The Haunted Clock Approves

The haunted wall clock in that small space, that interstice between the bedrooms, approves of the new wall color. The old girl started ticking and chiming away the other day a while after I put her back up on the wall. No winding up, no crank of the key. I didn't even open the glass door, nor did I clean the protective layer of dust off her top. I let her go for nine and a half hours, but even I have my limits. I pried the stubborn latch open so I could stop the swinging pendulum and the chimes. It took almost two minutes to get it open. It's been a couple of years since she's spontaneously started like that, but I swear, that clock was happy this time. I considered taking her down to place a new curio cabinet in that spot, but after this episode, I don't think she'd be satisfied anywhere else. So where should I put the new wall curio cabinet?

interstice (n.): a space between closely spaced things

P.S. like how my clock is a girl?

Annoyance of the Week

Stupid gas prices...

I don't say too much about gas prices. I accept the fact that even though prices are ridiculously high, we are a population driven by oil, and the nasty prices are probably here to stay. I get that. But now I am pissed off and I need to complain about it.

I was working out our family's July budget, which includes reviewing the receipts from June. I don't know why I didn't pay more attention before, because it's probably been that way for a while, but suddenly there it was--it cost more to fill up two economical, gas-sipping cars (mine and my husband's) for one week, than it cost to feed my family for ten days. It's so ironic that most of the miles that are put on our cars are the miles traveled to and from work so that we can get paid to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table. Does that even make sense? It costs more to get to and from work than it costs to feed us.

There is something wrong here. Something very, very wrong.

I think I'm going to copy and paste this onto a new document and send it to the local paper.

Soothing Sounds

What sounds do you savor?

Right now I'm enjoying the sound of the wind shaking thousands of water droplets from the leaves of the trees as the shush, shush of my paint roller transforms the hideous off white wall between the bedrooms into Peach Fade.

Dressing Room Camaraderie

camaraderie (n.): a spirit of friendly good-fellowship

I was at a department store a couple of weeks ago checking on a jacket that I really wanted. I had originally seen it a month ago on the 40% off sale rack, but even on sale, I knew it was too much to spend. I had checked back on it twice since then. The boy-child was with me at the store and we were actually there to find him some sandals. No luck, but I managed to convince him to go upstairs so I could see if the jacket was still there. There had been only one in my size, and I was convinced someone else would buy it before it was marked down again. But up we went, and there it was--on the 60% off rack! I'm not usually lucky enough, or patient enough, or whatever it is that it takes, to get great deals on lovely clothes. That velvet Favourbrook* jacket two years ago (at 80% off!) was a one time thing. But this time, I waited and watched, and ended with success.

I did not try the jacket on before because I was worried that I'd like it too much and get it right away, so I had to go into the fitting room (which I call the dressing room, because I just do) this time and make sure that the number 6 stitched on the black tag was accurate. I took His Majesty, The Sausage King, etc., etc., in with me. I left the door open since I was only trying on a jacket and not removing any clothing. My child enjoyed himself royally making silly faces in the three-way mirror. I blocked most of that out as I smiled in wonder at the amazing fit of the jacket. The only minor flaw, which I have never run into before, was that the sleeves were just a little bit too long. As I ignored the antics going on from my hip down, I fiddled with the cuffs.

Suddenly, another shopper came into the dressing rooms. She stopped and admired the jacket I had on. I noticed that she had the only remaining jacket in the same style (different size) in her hands. Then the sales associate came in behind her with an armload of garments (for that guest to try on, I suppose). These women were at least twenty years older than I, but in that moment, I think the earth tilted a little bit too far from its axis.

"That's a stunning jacket!" the shopper exclaimed.

"It's a perfect fit," the associate assured me as tugged the back of the jacket down with her one free hand.

"I really like it," I said into the mirror where I could see their reflections behind me. The Sausage King continued to do tricks that a court jester would be envious of, but no one other than my mental maternal eye noticed.

"What are you going to wear with it?" the like-minded buyer asked.

I was quiet for a second. Why was this older woman asking me a fashion question of such import? I'm not good with fashion. I'm a mom who rejoices in a shower and something reasonably pretty to wear. This was a special jacket, which I felt would go with anything with its bright blue, green and pink goodness; that's what I cared about.

