in which the fog in my brain matches the weather

It sure is foggy this morning. It would be a perfect morning to sleep in. I wish I had planned it better all those years ago when I thought it would be a swell idea to have one more child, a child who needs her hair brushed before school. What was I thinking?

I'm just kidding of course. The blessing of this last little daughter far outweighs any joy or satisfaction I could ever receive by staying in my nice cozy soft warm comfy bed on a dreary gray moist dark morning. Sure it does. I'm sure. Surely.

Because I'm such a non-morning person, I have found that I truly require my weekends for sleeping in. I fight my natural body rhythms all week, getting up hours and hours before I want to. Saturday morning is my time to make up for it. I know that all the studies show you can't make up sleep, but it works for me.

This past weekend, though, I had to wake up even earlier than school days because Jim and I attended a Weekend to Remember marriage conference. It's always surprising to me that after all these years together, after all the conferences we've been a part of in one capacity or another, we can come away with new insight, new resolve, and renewed commitment.

One of the things that is a key principle at these FamilyLife conferences is "My spouse is not my enemy." We have an enemy in marriage, an opposing force whose aim is to deter us from mirroring God's image, but it's not our spouse. This weekend I heard one lady say, "My husband is not my project." Good stuff. I know it's real easy for me to see the bumps and flaws in Jim that I could fix if he'd just let me at him with my axe and chisel. So it was a great weekend, even if the days did start early.

Saturday night was Date Night and we wondered what we should do, not being a couple who has much experience in this arena. The kids were all away from home for the evening. Our options were dancing, bowling, riding the mechanical bull, or coming home to watch Lonesome Dove on DVD. Because we are so edgy and free, we chose the latter.

You gotta love Robert Duvall. I think this was his finest role. Kinda makes me wish I'd been a cowgirl. They slept until 10:00 every morning, didn't they?

I would be delighted to sign autographs

So I was talking with my daughter in law the other day about our brushes with greatness. It all started with Linda's post about getting an e-mail from Clinton Kelly.

I'm thinking it's just a matter of time before my phone starts ringing off the hook with book deals and talk show spots, once word gets out that I have left comments on a blog that Clinton Kelly has read! That kind of exposure doesn't happen every day, you know.

"Page 73 - Johnson, Navin R.! I'm somebody now! Millions of people look at this book everyday! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people. I'm in print! Things are going to start happening to me now. " ( for five bonus points, name that movie.)

I'm probably due for some recognition. It's been several years since I've had a celebrity encounter. The last one was when Sinbad did a stand-up show here in town. We were able to go back stage and visit with him, since I had known him as David Adkins when he was playing college basketball. My uncle was his coach.

My most memorable VIP meeting took place on my due date with my first baby. I had another uncle who worked as an assistant director on the movie "Inside the Third Reich." They were filming a scene at the bahnhof (train station) in Wiesbaden, Germany, where Jim and I were stationed.

We weren't actually stationed at the bahnhof. We were stationed in Germany. Where the station was stationed. Never mind.

Uncle John thought Jim would make a good German Nazi extra, and he arranged for him to have a bit part. So there I was hugely pregnant, getting to meet Blythe Danner, Rutger Hauer, Stephen Collins, and John Gielgud. Blythe Danner touched my tummy and said it was going to be a girl (she was right!). We chatted a little bit about babies. It was thrilling.

So Corie and Gwyneth Paltrow were this close to being childhood playmates.

Unfortunately Jim's part of the movie ended up on the cutting room floor. I TOLD him not to pick his nose on camera. But we have some good still shots of him in uniform, carrying Rutger Hauer's briefcase and opening the Mercedes door for him.

Also while we were in Germany I saw Telly Sevalas walking down the street one day. Uncle John had also worked on "Kelly's Heroes" so I was sure that when I told Telly whose niece I was, we'd have instant rapport. He said (I'll always remember these exact words) "Give him my best."

