tempest of emotion though bubbling beneath the surface. She confessed that she didn't know what was the appropriate way to grieve for her situation. A close friend of hers had lost a year-old child. So does that make it wrong for her to grieve as much as her friend did?

For all of her strength and toughness, she has the tender heart of a mother. I cannot say I know how she feels to have lost a baby, but I know the love of a mother's heart. It doesn't matter to a mother how old her child is, the loss is devastating. God willing, she will never have to experience something like this again, but that is the only way any of us can know the difference.

How can anyone say whether it's harder to lose a child you have held and kissed or the baby who is still physically part of your body and sharing your blood. This unborn blessing holds all the dreams of family and friends. The potential for anything was there, but is now gone.

I tried to comfort my friend as best I could. I didn't want to offer empty platitudes and generic tidings of sympathy. So I tried to explain to her what I wrote here, that her journey is her journey. She can only know what she feels right now, and God willing, she will never have a basis for comparison. But she can't worry if her grief is appropriate to others who only saw a fetus. She is grieving for a child, a confidant for her daughter, and a dream of infinite possibilities.

As her friend, I want to comfort her. As a person, I hope it never happens to me. But as a mother I grieve too.

She's sooooo good at being 2.

2007-09-25T13:34:00.000-05:00

My youngest daughter is 26 months old. Two and some change. And she is frighteningly good at it at times. Sister Goldenhair is a body full of passions. What she wants may change from time to time, but rest assured she really, really, really wants it. Bad.

Where Miss B was all easygoing charm and in love with the world at large, SG is more the brooding silent type. At least as far as everyone else is concerned. Miss B takes after her dad, and Woody never met a stranger. Poor SG takes after her mother, and I take some time to warm up to people/situations. But once I know you, you would never usually think me the shy, retiring type. So it goes with SG.

But for those of us blessed to have her in our daily lives, SG is pure toddler. Her vocabulary is growing every day, yet she can't express herself as she likes. This results in tantrums. She is growing more adventurous, but doesn't like to be pressed into trying something new. This results in tantrums. She can understand what she's told and knows that there are rules, but doesn't like it when the rules are enforced. This results in tantrums. Are you seeing a pattern here?

I don't want to give you the idea that SG is a rotten little kid, she's just a typical kid. There are few things that warm my heart more than her infectious giggle and silly faces. But there are few things that frazzle me quicker than when SG is on a rampage.

This past Sunday found my sweet baby in rare form. She got to sit with me during church because she is recovering from yet another ear infection (and I didn't want to expose all the other kids). During Sunday school she hounded me for cookies that she had seen me pack in her bag. I told her firmly that the cookies were for later (during church). She persisted, until I explained that in church she would see Papaw and Granny -- then she could have cookies. SG was quiet for a minute, then began to say, "I want Papaw." She is a smart little girl.

Church then saw us visiting the bathroom 3 times. After the first visit, she felt compelled to announce to those seated nearby, "I go potty!" We left a bit early (I hate distracting everyone else with our constant comings and goings). As usual we went to Granny and Papaw's for dinner.

Dinner time found SG unhappy with her food choices. Granny had thoughtfully bought her some chocolate mousse yogurt. SG has had this before and loved it. But this time refused to try it. She even sat in the corner rather than try one bite.

Back home and after her nap she continued to pursue perfect two-ness. She managed to reach onto a cabinet and snag the Lysol. I heard a hissing sound from the laundry room and found her spraying Lysol in the family room, utterly fascinated. Her stint in the corner turned into a stint in her crib after she refused to stay put, saying simply and clearly, "Want out."

As I prepared dinner she rummaged my craft area and found my markers. Luckily we found each other before anything could be ruined. She also found the cookies in the lunch drawer, and was quite put out after I took them away.

Again and again we found ourselves at cross purposes, and each time I thwarted her plans was like a crushing blow. She wept and sought solace in my arms, loving me even though I had been the one to devastate her. And I, for my part, could not love her more if she were the compliant, people-pleaser type. She is my shy little spitfire, and I wouldn't change a thing. I might long for peace and quiet, but I wouldn't give up an ounce of what makes my girls unique. The old song is true, "one is the loneliest number." And I know that someday my girls will grow up and leave home. I am holding on to this time for as long as God lets me. I'm in no hurries to have Miss B and SG grow up. So Sister Goldenhair can continue her reign of toddler terror, and I will always be there to give solace and a hug.