"I have white pants at home," I replied, then paused. "I also have a pair of flax-colored linen--"

"It even looks great with jeans," she told me.

I was wearing a denim skirt. She was right. I was right. This jacket would go with anything.

"I was thinking of something in green?" She was asking me, not just making a statement. I felt a tiny quiver of panic. Did she not see the contorting face in the mirror near my knees? That is what my life is focused on these days. What did she see in me that made her think I would have an answer? We were in the Designer Apparel department with an associate hovering near our shoulders. She was a woman who looked like she was sophisticated and had plenty of disposable income. Was she afraid that the associate would say anything just to get a sale?

I smiled at her again. "I did think a green scarf would look good," I answered as my hands fluttered near my neck.

Her answering smile seemed reassured and the older ladies drifted off to an available room. I stared, confused, into the mirror until the seamstress arrived to pin the sleeves for alteration. I wondered, again, after I tugged the performer away from the mirror, what had inspired that moment of camaraderie.

*If you click on the Favourbrook link and go to where it says "Ladieswear" you will see the jacket on the left.

Tips for traveling with Children...and a Husband

Everyone survived the road trip!

I can say the trip was a true success because it was a puke-free vacation. Any vacation without vomit is a thing to celebrate.

Now, here are some of my "tips" to make sure things go smoothly:

1. If your husband supervised the children packing, find some way to double-check what was packed. Even if he assures you that they have enough underwear and pajamas, it would be wise to make sure they have not packed jeans and sweatpants when the vacation destination has weather in the 90s.
2. If your husband packed his own clothes, find some way to double-check the number of outfits he decided to bring. A minimum of one outfit per day is recommended, especially when the weather for the trip is supposed to be in the 90s every day of the vacation.
   
3. If you put your cosmetic bag near the remaining items to be packed, make sure it gets packed and that someone has not kindly put it back in the place where you always keep "that little bag?" at home.
4. Do not pull away from the house before checking to make sure everyone has what they wanted to play with in the car. "I left my magnadoodle in the living room!" is something you do NOT want to hear twenty minutes after leaving.
5. Expect frequent bathroom stops, and then be happy if you don't need to pull over at every rest area.

I had a great time getting away from the house for a few days. St. Louis was amazing and the weather was awesome. Here's a glimpse of our activities in Missouri: swimming in the hotel's rooftop pool, visit to the St. Louis zoo, making build-a-bear animals at the zoo, swimming, eating dinner at a restaurant that has a bartender who makes the strongest martini I have ever tasted, having more than one martini (grown-ups), visiting a famous hat factory, buying shorts for the children, swimming, visiting the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial (arch), Going to the Museum of Westward Expansion, visiting the Old Courthouse where the first two decisions concerning Dred Scott were made, going to see the movie Cars, and, finally, a trip to White Haven (historic home of Ulysses S. Grant) to round off my Civil War Generals' homes tour. There was more to do, but we only had two and a half days in St. Louis. There were more museums and the shopping looked like it was quite nice in some of the suburbs of the city.

The rest of the vacation was lovely, too. There were plenty of animals to observe on the many farms we passed. Yes, horses! cows! llamas! I saw the llamas, too, so I know it's true, but I hesitate to mention the camel that was sighted since I didn't see that with my own eyes. But you never know. It's an amazing world.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Find out what it means to me...and what does it mean to you?

I witnessed two events this past week that I found to be very troubling. Both incidents have to do with respect--or the lack thereof. Beyond feeling troubled, I am absolutely disgusted at the disrespect people show for each other.

The first incident occurred at a local restaurant. After a fun family day, the hubby and I decided to splurge on going out for ice-cream. An older woman--maybe mid-sixties--cheerfully greeted me, took my order, accepted my payment with a pleasant, "Thank you," and gave me the correct change. Two minutes later, I was ready to go, when I caught that my order wasn't exactly right. This was not a big deal, and the woman immediately apologized, but smack in the middle of her apology, another employee (who appeared to be a supervisor and was maybe around twenty years old), rudely grabbed my corrected order and shoved it at me, all while barking at the original server, "How hard is it to serve ice-cream? Huh?"