It was in Germany, too, that we were at a military ball one night and I stepped on Norman Schwarzkopf's foot. Such grace and charm. It's a wonder that incident didn't propel Jim further in his military career.

And then there was the time maybe 16 years ago that Mr. Rogers came to our airport-- back when Jim was an air traffic controller. I took my boys to see him and he shook their hands and asked them (and I am not making this up, I swear) "Are you my neighbors?"

Aside from the dream I had that Amy Grant and I were best friends, I think that's about it.

My stories would have had a greater impact on Cerissa, but she wasn't sure who some of these people were. That didn't make me feel ancient at all, by the way.

What about you? What are your close encounters of the celebrity kind?

deer me

OK, we might not be seeing daffodils blooming. There are no tulip sprouts, and the idea of capris and flip flops seems ludicrous.

But there's something sweet about looking out in my back yard this evening, just as the snow was beginning, and seeing this



Then I noticed he had brought some buddies. There were five in all. What I wouldn't give for a telephoto lens...


Well, hello there! (If you look just to the right of the big tree, you'll see our sap collector.)



All righty, then, See Ya! Stay warm!


A little later I picked Susannah up from a friend's house and on the way home we saw a turkey right in the middle of the road. How fun is that?

I had to call Lily and tell her, because the last time I was at her house I taught her, much to her mama's chagrin, that little silly thing, "There was a stinky skunk in the middle of the road. I one it." "I two it." "I three it." "I four it." ... back and forth until one of you says "I eight it" and then you crack up. "You ATE the SKUNK??" It's hilarious entertainment, really, especially if your buddy is an enormously precocious and spunky three-year-old.

(I also taught her the one where you say a color or a type of metal and the other person has to say they're that kind of key -- "gold" "I'm a gold key" "silver" "I'm a silver key" "brass" "I'm a brass key"...
Then you sneak in "tur" ... "I'm a tur key." Ha Ha Heee hee hooo..... "You're a turkey!")

It's so much fun being a Mimi. And living where I do, with all the nature and yes, even the snow.

March comes in like a lion, goes out like a tiger?

I should be believing it, but somehow it seems like a cruel joke. Another snow advisory is appearing at the bottom of my screen. An AccuWeather alert! An urgent winter weather message! A snow advisory in effect for 3 to 5 inches tonight. No way.

This is coming on the heels of last Friday's near-blizzard that dumped close to a foot on our area. Darned global warming.

The good news is that the track scrimmage was canceled for this afternoon. The bad news is that we'll all have to sit around tonight and watch our wallpaper peel since there's no Lost on TV.

Edited to add: The men in my family would want me to acknowledge that they will, obviously, be watching college basketball. What was I thinking?

Since I seem to be fresh out of blog fodder, I figure it's time for a little Mimi update. I think I've been remiss in bragging about my grandbabies. I know. You're shocked that such a hip, stylish diva as myself could be old enough to have kids, let alone grandkids. But it's true, and here they are:

This is Tessa. She gets top billing because she's 9 months old today. She's a petunia pants, that's for sure.


I bought them all matching jammies for Christmas, with images dancing in my head of how darling they'd all look lined up on a couch together, smiling adorably into the camera. Hmmm....






Anne Geddes, I'm not.


Here's James, wondering what kind of family he has been born into:

He'll be 7 weeks old tomorrow. He can't wait to be big enough to eat pancakes with real maple syrup at Mimi and Pop's house. We actually did get about a pint from the first batch, after Jim took matters into his own hands, and not counting one tragic boil-over. We may not quit our day jobs quite yet, but it did make some surprisingly tasty syrup.

Famous consipiracies: The Kennedy Assassination, the fake moon landing, and now this

When you're up against a wall, nothing works quite as well as the old standby, The List.