The Consequences of Speaking Too Soon

2007-09-19T09:05:00.000-05:00

So in my last post I made the bold statement that I could handle the usual childhood traumas involving blood or other injuries in a calm, efficient manner. Stomach fluids are the only thing that really gets to me, I asserted.

Unfortunately, it appears that I must now qualify my claims of grace under fire. It seems that I can muster my inner Scarlett O'Hara only when I am witness to the injury. Otherwise I fear that I seem to muster my inner "chicken-with-it's-head-cut-off." I'm not quite as bad as that sounds. But until I know exactly what happened and the severity of the injury, I am a wreck.

This was clearly revealed to me about a week and a half ago. My family was attendig my Dad's union picnic. As the annual raffle was starting, a friend noticed that someone's ticket was stuck to the lid of the drawing barrel. I hopped up to fix it, leaving Sister Goldenhair sitting next to my mom. As I was about to return to our table, I heard SG begin to wail. I saw my mom holding her and assumed that SG had tried to follow me and was told no. SG is two, and "no" is the kind of word that can quickly conjur tears (in both of us). As I got closer I still didn't realize that what happened was more serious than hurt feelings.

But then I saw Sister Goldenhair's face, covered in blood. It seems SG had indeed tried to follow me, but got her foot caught on the picnic bench and face first in to the cement slab underneath. Her chin took the brunt of the blow and she very nearly bit through her bottom lip. The bleeding was profuse. I tried to use napkins to absorb the blood and ice to dull the pain, but it was useless. I was useless. Mimi was also on hand and I asked both mothers/grandmothers if I should take her to the ER for stitches. Another mother in crowd came over and said the same thing had happened to her grandson and three stitches were needed.

I would have been a bit panicked even if I had seen everything that happened, but the not seeing made it so much worse. I tried to get a firm hand on that inner-headless-chicken. Granny and Mimi helped talk me down, and the bleeding finally stopped. No stitches were needed and SG would be running around happily later that same evening.

There was a turning point in the whole situation. A moment when Scarlett O'Hara began to win out over the chicken. When SG realized through her pain that I was there. She called out to me, and I took her in my arms. She calmed down quite a bit, and so did I. I was still tense as I asked Granny and Mimi what I should do, but in those same moments I had some peace. I knew that I had done something right in my life if this sweet little girl found comfort in my arms. She even fell asleep once the bleeding had stopped. I held her close for so long that afternoon that my arms hurt for several days afterward. Usually I would have passed her to a grandmother, but I could not seem to let her go.

I do not know if I'll ever really be able to let go of either of my girls. They are such perfect gifts from God. Part of the danger in loving someone so much, is that the potential for hurt is so much greater. Sometimes in my life, I have been able to pull back from someone to avoid being hurt. But not with my girls. All my cards are on the table with them. We are never guaranteed another moment on this earth, so if nothing else I want them to always know that they have my love.

P.S. This was SG's third union picnic. At the first (when she was only a little over a month old) she was stung and bitten by a yellow jacket. Her whole arm swelled up. Last year she was unhappy about needing a nap. After this year, I think we might be forced to reevaluate our attendance of this particular picnic.

Attack of the Mysterious Barfing Flu

2007-09-05T22:45:00.000-05:00

As you can guess from the title, the time since my last post has been a bit hectic. The girls were both stricken with what seems to be a yearly bout of the Mysterious Barfing Flu.

And just what makes this barfing flu so mysterious? It seems to stalk its unsuspecting prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. And just what is the right moment? It has become obvious to me that it must include nocturnal regurgitation of the sort that requires an immediate change of bedding and deep, motherly soul searching (such as, "Why didn't I put a trashcan next to Miss B as soon as she said her stomach hurt?" or "Why God, why must barf smell like this?").

And you should also know that barf is my Achilles heel. While I never like to see my girls suffer, most illness, injuries, and emergencies seem to bring out my best poker face. While I inwardly scream and mentally catalog all the possible negative outcomes, I appear to be confident and assured of a happy end to whatever episode is occurring. I can think clearly and rationally, I just can't stop also thinking of all the what ifs. Barf is different. I cannot maintain an appearance of calm when faced with the most thankless of mom jobs: vomit patrol. Sure, it looks gross, but it's all in the smell.

