Big Town

Let me preface-I do not like town. I do not desire trips to town. I do not dream of town and all the glories that live there  re:Target, Sonic, Thrift Stores (well maybe I dream about the thrift stores a tiny bit). I prefer to stay tucked in safe and cozy right here at home. I prefer to stay home in my comfy yoga pants-ignoring the rising costs of, well...everything.

After suffering far too long with an empty pantry, I girded my loins and made my way to Big Town for some much needed supplies. (One can only make the same pasta dish so many weeks in a row before the natives start to protest.)  I loaded-up all four of my (smallish, touchy-grabby, grouchy, hyper) personal assistants and off we went.

Here, I must pause for dramatics.

My children-while they are still children-are incredibly well behaved. I on the other hand am the one who suffers ill behavior. I am a hermit and slight agoraphobe; a person who would rather stay safely tucked in at home. Shopping makes me grouchy. Spending money makes me grouchy. Reading labels and making decisions makes my eyes want to pop out of my head. Being in Big Town makes me want to shoot things and say naughty words. Big town is 40 miles-at the outskirts-from my house, my Suburban gets 10 miles to the gallon. Petrol was $4.29 at the last fill. This coupled with my hermit longings for my comfy pants and humble home...makes me grouchy. Needless to say, when I went to town I was grouchy.

Having bribed my four assistants with a scoop of their favourite ice cream, we set out to fill our basket. I asked the Man-Child to steer the ship freeing the other three and I to search out the needed items on our list. We made it through the store with only one Potty Stop and one small run-in with a very impatient elderly woman who didn't care a snit if I wanted to read the labels on ALL of the bottles of Fish Sauce, she wanted me and my brood to remove ourselves from her path. Harumph!

After a quick chat with an old friend and much begging-pleading-whining from the children we proceeded to the checkout and most importantly, to the ice cream. . Whether by the impatient woman or my own grump, I must have been distracted. I forgot to check The List before leaving the store. I always check The List...this small act is key to my success and sanity in Big Town, re: Petrol $4.29 per gal., thirsty Suburban, agoraphob-ish, grouchiness, lack of comfy pants. I forgot the Mayo.... For the love of Pete! Mayonnaise.

Grr. On the menu for today's lunch: Tuna Sandwiches.

So, I asked myself, what would any Farmgirl  worth her salt do...."What would Julia do?"  Of course, Julia would make fresh Mayonnaise; none of that paltry commercially prepared concoction would do.

With Julia Child's signature vocals echoing in my head I set to making, for the first time ever, homemade Mayonnaise. I strapped on my well worn apron and set to work.  I had this preconceived notion that making Mayo was something so difficult that only Professional Chefs or Parisians dare attempt it. I was deceived. With the aide of my trusty little Cuisinart Food Processor I whipped farm fresh egg yolks into frothy submission.  It was fresh. It was lemony.

It was heaven.

Whoda'thunk that one forgotten pantry item would be life changing?! Now that I don't have to rush off to Big Town for Mayo I shall never again have to haul my assistants and my agoraphobic self about in the petrol loving Sub!  I shall never again suffer evil looks from grouchy elderly ladies!

I shall forever live in my yoga pants!

( I will need my yoga pants after eating all that glorious, lemony homemade mayo!)

I shall forever stay tucked in safe and cozy here at the farm.   That is, until I need chicken feed.

::Learning::

I read a post this morning by one of my favourite bloggers-Jade from Chikaustin. (FYI Jade is having some technical difficulties with her site.)  Jade finished her post with a question: What have you learned this week?

This intrigued me. What have I learned this week?

The whole concept of growing and learning has been bouncing around in my head for quite some time now. While I have many thoughts and opinions on this topic, I want to keep it simple for today.

::Don't stress about school when the kids are sick. Their brains will not turn to mush.
::Don't make 'Garden Style' spaghetti. No one likes it but you.
::Pink eye-stink eye, you will not get the better of me.
::I have far too many good ideas and not enough follow-through. Must find a way to remedy this problem.
::I love taking photographs. 
:: I can make a beautiful loaf of bread. And as the world is "supposed" to end on Friday, (which I might add, I just learned about this morning) I shall eat a whole loaf of it.  all. by. myself.  AND. I shall slather it in homemade jam.
::Being sick and not having a dishwasher, sucks eggs.


What have you learned this week?

Victory Gardener

O.K. So, Katie knows it may seem silly to most some but... she is on a gardener's high unlike any experienced thus far in her gardening career.

Take a little stroll through time, if you will.