Here are several things that have been conspiring against me in my quest for blog time:

• some assertions that I might have the slightest bit of a tiny addiction to the computer (and my subsequent huffy attitude of "I do NOT. I'll prove it to you..." which is hard to pull off for very long, just because so much of what I want to do involves the use of my computer -- uploading pictures, reading about Idol and Lost, organizing my iTunes, and of course both reading and writing blogs....)
• children who think I should help them study for Revolutionary War tests and give them haircuts and buy them milk and wash their dirty clothes
• helping my hubby sign, fold, and stuff into envelopes our monthly (?) prayer/support letter
  
• forty-eleven appointments in the past two days for both me and my mom
• an inescapable need to sleep in on Monday morning
• a trip to Corie's that ended up being extended due to a freak snowstorm here at home
• preparing food for Easter dinner
  
• Easter itself
  
• the whole hurdle of waiting so long to do something that it becomes bigger and harder to tackle the longer you wait to do it

So that's my excuse, ma'am.

As if my own hair is landing me any recording contracts

I am so sorry, Carly. I never should have bashed your shirts. I had no idea that it would land you in the bottom 3, for heaven's sake! What a shocker. But Girlfriend, you'd better wise up, because your shirt from tonight wasn't much better. Honestly. We need a What Not To Wear intervention in the worst way.

I wonder what Nick would do for David Cook's hair. Anything would be an improvement. Washing, perhaps, for starters. Just a thought.

And while I'm on a hair roll, I'd also spring for a barrette for Ramiele. I'd love to see Amanda's hair in some kind of non-skunk color. Like a soft brown with maybe highlights? I was born in Lafayette, but when she has her concert at a bar there, I probably won't make the trip. I wonder if she'll go back to nursing again. I wonder if she ever frightened any of her patients. I'm slightly okay with the fact that she won't be around the Idol stage anymore. I think she was mildly frightening in general.

I missed Brooke's curls tonight. All straight-hair girls yearn for curls, so it seems unconscionable that she would straighten hers. I hope Syesha brings hers back, too, although I agree with Corie that sleek was the right call for her sophisticated performance this week.

I don't understand dreadlocks. Could anyone have them? Or is it a certain type of hair that just naturally gets shaped that way? Are they all his hair? How could one break off? I'd like to spend an evening with Jason Castro anyway, but mostly because I'd like to get the lowdown on his funky do.

So I was thinking that when I'm a rich and famous hairstylist and have lots of disposable income to throw around, the main thing I'm gonna want my personal assistant to do for me is Holiday Planning.

I figure there's a maximum number of years that a mom can feel enthused about the never-ending responsibility of making every occasion special and fun. Because of the spacing and number of my kids, I'm pretty sure I hit my limit about three years ago. I used to love decorating for each holiday that came along. I hung flags for every season on a post outside my front door. I'd cheerfully haul out all the little seasonal trinkets and I found it delightful to shop for goodies -- stocking stuffers, Valentines, shamrocky green gum, Easter treats, birthday party favors..... Now I just get this sense of "ugh, not another thing I have to shop for..."

It's sad, really. Because now that I have grandkids, I should be getting a second wind, a revisiting of the fun of filling Easter baskets. But instead I'm dreading having to come up with baskets for the three kids left at home. Not to mention the certainty, as I've whined about before, of finding Easter grass on my floor until Christmas comes around.

Then again, maybe part of my holiday blah-ness stems from the sheer financial stress of having to buy stuff all the time. And if I was truly rich and famous, that wouldn't be a consideration.

So cancel that, and just hire me a Nick Arojo of my own.

Next week, class, we'll work on button holes

Is Carly the only contestant who is not getting stylist help with her clothes? I sorta do wish it was radio, and not TV, because I'd sure rather listen to her than look at her clothes. What in the world was she wearing this week? The top of that red shirt, with all the roses, looked like someone's grandmother's nightgown, and the bottom of it looked like it had been hemmed in home ec. class. (I feel confident someone somewhere could put a picture here, but I'm not finding any.)


I hesitate to be too critical, because my word can she sing! And even if she couldn't hit a note, I'd listen to her talk all day, but that last blue top was another misfortune, the way it looked gathered up around her neck.