Once, when I was pregnant with Sister Goldenhair, Miss B was struck by the most dreaded of Mysterious Barfing Flu bugs: The Mysterious 15-Minute Interval Barfing Flu. I was forced to call my husband at work and plead for him to leave work early. Whenever I've been pregnant my sense of smell has been incredibly sensitive, so this particular strain of TMBF was particularly excruciating for me. And since it lasted for most of the night...

What? The girls were suffering too, you say? Well that's a given, but as a mature, responsible parent I can still say, "Yuck!" There's nothing like a little stomach acid to make a woman want her mommy. And once Miss B began to recover from her bout with TMBF, we foolishly thought that was it.

We were wrong. Two nights later, Sister Goldenhair was laid low by this evil bug. And even worse, at her tender age of 2, she was confused and frightened by the stomach-emptying spasms. Any attempts at collection/containment were met by tears and fervent attempts to be held. It was traumatizing for both of us.

While neither Woody nor myself were infected by TMBF, I consider myself a victim just the same.

Uniformity. It's just so... uniform.

2007-08-23T14:42:00.000-05:00

This past Monday marked Miss B's first day of school. This year she's in first grade. Can you believe it? My little girl is growing up. And frankly, I want it to stop.

But as I have yet to master the skills/powers necessary to stop the passage of time, I pretend to be happy that my sweet little baby is becoming a young lady. I know that first grade is a long way from college, but I know how it works. One day it's first grade, the next it's her first boyfriend, and the day after that she's moving into a dorm. Luckily Sister Goldenhair has no desire to grow up. She refuses to accept the title of "big girl," instead saying, "I baby."

But this is Miss B's milestone. For not only is this the first year that she's in real school full time, this is also the first time she's had to wear a uniform to school. I don't know where you stand on uniform policies. If you're like me, you hadn't given them much thought. My daughter goes to public school. Then the school board started talking about uniforms and started a pilot program.

In principal I don't have anything against uniforms. I was greatly annoyed at the manner the school board adopted this policy. Notices of meetings to gather input were sent home with students the night of the meeting. I found myself having to miss this event or try to attend with two hungry children. Have you ever tried to calm a hungry toddler? It's not pretty.

There have been protests, angry outbursts at school board meetings, and an ill-advised lawsuit all trying to stop the uniform requirements from being implemented. The town newspaper has become a battlezone, its pages full of letters and its website full of anonymous vitriol. The arguments for uniforms are from parents who claim they are more affordable. Even a recent editorial cheers them for being cheaper than designer clothes. And since new clothes have to be bought, this isn't as expensive as the detractors are saying it will be.

Here's my issue with that arguement: I do not, nor have I ever, bought designer clothes for my kids. I watch for sales and haunt the clearance racks. I even sew several things for the girls. Another consideration is this: a lot of parents do not go out and buy a new wardrobe each fall. My kids continue to wear older things that fit.

So now Miss B, the girliest of girls, has to dress like all the guys. Sure, she can wear skirts and jumpers, but the tops all look the same. What's a girly-girl to do? Hope her mom and grandmas can sew, that's what. While I have enough khaki, black, and navy blue fabric to sew for an army, Mimi has made the most significant contribution to girliness.

Mimi has made 5 of a projected 10 shirts. Each is made of richly colored broadcloth. Since our schools allow any solid-colored top, we are taking full advantage of the possibilities. While Miss B can no longer wear her adorable butterfly tunic T, she is sporting turquiose, purple, lilac, hot pink, or mint green shirts with decorative stitching. My focus is on bottoms, and some are forthcoming. But khaki capris pale in comparison with a hot pink shirt.

Uniforms aren't all bad, but it does feel like the many are paying for the crimes of the few (and you hoochies and gangstas know who you are). I'm glad we've found a way for Miss B to follow the rules and follow her heart.

Warning! Craftster.org may be hazardous to your free time

2007-08-15T14:00:00.000-05:00

I frequently visit a fabulous blog, Baby Toolkit. While I have assured it's author that I am not stalking her, the tips and hacks found on her blog make even the most discerning parental units rejoice. Her reviews are excellent. And she makes the best diaper "bag" ever The Diaper Valet.