2000: Katie plants first garden of her adult life.  Blue Jays devour the lettuce seeds Katie lovingly plants in the plot of dirt loaned to her by her beloved friend Ona. Katie replants seeds.  Birds devour seeds. Katie gives up and goes to the  local Farmer's Market for produce.

2001: Not having a plot to plant in, Katie gains permission to garden in her mother-in-law's famous raised beds. Katie plants  lettuce seeds. Seeds sprout and flourish. Rotten neighborhood dog, wallows in Katie's allotted garden bed. Katie cries, then goes the local Farmer's Market  for produce.

2002: Katie, being in possession of her own garden plot but heavy with child, gives up gardening all together, choosing instead to frequent the local Farmer's Market.

2003: Having blown out her knee three days after giving birth the year prior, Katie, still in a knee brace, hobbles around in an ungraceful manner and is thus, unable to garden. Katie sends her loving husband to the local Farmer's Market for produce.

2004: Katie decides that one more baby is in order before she gets any older and is too busy nursing and changing diapers to tend a garden.  Katie and clan venture out to the local Farmer's Market for produce and brief moments of sanity quiet while the baby naps in stroller.

2005: Katie and loving husband decide its high time to move to the country.  After purchasing a small acreage barely off the beaten path and being totally overwhelmed while all that entails, Katie and family seek out a new, not so local Farmer's Market.

2006: Katie plants first garden in her new rurban plot of ground.  Local area experiences drought. Katie weeps over her crispy lettuce leaves and goes to Safeway for lettuce imported from China.

2007: Katie and family move to a beloved neighbouring community.  In a plot that once housed pigs, Katie plants the biggest garden of her life!! Beloved neighbouring community experiences first heat wave in years and Katie's lettuces bolt with only 4 leaves to a plant. Katie decides its time to try the Atkin's Diet and gives up on vegetables.

2008: Unable to purchase home in beloved neighbouring community, Katie and family move back to their small acreage barely off the beaten path, consoling themselves with produce from the local Farmer's Market.

2009-2010: Katie dubs these the years of the Filthy Slug/Stupid Snail/Rotten Dog/Freaking Blue Jay/Bloody Crows/Cussed Late Blight/Stupid-Freaking-Bloodyrotten-Cussed Chickens. Katie weeps in her coffee over lost lettuces, squash, melons, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers. Katie threatens chickens, dogs, birds and baits the snails and slugs with beer.  Loving husband wonders at the cost of seeds/seedlings and beer for slugs and threatens to shut down the garden altogether. Katie rushes to the not-so-local Farmer's Market for home brewed beer veggies. Katie tells hubby she grew them herself.

2011: After eight straight months of rain, Katie plants her beloved garden. Katie tends and frets. Katie amends and lovingly applies fish fertilizer by the gallons. Katie is rewarded, for the first time ever, with a harvest. Katie weeps tears of joy in her morning coffee. Katie does a little jig. Or six  And squeals with glee.

Katie will not be seeking out produce from her local Farmer's Market this summer.  She will be enjoying the fruits greens of her labour fresh from the garden.

The BIG day and parenthetical mayhem

With wedding number one (two more left to go) now under my belt, I am more than ready for a little break.

Note to self: Taking wedding pictures is UBER stressful.  Who knew?  Take a bunch of pictures of pretty people, in pretty clothes, at a pretty venue... and you have stress (hello stress!) with a capitol S. My constant thought was: What if something malfunctions on the camera?  What if I miss the glory shot? What if every single picture is blurry? What if....it rains? What if..the cake melts?  What if ...I fall flat on my face and break something and have to be rushed to the Emergency Room?  (Seriously, these thoughts kept me up at night.)

Alas, thanks to a handy modern invention called the Image Stabilization Lens and all my peeps  (thank you!thank you!!thank you!!!) who loaned me their precious photo taking devices (six in all) and Photoshop, to correct lighting issues, my first gig as a Wedding Photographer (sounds so professional doesn't it?) went over without a hitch.   I have successfully captured lovely wedding memories for my little brother (Congrats ya little twerp!) and his new bride (I love you Kayla!). 


( I didn't fall flat on my face and have to be rushed to the E.R but I did almost break my leg stumbling in a gopher hole. Thank you uncoordinated-self.)

*insert sigh of relief*

While the cute couple is off enjoying sun, surf and sand, I am editing and packaging up the wedding photo montage.  Number of photo's taken: 1,322.  That folks, is a lot of pictures to sort through. I will be a busy girl for a while.

For now, here is a (teeny-tiny) sneak peek.

 

Katie needs her groove back:: Part 2

As I searched through my archives this morning, I was hopeful of finding something to post; something that didn't require conscious thought or photo editing.

I had no such luck.