And one more ticky (that's what you get when you combine tacky and picky) thing --I am not anti-tattoo. I'm thinking of getting one myself, in fact. When I grow up. But is it rude to admit that I find hers distracting? I'd like to be looking at her face, but my focus keeps being diverted to the lovely lady on her arm. I think if it wasn't a face on her arm, it wouldn't interfere as much. Call me narrow minded, I suppose. I'm still a Carly fan.

I was happy to see David A. was back in true goose-bump inducing form tonight. He and Syesha were my favorites.

There you have my two cents.

but how many calories a minute does it burn?

90 words

Speed test

Mommy O' Gill, I'm not

Currently listening to: My "calming celtic" playlist. Thanks to Enya, Loreena McKennit, Maire Brennan and others. Ahhhhh... Just what I need to calm my maple syrup-addled brain.

Actually I have no syrup at all. We tried all evening to get those pots of sap to boil, but the suckers obstinately refused. A lot of steam was produced, and the level of sap in the pots was diminished, but at the end of the night we gave up and stuck 'em outside to keep cool until we could figure out the next step.

Today when Dan got home from school he noticed that the two containers that were gathering sap were overflowing. Whoopee. Now we have more stuff that we don't know what to do with. Stay tuned.

Besides, I needed my stove today for simmering corned beef and cabbage.

Here's some advice that you should take to heart. Seriously. Don't ever try something fun with your kids on a holiday unless you have decided beforehand that you are committed to repeating this activity for every subsequent celebration of that holiday until you die or Jesus comes back, which ever comes first. Believe me when I tell you this.

Once upon a time there was a mom who heard a friend say that the leprechauns visited their house on St. Patrick's Eve while everyone was asleep and left little green treats on the table for the kiddies to discover in the morning. So she thought she'd try that at her home. It was fun! It made the kiddies smile! It made the kiddies expect it even when they were fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen..... And the poor mother wished she had put up a leprechaun trap that first fateful day back when the kiddies were four.

This particular mother was unfortunately a slow learner. She remembered fondly how HER mother had sometimes made green eggs and ham on St. Patrick's Day mornings. She thought that it would be a treat for her kiddies, too, and set about recreating that favorite childhood memory. It was fun! It made the kiddies smile! And they came to expect it to be recreated faithfully every single subsequent St. Patrick's Day.

Yes, I confess. 'Twas I. And sometimes I have forgotten all about St. Patrick's Day. And sometimes I have thought, pshaw -- my kids are old enough now that surely they don't still expect all this silliness.

I have been wrong. And I have wished I had never done anything more exciting for St. Patrick's Day than a well-meaning pinch or two.

This year I remembered, which is nothing less than miraculous, and I picked up the green gum and other treats. I bought the corned beef, cabbage, red potatoes, and pumpernickel bread.

But this morning Susannah asked for green eggs and ham, and I had forgotten to get the ham. Rats.

Our white house is turning into a Log Cabin

We've been parking our cars outside lately, primarily because there are so many work vehicles that we can't get out of the garage. The other day I noticed a spotty splat on my car that looked like water, but it didn't go away. It seemed to be sticky. Jim is brave. He'll eat stuff that looks like worms. So I wasn't surprised that he stuck his finger in the drip and licked it. "Mmmm," he said, "maple syrup."

We've lived here for sixteen years. There are LOTS of trees in our yard, and yeah, I guess I have known that there are probably maple trees out there, but I never put two and two together and considered that these maple trees had actual maple sap in them. I'm sharp like that. And it would seem that these trees are just oozing and running sap like crazy right now.


So we thought we'd just go ahead and tap a couple to see what would happen. We've filled up my whole big black soup pot, plus a Tupperware pitcher, and now we're filling this lovely sun tea container, which I'm fairly certain is just like the ones Mrs. Butterworth uses.


Thanks to a google search of "making maple syrup" we're in business. Or so it seems.

Actually we don't have a clue, nor do we have any of the right equipment. We're just winging it, boys and girls, and hoping for the best.