Anyway, a recent column on Adrienne's blog described her new found infatuation with a new web forum, Craftster.org. Ever the skeptic, I clicked over expecting to find a bunch of oddballs who only occasionally post (there's nothing more disappointing than a message board that's never updated). But I was wrong.

So wrong. Craftster is filled with witty, creative crafters from all over the world. They shared their projects, tips, tricks, and wisdom. And they are welcoming to everyone. This alone makes Craftster different among online communities. And on one of my first visits to the children's clothing forum, I found the cutest project ever! With a tutorial, even!

I was immediately inspired to scope out the local Goodwill for a cool men's shirt to recon for Sister Goldenhair. The results? You decide.

I really like the pattern of the shirt and colors. For her part, SG seems to like wearing the dress. And everyone else is shocked when I tell them how it's made. And it was so easy!

And even though the first picture is great, I have to throw in this one just to show off my sweet little girl.

I have found much to inspire me on Craftster. Plus, I have been able to offer advice a couple of times. It feels good to be able to share with other crafty sorts. The only problem I face now is how to come up with more free time. I have already planned projects that need my immediate attention (like school uniforms and Halloween costumes), but I have also be formulating some other plans too, thanks to some new inspiration (felt play food, recon, and just being creative).

So many projects, so little time!

Professional wrestlers have nothing on me!

2007-08-09T21:42:00.000-05:00

So Sister Goldenhair is sick again/still. She seemed to have a mild cold, lots of nighttime coughing, and the occasional snotty nose. But her symptoms morphed into something worse, she was having trouble sleeping.

It takes some time to get to know your kids and how they really work. Miss B, for instance and like her mother, can cough all night long and sleep right through it. She may feel a bit run down the next day, but she did get some sleep. SG, on the other hand, is at least half-awake when she coughs at night. The result is a very cranky little girl and very cranky parents.

And after a trip to the doctor earlier this week, it became even more obvious just how different my girls can be. Miss B loves to take her medicine. I can really only remember one or two times when she was much smaller that she resisted. Sometimes she will request medicine (this concerns me on many levels), but even if the medicine is quite unpleasant she will take it.

SG's doctor visit resulted in two possible diagnoses: ear infection or severe allergies. The consequences: augmentin and loratidine liquids (two of the nastiest tasting meds around). We asked the pharmacy to add bubblegum flavoring to the vile taste the manufacturers call "cherry." [rant]It is obvious to me that pharm. companies must hate children. Otherwise they would try harder to make their meds palatable. This is also proof that they hate parents and want us to suffer, covered in sticky, vile tasting syrups ejected from the palates of those who would gladly eat paper, dog food, and anything found on the ground if they had the chance. [/rant]

What happened next should appear on the next Smackdown video released by WWE. Woody and I double teamed SG after civil attempts at medicine dosing were rejected in stunning, spit-take reactions. The old medicine-in-the-chocolate-milk trick was shot down as well. And our one-on-one wrestling match was traumatizing to us both.

What followed was a morning of pure parenting torture. Since SG would not take any of her meds, I was forced to ask the doc for an antibiotic shot. If you ever consider this to be an easy alternative to ten days of twice-daily dosing, let me tell you just how crazy you are. I did not expect it to be easy, but after she received the shot I was informed that even adults don't like it. And as someone who had to help hold SG down as she received a shot in each leg at once, I can assure you that it was agony for us both.

She cried herself to sleep in the car, and I felt terrible for her. It's especially frustrating that she is too young to really learn from this. Actually that's not completely true. She definitely learned to resist medicine in syringes, but will not realize that not taking her meds can result in something more uncomfortable than a bad cherry flavor. So tonight, when she was sore and a bit feverish, she would not take the ibuprofen that she used to take without reservation. She is untrusting and stubborn for now.

And I'm sure somewhere, someone is developing a medicine for that too. But for me, I'll try to win her back with loving attention and hope it is more palatable to us all.

The little things, they really do mean a lot

2007-07-31T13:32:00.000-05:00

So it's been awhile since I posted. Life has been crazy as usual, and, also as usual, I have gone out of my way to make it crazier. I had my summer sinus infection, Miss B had her regularly scheduled ear infection, and Sister Goldenhair, realizing even in her tender years that misery loves company, came down with the crud as well. And since her birthday and my vacation were scheduled for last week, I had several little projects to tackle. Maybe someday I'll try not to sweat the little things, but for now I'm sweatin' all over the place.