I stood there with my mouth hanging open, not quite believing what I was hearing. It's possible that maybe the server had messed up twenty orders that day and the supervisor was just frustrated, but I know I felt embarrassed about the outburst, and the server looked absolutely humiliated, her head of gray hair bowed, eyes downcast. I shot the supervisor a dirty look, but said nothing. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, something rude would come flying out, and I didn't want to make the woman's situation any worse.

A few days later, I was grocery shopping, and I saw a cute little boy, maybe about two years old, sitting in a shopping cart, happily swinging his legs and quietly clapping his hands. His parents (I presume it was his parents anyway) both had their backs turned, looking at something on a shelf. About that time, I smiled and winked at the boy, and he burst out with a loud, "La la la!" Faster than I could blink, the father turned and grabbed the boy's hands and snarled out, "How many times do I have to tell you to quit fooling around?" The boy turned and looked at his mother, who responded with, "Don't look at me. I already told you to shut up because I'm sick of hearing you." The boy just hung his head, not making a sound.

For the second time in less than a week, I found myself completely speechless. I know kids can be a handful. I'm a mom, my kid is a kid, and of course I get frustrated sometimes, but no matter what my child does, I am in charge of how I react. I had silently kicked myself for not speaking up at the restaurant, but this time, I couldn't let it slide. I piped up with a quick, "Hey, sorry about that. I was smiling and winking at him because he's so cute."

The mother and father both looked startled--neither of them had seen me. I stood there smiling, not really sure what to do next. The mom tousled her son's hair and muttered out, "Sorry kiddo."

The father stood there, glaring at me, eyes smoldering, obviously angry at the intrusion, and I found myself locked into a staring match. He must have seen the darkness that had crept into my eyes and the venom dripping from the corners of my mouth, because he finally turned away, saying nothing at all.

I stood there for a few more seconds, trying to slow my rapid heartbeat, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little boy shyly peek around his mother and give me a little smile. It warmed my heart, but made me sad, too.

The elderly are being disrespected and humiliated in public. Children are being disrespected and humiliated in public. These are just two incidents. When I told people about them, the general response was, "Oh, it happens all the time." And I just thought, It happens all the time. ALL the time.

Then I got to thinking about how God is all around us. Maybe God was in that server at the restaurant and He was disappointed in me. Or maybe God was in that little boy and He was pleased that I defended an innocent soul. Maybe God just took note and was pleased that even though I made a mistake, I did my best to make up for it.

I don't have control over many things, but I have the power to influence others and lead by example. I hope my actions influence my daughter to be respectful and kind to all people, because it matters. It matters.

Four States, Five Days

It's going to be a crazy ride.

I feel like only a crazy sister would plan a trip like this.

The Tiny Buds Show a Hint of Color

Kindergarten Celebration

The children were referred to as flowers more than once today, the last day of kindergarten, but they're far from floriferous. They're more like the baby buds on a rose bush that spread open just the tiniest bit--still tightly furled, but revealing the barest hint of the color of the flower which will eventually bloom.

floriferous (adj): bearing flowers; blooming freely

Fat Tuesday

Heavier by the minute...

C'mon girls. No matter how skinny you are (and yes, dear crazy sisters, all of you are way skinnier than me--on the flip side of that, I may be bigger, but I also have the longest legs and biggest boobs!), you've had days where you just feel fat, right? I'm having one of those days. I haven't had a fat day in a while, and I forgot how yucky it feels.

You know...clothes don't fit right, you just feel kind of sloppy and sluggish. The thought of laying in bed in sweats with the remote is very appealing. If you're stuck at work on a fat day, you just want to cross your arms over your chest and give that blank stare when people ask you something--you know, that look that just screams, "I don't think so."

And then I got to thinking that maybe fat days have less to do with actually being fat or even feeling fat. I think fat days happen when things aren't going so great. Feeling fat and feeling burdened are awfully similar. I guess carrying the weight of the world could add a few extra pounds to a person. Maybe that's why my shoulders, neck and back hurt when I'm feeling fat.

The thought of ending my work day early and crashing on the couch is tempting. Instead, I'm going to go home, play with my baby, give her dinner, and then go to the park with her and push her on the swing. If it rains, I'm going to let her chase me around the house doing her modified "army crawl".

Hey! I'm feeling a little lighter already!