It takes something like 10 gallons of sap to boil down to one quart of syrup. So we're figuring we'll end up with enough for maybe three pancakes, when all's said and done.

but I LIKE winter

Look! Look how brave they are. It's fun to see these little harbingers of joy and hope and spring.

We're melting slowly around here. There are still patches of snow, but more and more ground is showing beneath it.

I wish I was as eager to embrace the next season in my life.

The siding is up on the addition, and from the outside it looks like part of the house. They've done a great job matching it to the rest of our house.


Inside it's quite a different picture. This is one of my kitchen windows, and it used to look out at the woods. Now it looks into this.

As the addition nears completion, I'm having to confront the fact that my view of the future has changed just as dramatically as my view out my window. It won't be long until we move my mom into these rooms. She doesn't know it yet, but it has to happen.

I am trying to be brave, like the crocuses. I know it's all for the best. I know it has to happen. I know it's right and proper. I know it will be easier in the long run having my mom living here with us. I'll be able to more closely monitor her activities and her meals, and she'll have company around the clock. As her condition deteriorates, she's going to need hands-on care.

It just seems scary, too, a little, if I'm honest. As often as I tell myself that it's the right move, I find myself asking God if He's sure I'm the right person for the job.

I'm not a patient, compassionate person. I am not a good nurse. It's not in my nature to overlook irritations. I am selfish with my time. I tend to argue more than concede. I like to be in control. I don't like change.

My hubby says that I am going through this precisely to have those characteristics chiseled away. I say I don't want to be chiseled.

Which brings me face to face with the most uncomfortable realization of all -- I am not surrendering to the Master Sculptor. I know that I need to be saying, "Here I am -- I offer myself to You. Mold me, shape me, refine me, make me more like You."

I know that there should be this sense of welcoming what's coming, knowing that I will have the opportunity to lean on Him, depend on Him to get me through the trying times. I know He'll give me the grace and strength I need. But I am not a good leaner. I don't want to lean.

So to say that I'm all conflicted inside would probably be a ginormous understatement.

trivial pursuit

I am heavily influenced by other bloggers, I admit. First there was the 100th post thing, then I came across Shauna's top ten trivia facts. I wanted to spare you my list of 100 (or 526) things, but I thought I could at least do ten.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Ruthie

1. Every day in the UK, four people die putting Ruthie on.
2. Ruthieology is the study of Ruthie.
3. It's bad luck to put Ruthie on a bed.
4. Long ago, the people of Nicaragua believed that if they threw Ruthie into a volcano it would stop erupting.
5. Some people in Malaysia bathe their babies in beer to protect them from Ruthie.
6. Ruthie will often rub up against people to lay her scent and mark her territory.
7. In Vermont, the ratio of cows to Ruthie is 10:1.
8. Ruthie is the traditional gift for a couple on their third wedding anniversary.
9. The difference between Ruthie and a village is that Ruthie does not have a church.
10. Ruthie can clean her ears with her tongue, which is over thirty-nine inches long.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

What about you? What are the little-known, surprising facts about yourself you've never shared (or even realized) before?

#526

Just for fun, and because Lynn recently published her 100th post, I decided to count mine. I was impressed that Lynn would know how many she had done. Then I noticed over on the sidebar some little numbers in the archives.

Scary sharp powers of observation. I has them.

Even if I could come up with five hundred twenty six things about me, I can't imagine anyone would want to read the list. Frankly, I'm just not that fascinating.

So I think to commemorate this milestone I will eat five hundred twenty six Starburst jelly beans.

And speaking of Easter--I don't know if it's because it's still 24 degrees outside, or because I just put away the snowmen, but it seems to me that it's coming awfully soon. Or winter is lasting awfully long. Or something. But shouldn't there be daffodils? Tulips? Green buds?

now THIS is American Idol

My first-ever recording with the new DVR was a smashing success. I knew, because Corie had told me and I had even witnessed in real life at her house, that it was gonna be cool, and let me just say that it was, my friends. It so was.