And it seemed important that Sister Goldenhair have a beautiful cake for her birthday. So instead of making a simple, plain cake, I stayed up making purple, monarch butterflies out of candy melts. And while the cake was good, it turns out that the only thing SG was really interested in was those butterflies. She popped them into her little mouth as if they really could have flown away. She should have known better than to reward my obsessive tendencies, but I must admit that the feeling I get remembering her chipmunk cheeks stuffed with candy is one of gratitude.

How lucky am I that I have these two girls in my life? I feel so grateful when I get it right, when it seems I so often get it wrong. I catch myself getting frustrated by normal kid stuff, and I cringe when my reaction to my girls seems more in line with the reaction deserved by the rudest of strangers. But the sad thing is, I would never treat even rude strangers that way. And so I work twice as hard to change.

And sometimes I get it right. I can live in the moment and appreciate all I've been given. Sure, a mouthful of melting butterflies does not a happy childhood make, but it's a step in the right direction.

The end of July also brings my usual summer vacation. I have taken to spending a few days at my in-laws house and taking pictures of the girls in Mimi's garden and around their beautiful church. And the results? The girls always look cute in the garden, don't you agree?

I took over 500 pictures in two days. Most aren't posed, and I think that's the way to go. While a lot of the pictures aren't anything I'd print (blurs, empty frames, backs of heads, etc.), I caught some unexpected treasures. I caught glimpses of attitude, personality, and magic. One of my favorite pictures of the girls came with an impromptu set of races on the side stoop of the Wayne County Historical Society. SG urged her big sister along with frequent shouts of, "Hurry!" (which sounds more like huh-ree). They raced back and forth, laughing all the way. I hated to call an end to it, but before I did I caught one of my favorite pictures of my whole trip.

Not only am I glad I took so many pictures, I'm glad that I spent time picking out fabric and making their dresses. I like having a way to show them how much they mean to me. And so I do those little things that make them feel special and that I feel good about too. I'm glad I didn't spend all evening watching TV, when I saw how Miss B's face lit up when I told her I had finished her picture dress. She understands that there is effort behind it, and I know that she loves dresses. We're all pretty happy in the end (and that whole sewing machine thing was a good move on my part, that guilt trip is over thank goodness). I see this as a way to show the girls how important they are to me, that even when they aren't around or awake my thoughts and efforts are for them.

So when I think of the time since I last posted, it was well spent and sweetly remembered. Miss B catching her first fish, SG's first look at her birthday tricycle, the slobbery kiss I got when she thought I was sleeping, wading with Miss B in the icy creek, and carrying sleeping little girls to bed. The little things don't just mean a lot, they mean everything.

Overstock.com (or how I learned to stop being a martyr and love myself)

2007-07-17T10:57:00.000-05:00

Recently I grew a bit maudlin and bemoaned the fact that I couldn't buy myself something I wanted and needed (a new sewing machine). Only now I have done just what I thought I'd never do, and I have Overstock.com to thank for it. I never imagined that Overstock.com would even sell sewing machines, but in performing some searches for the lowest price available on the model I wanted, I found that they do. And at a significant savings.

So thank you, Overstock.com, you've made my impossible dream come true. And while it's true that this is a reconditioned machine and my instruction manual is obviously a xerox copy of the original, I think that helps me feel a bit better about it. It's hard to stop being a martyr cold-turkey, so these facts are like a martyr patch.

And I have already put it to good use.

As you can see, I've had some fun with the applique stitch on my new baby. I know that this isn't likely the greatest thing you've ever seen, but I'm pretty happy with it. So I'm throwing in the closeup as a bonus.

This little number is for Sister Goldenhair to wear for her birthday party this weekend. It's hard for me to believe that my little girl will be two. Hopefully, someday she'll have a little girl and will be able to pass on some of the things her mother made for her out of love. I can think of no greater compliment than having something I made be passed to another generation. I'm not saying that this cupcake shirt will be it, but I sew lots of little dresses and outfits for both girls (including those in the banner picture of this blog).

Anyways, I just want to thank Overstock.com for the great deal. It's hard to feel too bad about indulging when you score a great deal on something you will use the heck out of. Maybe later this week I will be able to share this year's picture outfits. In the mean time, be good to yourselves... You deserve it!