We started watching from the beginning 45 minutes after American Idol started tonight and through what can only be pure magic finished up at 2 past 10. How this works is utter mystery to me. Hubby could probably explain it but I don't really need to know. I know that for all you old TiVo and DVR pros this is no big deal, but just to be able to whiz past all the blah blah blah and the commercials was nothing short of exhilarating. And the sweetest treat is the way it swooped back just a bit when I let my thumb off the fast forward button so I didn't have to stop and rewind again. You know? Miraculous.

(I had sorta hoped that we could get an actual TiVo, just because I like the little "plurp!" noise it makes, and the cute little picture of the TiVo guy, but I'm trying hard not to be ungrateful.)

It was so much fun watching this way that I almost, but not quite, forgot how miserable my mouth is. I don't know about you, but I like my teeth to feel familiar and peaceful when I run my tongue around them. This temporary crown is weird, unstable, and uncomfortable. It doesn't fit -- kind of the Amanda Overmyer of my teeth. I'm hopeful that in two weeks when I get the permanent one it will feel smooth, solid, and confident, more like Brooke.

So. What was up with David A tonight? Bless his heart.
And don't hate me for saying this, but I did not like David Cook's performance. I'm sorry. I thought he was flat in several places and it was just icky for me. On the other hand, Chikezie? Wow. I have been a fan of his since the beginning, and I'm glad he is getting some love from the judges, too. He just had to lose the orange suit and gain some confidence.

turning grumpy into gladness

Dan got his new laptop on Friday and there has been much upheaval in our computer status quo around here. He likened it to moving into a new house -- there's a lot of packing up and unpacking and rearranging and organizing going on. Then people (Garrison) get to move into the house you vacated (his old computer), so they have to pack up and unpack and rearrange their things, too. There are countless files to be downloaded, files to be copied and saved and stored and shared on the network and things to learn and just all kinds of wonderful computery goings-on.

And somehow MY computer was caught in the cross-fire. Which made it darned near impossible for me to read my e-mails or my required daily allowance of blogness -- let alone to post anything of my own.

I was forced into the living room to work on cross-stitching the baby sampler for James.

The living room was the site of media stress, too, because we are in the middle of getting a DVR. I think we might be the last family in America to get one. That's what my kids said, anyway. But for a couple days there we had no satellite TV, until the new system was up and running. (Now all I need is for a kid to show me how to use it. I wonder if Lily is busy this week.)

I felt like such a Little House on the Prairie woman, though. No computer, no satellite TV! Thank heavens my cell phone was safe and secure.

In other news, I got a crown today. Not the princess kind, unfortunately -- the tooth kind. Uck. Actually it's just a temporary one, and it's not much fun. I took my iPod to the dentist with me (just like Ma would have done) in the hope that I could put on my "mellow" playlist, crank it up, and drift off to my happy place, never even noticing that I had seventeen instruments and four hands in my mouth, drilling and grinding and poking and squeeching and suctioning and gouging and pinching my lip.

It might have worked if the dentist hadn't had to talk to me every 37 seconds, which necessitated me pausing the music so I could hear him.

I hate going to the dentist so much that I usually have to come home and curl up into a ball of self-pity for the rest of the afternoon. But today I had this to lift my spirits:



Prov. 17:6 Children's children are a crown to the aged.....

Now that's a crown that will last.

fifty is the new fifteen

In some sort of bizarre Desmond-ian time toggle, I am being forced to relive my geeky adolescence. As if it wasn't bad enough going through it the first time.

I have blemishes (really they're pimples, but I'm trying to be delicate). True, they're interspersed with wrinkles, but they're there, nonetheless.

I feel weird in my clothes.

I look at other girls' hair and wish mine looked like theirs.

I want to stay up late and sleep in late.

I want to eat junk food.

I am following closely who gets voted off American Idol.

I have a special blanket and I don't want to share it.

I feel all lazy and unmotivated.

I worry about fitting in.

I care about what people think of me.

I want people to like me.

I sent out a chain letter and now I'm embarrassed about it. OK, it was an e-mail recipe exchange, but the premise was the same. The only thing that was missing was the part that said, "If you break this chain, you will be cursed with split ends." One of my friends sent back an e-mail that said her life was too crazy right now to do this kind of thing and suddenly I'm, like, duh. What was I thinking? What am I, like, a dork? Like, ugh, seriously. (*rolling eyes and smacking forehead*)

Just as quickly as you can say, "I've got a brand new pair of roller skates, you've got a brand new key," all the insecurities and self-doubt of my awkward teenage years resurfaced. I don't think they were ever buried very deeply, quite frankly.

My daughter is fond of telling me about these incredible celebrity women who are SO delighted to be fifty. They've never felt more confident. They're sure of who they are. They feel more alive, more secure in their unique strengths than ever before.

I don't get it.

Somehow the Grow-Up Fairy has passed right over me without stopping to dispense any maturity whatsoever.

Here's a series of phone calls that really happened just the other day, involving my brother, my mother, and me:

Brother: Mom just called. She's really upset about that thing you did/said. I told her she should talk to you about it.
Me (calling Mom): I understand you're really upset about that thing I did/said.
Mom: No, I'm fine. I told him not to tell you.
Me: Why did you tell him not to tell me, if you're fine?
Mom: Because it was just between me and him. I'm going to call him now and tell him he shouldn't have told you.
Me: Don't call him. This is between me and you, if I upset you.
Mom: No. I'm hanging up right now and I'm going to call him. Now I'm mad at him.
Me (calling Brother): Mom says she's fine, but she's going to be calling you to tell you you shouldn't have told me that she told you she was upset.
Brother: You didn't believe her, did you?

If I hadn't been so worked up over the whole thing, I would have noticed the uncanny similarity between this and 9th grade with me, Jeannette and Lucinda. I can almost picture the scene in the lunchroom cafeteria -- "I told her not to tell you that I had told her that you like him but you don't like her. If she finds out that I know that you know, she will think that you told me after she told you not to tell." "I won't tell. Just don't let her know that I told you I like him. Are you going to eat that Ding Dong?"

Geeesh.

Maybe I'm just a late bloomer, and by the time I turn 70 I will have found my wisdom and stability. Either that or I'll be too senile to care.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go put some new rubber bands on my braces.

if I remember correctly, it's left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot

I'm going for a walk. !! A walk! It's true.

I called Annie to see if we could get together today, just because I haven't visited with her in about fourteen years. I was seriously imagining something involving sitting, and coffee, and maybe a brownie or two.

She just called me back and said "why don't we go for a walk?"

" ..............." "............?"

Granted, the sun IS shining, but

a) It's 22 degrees out there and
b) I haven't done anything even remotely resembling exercise since....ummm.... last fall, maybe? When Jim and I were on a bike-riding kick, back in the days before permafrost covered the land.

Assuming I survive without my legs falling off, it will probably end up A Good Thing, this foray into the outdoors. I've been needing to do something about getting off my duff and shedding some of this winter insulation, otherwise known as "floof." I know that eventually there will be warm weather, and I will be happier if I am able to actually button my capris. Santa pants can only take a girl so far into spring. Alas.

The only downfall, aside from the potential loss of limbs, is that we won't be able to do much visiting. Between gasping for breath and having my lips freeze solid, it won't be very conducive to conversation.

blogging about blogging

Some day I'm going to write about all the ways that I am a walking dichotomy. I contradict myself at every turn. I am incongruity personified.

I was the valedictorian of my high school class.....but I didn't have a 4.0 grade point average.
I am on staff with a world wide evangelical mission organization... but I'm a failure at personal Bible study.

I've been blogging for three years....and I don't know the first thing about it. And frankly, I'm a bit intimidated by it all; there are so many seemingly commonplace aspects that are a total mystery to me. Where was I when all these upstarts got so savvy?