Sad little carnivals and lessons on mortality

2007-07-06T14:14:00.000-05:00

The town I live in decided to host a carnival this week. Nothing says we admire the sacrifices of our forefathers like the opportunity to cheat severe injuries on a hastily set up tilt-a-wirl. And I imagine that George Washington weeps tears of pride each time someone buys a deep fried twinkie and a lemon shake-up.

But since this carnival is practically in my backyard, I agreed to take the girls for a quick visit. Killjoy that I am, I maintain veto power on which rides will be enjoyed by my progeny. The whirling-bullet-of-death was quickly deemed unacceptable, so Miss B settled for a ride down the wavy slide. I then followed holding Sister Goldenhair. Luckily, SG loved it (at the risk of appearing to be a big chicken, I will not comment on my own feelings). Miss B then climbed up a giant, inflatable shark, sliding from the tail to emerge from the mouth.

I then took SG on the carousel. She was a bit reluctant at first. Unfortanately her reluctance grew with each passing second. We spent the majority of the ride entangled in a frantic embrace. Miss B desperately wanted to ride the flying swings, but finding herself one ticket shy instead enjoyed her own ride on the carousel.

Then it happened. Miss B spotted the booth giving away goldfish as a prize for landing a ping pong ball in an ivy bowl. She tossed several balls before asking for my help. What happened next was one of my greater mental lapses. I actually took aim and let fly, and my ball was victorious. Why I didn't take the dive, I'll never know. Instead, my 6 year old daughter was the lucky winner of a goldfish (I thank my lucky stars that none of our balls landed in the special center bowl, in which case we would have won a rabbit!). A fish was pulled from a trashcan filled with cloudy water and presented to Miss B.

Miss B, in all her tender-hearted glory, was enraptured with her new pet. We immediately left the fair to get fish food. I made Miss B pay for the food, and her willingness to part with any bit of what is termed her "American Girl Money" made me feel better about the unexpected pet. We went home and carefully prepared fresh water for the fish Miss B named "Lucky."

A few hours later we were arriving home after fireworks. Miss B had hurried in to check on Lucky. I was met by her teary face. It seems that Lucky died while we were gone. My husband flushed him (I'm sure he was humming "Taps" or "Nearer My God To Thee" at the time). My daughter was heartbroken, and I was again glad that we hadn't won a rabbit.

The bright side of all this is that I think Miss B may be ready for a pet. We will likely try another fish, though one bought from PetSmart and hopefully it will have a shot at living longer than 6 hours. I don't think I'll ever be able to go to a fair with out thinking of Lucky and the little girl who loved him so.

The impossible dream...

2007-06-28T13:27:00.001-05:00

If you read the title of this blog and heard music in your head, you're not alone. But it's a different song I'm singing these days. Life has been crazy both at work and at home, but I saw something last week that touched me deeply and inspired me a great deal.

I sometimes watch America's Got Talent, but had never seen the British version before. Somehow, I found a video of the winner of Britain's Got Talent, Mr. Paul Potts. Potts is an unassuming man; a bit large of build and quite humble. He took the stage with the confidence of someone who has known ridicule. He stated that he was a cell phone salesman and sang opera. The judges were as disbelieving as I and the rest of the audience were. If you watch any reality shows you know that when they give you background on a contestant it can only mean one of two things: great talent or a complete absence of talent. I hoped that Mr. Potts would do well and not be destroyed by the judges.

And then the most amazing thing happened. This average man opened his mouth, and the most amazingly beautiful tones emerged. He sang Nessun Dorma, my favorite opera piece (not that there are many to compete with it). Within seconds my eyes welled with tears, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. There was just something about that voice and the soulful eyes of the man who sang. He looks like someone who knows pain. The crowd adored him, yet he looked as if he expected a rebuke from the judges. They also loved him.

In later rounds of the competition, Potts revealed that he had been bullied as a child. His voice was his best friend and comfort. He was in debt due to medical problems, and very nearly didn't even audition. Luckily for us all, his wife encouraged him to pursue his dreams. Click here to see his first appearance.

I'm sure that you have figured out that I am more than a bit sentimental by nature. I can be sarcastic and doubtful, but it is merely an act meant to protect the tender workings of my heart. And this man touched my heart. I wonder if I would have the courage to pursue my dreams in such a manner. So often it seems we all get bogged down in the day to day, that we forget to even dream, let alone pursue our dreams.