I think I need a class. I need someone who's really on top of it all to walk me through it starting at the basics. Questions?? Lordy have I got questions.

What's sk*rt? What's technorati? What's digg this? What's a ping back? What's an RSS? What does stumble mean? What does it mean to save to Del.icio.us? What's a permalink? What's Mr. Linky? What about ads? What's the deal with all these blogging communities?

And then there are the things I'm pretty sure I should instinctively know. Should I allow search engines? Should I allow anyone to comment? Should I moderate comments? Should I NOT be posting pictures of my kids?

I have tried, since the beginning, to deliberately protect my privacy, just by never using my last name or specific place names (such as schools, towns, etc.). I have obviously not posted ahead of time when I was going to be home alone, or where we keep the spare key. Now I wonder if I should be using pseudonyms, or, like some bloggers do, just descriptive labels for my kids. "SonOne said the funniest thing to me the other day..." "LittleDaughter is suffering from an ingrown toenail..."

I'm thinking now I should have come up with a celebrity nickname, like the movie stars do when they check into a hotel. Do you think it's too late? I think you could start referring to me as Julia Roberts from now on... (just don't use my real last name!)

But I really would like to know how all the rest of you (ha! "all" -- I'm clearly delusional) have handled your bloggy basics. How do you protect your privacy? What steps have you taken and why? How do you let friends, relatives, and fans know that you'll be going incognito from now on? How do you know how anonymous you should be? What are the actual risks?

Who out there understands all the blogocious terminology and would be willing to share their wisdom? Or who can at least point me in the right direction? I have found a couple of sites that I have to believe are genuinely trying to be helpful, but God love 'em -- it's like trying to read the instructions for filing your tax return. Unless you already understand it, the directions don't make sense, because they're written in blog-ese. I need an interpreter.

And lastly, if you're actually reading this, would you please just let me know? I recently came upon a blog called Questions in the Void, and it makes me wonder if I am, like Kathleen Kelly said in "You've Got Mail," just sending these cosmic questions out into the void.

spring thaw?

Astute readers will notice my header picture has changed ever so slightly. That's because today it was up to 47 degrees outside, and much thawing has happened. My driveway is peeking through the snow.

Michigan winter, however, is not such an easy pushover, because already we've dropped back to 38 and I see a severe weather alert lurking at the bottom of my computer screen. Six more inches are predicted for our watch area.

I know. Weather talk. This is the kind of riveting drama, thought-provoking commentary, and coffee-snorting humor you've come to expect from my blog.

But my topics were limited this afternoon: the weather, laundry, grocery shopping with my mom (always entertaining), and a dental x-ray. My life, it's one big party.

I did accomplish one timely task, namely taking down the garlands and white lights from the top of my china cabinet, and the snowmen display from the shelf above my couch. I figured now that it's MARCH and all -- Easter month, for heaven's sake -- it might be appropriate to move on, decorationally speaking.

Maybe that in itself will be enough to summon spring weather.

Nothing says spring like a Lily

It's Lily's birthday today and I promised some pictures. Here's Lily in her flower hat with her flower cake. She had asked for a yellow birthday, and that's just what she got.





She couldn't wait to get her finger in the ladybug icing.



I can't tell you how much fun it was to play polly pockets with Lily. This is her favorite thing in the world to do. Especially if they are new princess pollys. Opportunities to dress and re-dress endlessly.



Of course there was another little princess there, too. Here's Tessa reaching for something on the end table she wasn't supposed to have.


I was thinking that just over three years ago today, Jason and Corie didn't even know if they were having a boy or a girl. Now their lives are filled up with pink things, frilly things, pastel pretty dolly things.

I love it!

Happy Birthday, Lily Love!

Lily is three today. T.H.R.E.E. 3!

She is without question the most incredible, bright, precious, adorable, charming, silly three-year-old granddaughter the world has ever seen.

I'm so happy I got to see her this weekend and celebrate this delightful milestone with her. When I get home, I'll post some pictures, so check back.