We are often martyrs. Unintentionally surrendering our dreams for the greater good, we think that our suffering will make things better. I'm not saying that self-denial is a bad thing. But maybe we need to be clear on just what the benefits will be.

I have been eyeing a sewing machine for a few months. I've wanted an upgrade for some time, and finally picked a good candidate. But did I buy it? Of course not! My 9 year old machine works fine. The buttonholer doesn't work, but the other 12 stitches are okay. The machine I want has over 60 stitches and many improved functions. It's not outrageously priced. But I cannot buy it. It's too much to be spent on just me. I tell myself that the money would be better spent on other things for the family.

The only problem is, I couldn't show you what we did instead. I can tell you that instead of spending money on a fence, we spent it on new french doors instead. The improved security and insulation are tremendous (especially since our old sliders were propped shut with a broomstick). I can tell you that instead of buying Mimi some flowers for Mother's Day, we paid our way into a state park and spent all day with the girls instead. But I practiced self-denial and have nothing to show for it, except the ability to say that I went without.

And so it seems to go with many dreams. I cannot tell you why I haven't tried harder to follow my dreams. I can only say that I haven't. I probably think that I have done this for the betterment of my family (i.e. in saving money or being around more), but wouldn't my family be better off with someone who isn't afraid to try?

And I imagine that a big part of the problem for many of us, is that we cannot clearly state what our dreams are anymore. I no longer dream of a career in pop music or of being an astronaut (two of my early career choices, though I also wanted to be a waitress). I tend to know what I don't want, but can't always say what I do.

My goodness! I certainly didn't mean to wax philosophical. Maybe it's the stormy weather or that fact that my father is quite ill, but either way I need to lighten up and dream a little dream of me.

Father's Day

2007-06-15T14:22:00.000-05:00

This Sunday is Father's Day. So how will you celebrate?

As I am lucky enough to have a father and father-in-law who are still living as well as having a husband who is a father (and yes, I mean to my children. If there are any other children of his out there you may soon notice a drastic change in the tone of this blog.), we will be celebrating a multi-faceted Fathers' Day.

For my father-in-law, I have purchased a "funny" card. I leave the choice of gift up to my husband. Since Woody's folks (Mimi and Poppy) are leaving for a cruise, we won't be seeing them this weekend.

For my dad, I have also purchased a "funny" card. I plan to go out tomorrow and pick up his gift. And how do I show my love for my dad? With a Mr. Coffee Iced Tea maker of course! Sure he has one already. And even though it is several years old and missing one small, unnecessary piece, it works fine. But sadly, this is what it seems I've come to: buying replacement items for gifts. My folks are lucky enough to be able to buy the things they really need and most of the things they really want. Anything he wants that he can't buy would definitely be beyond my reach. So since the old man likes his tea, a tea maker it is.

And Woody? He will be the lucky recipient of a Flip Video digital camcorder. Is this because he's such a great dad and husband? Perhaps. But it's mostly because I think it's really cool. I know that Woody will like it, but that I will use it more. But since I will be using it to capture moments that he is missing due to his crazy work schedule (which I swear is meant to punish those with young families), it still seemed appropriate. And in case you were wondering, yes, I also bought him a "funny" card. This one was approved by Miss B however. Woody will be off on Saturday instead of Sunday, so we will celebrate with him tomorrow.

Since I am lucky enough to live near my folks (Granny and Papaw, as they are known to my girls), we will spend Father's Day with my father and his grill. My dad is a steak and potatoes kind of guy. Okay, he's actually a steak and cheesy-potatoes kind of guy, but you get the idea. He loves steak on the grill whenever the weather is agreeable, so I foresee a steak dinner on Sunday.

My dad and I didn't always get along when I was a kid, but we are close now. I'm lucky to have parents who are people I'd like even if I weren't related to them. And the girls love them too. Sister Goldenhair, in particular, adores her Papaw. She can't quite say "Granny" yet, but she can say "Papaw" with an ease and devotion that is sweet to behold. He teases her and tickles her, and she shrieks with laughter every time. Sometimes I'll even hear her call for him from her crib as she first awakens. I'm so glad that both girls get to spend a lot of time with their grandparents. Mine always lived at least two states away, so I only saw them a few times a year. My girls usually see both sets of grandparents at least once a week.

So is a tea maker a good gift for a great dad? When every meal at home was accompanied by a pitcher of iced tea, and your dad's favorite white cup is stained beige from always holding tea, and the only accepted family shorthand is the rattle of ice in an empty glass as a call for refills of sweet tea, I think it'll do nicely.

A fear of the fearless

2007-06-14T14:11:00.000-05:00

Sister Goldenhair has become fearless of late. And I'm rapidly becoming a nervous wreck. Sure, I sometimes admit to quite a bit of white-knuckled parenting and days spent pondering the chances that my kid's cough is merely the first symptom of bubonic plague. But this is the big time.

My little monkey has become fearless in the water. She spent time at Mimi's house (Mimi is Woody's mom and the best mother-in-law a girl could have) yesterday and had a blast in the kiddie pool. So much so that Mimi felt compelled to warn me. It seems that SG was putting her face in the water, laying on her back in the water, trying to float, and generally trying to become a water dog.

And while part of me glad that she isn't afraid of the water, another part of me is terrified. As is my nature, I began to worry when Mimi told me all this, but I was worried more about her getting into a kiddie pool without supervision. Then I put my filthy kids in the tub last night for a bath. SG merely saw this as another pool. She laid down completely in the tub, water lapping at the edges of her cherubic face, and kicked her feet. She delighted in covering as much of herself as possible with water. And thanks to her independent streak, she tried to climb out of the tub while I was unfolding her towel. Small, wet children and slick, bathroom surfaces never combine well, and she fell back into the tub. Unharmed and undaunted, she prepared to try again. I helped her out, much to her displeasure, and felt my stomach sink.

While I wouldn't leave her unattended in the tub before, I can no longer feel even remotely non-petrified at the thought of her near any quantity of water. She can somewhat clumsily climb into the tub unassisted. Miss B is not afraid of water, but she gets nervous in a pool. Since she cannot yet swim, I think this is healthy. But what to do about SG? Do you try to make her see the dangers? Can a child of not-quite-2 understand without becoming phobic?

Well, at least I have an exciting new fear to keep me on my toes. Sometimes I long for the days when Miss B was a baby and I was blissfully unworried. Sure, I was concerned about lots of things, but not with the nearly hysterical fervor that seems to grip me these days. It's my job to keep my girls safe and healthy until they become adults, but so much is really beyond my control. What to do, what to do?

Introducing indywriter...

2007-06-12T17:35:00.001-05:00

I know you're bound to be so excited you can hardly contain yourself. "indywriter is finally blogging," you say.

Sure. That's it exactly, right?

Okay, so you probably aren't even sure who indywriter is. It's me! (I'm sure that cleared it all up for you.)

I am a do-er of many things. I am most busy with being a mom to my two lovely girls (that's them in the picture). While I do work outside the home, I find that I still spend a hefty portion of most days worrying or otherwise thinking about my girls. If I never do another thing in this life, I am blessed to be a part of them. They are beautiful inside and out, and have such strong personalities.

Miss B is six years old and starts first grade in the fall. She wants to be a "pure ballerina" (which means she wants to wear pretty leotards and pointe shoes). She was reading before she started kindergarten and has a habit of asking the hard questions. She likes to wax philosophical about many topics, but still loves to do kid stuff and watch cartoons. She keeps me on my toes. I never know what she's going to say.

Sister Goldenhair will be two in July. She is rapidly developing her vocabulary and seems to change with every day that passes. She has spent all of her short life attached to me in some way or another. But lately, she's been digging the daddy. I am glad for him and for her (and for me!). She's still my shadow, but it seems that her meltdowns are less frequent and her personality grows more sunny with each passing day. She is a hoot, and quite the little lover. Soggy kisses and pats on the back are her specialty. She learns quickly and is obsessed with remote controls and phones.

Miss B and SG are two of the loves of my life. My husband would be the other. Woody greatly enjoys carpentry and golf (yes, I am clever with the names... thanks for noticing). Woody and I have been married for almost 9 years now. He's fiery (that means red-headed and frequently short-tempered), but great. I'm a lucky woman any way you look at it.

As for me, I like to read, sew, cook, shop, scrap, sing, play, dance, take pictures, and so much more that this list could go on for some time. I will likely share lots of different things here, but who knows? Thanks for reading!