Bleh!

Most of the posts I have in draft are so dated they would require much more tweaking and consequently, editing, than I have the will power to attack.  Yet, I still wanted to post...something.

I stared at the blank post editor. Then I clicked over to Facebook. FYI: Facebook is a deep swirling vortex. It will suck your will to live.  At the very least, it will tap into your inner voyeur and will prevent you from doing anything other than checking the pages and comments and pictures of  every. single. friend.  And....it goes on and on.  Facebook is a vortex I tell you! (Facebook is evil.)  The thing I love most about FB is that I can chat with all of my best farm chickie friends (whose job it is to tell me to blog ALREADY!), my cousin in France (who loves reading about all of my calamities), my dear friend in Idaho (who adores my blog) and my Mom (who checks up on me via my blog) all at the same time. Which is what I was doing instead of blogging. So, I clicked back here and stared some more.  And so it went. Till I grew weary of the clicking. And the manic chatting.  And my poor lonely blog cried out....

BLOG ALREADY! 

So....I started and stopped. And stopped and started.  Then decided to just jot down the truth. The truth being, I have lost my blogging grooviness.

I want to have time and drive for blogging. Frankly, I want to have time and drive for just about everything but I also have a desire to make my blog more....well, just more. I want my blog to be what it once was.  I want my blog to be my online storybook.  I want to see something funny and think "That is totally blog-worthy. I should blog it".  I want to take pictures of the beauty around me and post them for all the world to see.   I want to find my groove again.


Blogging groove, where are you?

Loving life:: Birthday Edition

In honour of my 29th 32nd  35th Birthday I am posting two lovely photos.  To me they say "Stop and smell the Roses (or Camellias as the case may be)"  TIMES 10!  These photos scream, 'Love life; breathe it in deeply'.  And they make me smile.

Smiles are good, as frowning makes for wrinkles. Getting older has made me more aware of so many things.  Things like wrinkles.  Wrinkles are bad.  

Also, as a slightly unrelated aside; the growth rate of children makes me frown.  Why do they have to grow up so stinking fast? Really, and seriously.

Anywhat....for my Birthday, I am resolving to love life and all the wrinkles calamities therein. I am 35 again and life is good.

Calamities anyone?

It's been awhile since we had a good calamity post around these parts so, I thought; Why not?  Who can't use a little calamity fun every now and again?  Of course I would have enjoyed, as I am sure you dear reader would have too, adding pictures to this post but alas (or alack?) my card reader has gone missing. So, for today we shall have to make do.  We shall have to use our imaginations.  I think I had one of those imagination things once....how about you?  But wait, let's not hop down that rabbit just yet, I have calamities to discuss.

As to the whereabouts of afore mentioned card reader, I am bewildered. I am positive I stuffed it into the camera bag so that I would be assured of finding it the next time I needed it.  It was not here ...it was not there. I could not find it anywhere. I could not find it Sam I am. IT can't be found of this I'm sure. (Sorry, too much Dr. Seuss) Even the children tout, "It was Notme!"  Seriously, if I get my hands on Notme there will be words. Lot's of words. I am pretty sure the culprit is the youngest child and that the card reader is living out a second life as a weapon of some kind. In the dirt no less.

The most recent of tragedies is the strange and as yet, undetermined loss of the use of one of my fingers.  (Could that have been a more confounded sentence?) The middle finger of my left hand to be exact.  Yesterday, upon waking I found it lying limply on the pillow next to my head. It stared up at me, all swollen and slightly cocked to one side.  I tried to move the finger and it refused.  It continued to refuse to work for the rest of the day.  When my darling husband came home and I cried over the loss of my finger he told me "It looks like its out of the socket. Pull on it."  (Yes, he actually told me to pull my own finger.) I looked down at that pathetic little-ish finger and decided against pulling. What if it was broken? What if I ruined my own finger?  I decided to baby it instead.  Today, my finger is still swollen and slightly cocked to one side.  Today, my finger still hurts like the dickens and is a funny purpley color.  I don't think its dislocated. Stupid finger.

My finger can take comfort commiserating with some of my other recently maimed body parts.  Why, just the other night as I was putting the house to bed, I was assaulted by not one but three calamities.  See if you can keep up......In the kitchen, the light switch is on the far wall as in; you have to walk clear through the kitchen to turn on the lights. This kitchen was designed by a man.  In my kitchen darkness+Katie=injury. And so it went.  I walked through the kitchen and turned off the lights, turned to walk out, tripped over a cooler, fell over a huge box of food, scrapped my shin, sprained my ankle and cussed a little in the process.

I limped my way to the wood stove to shut the dampers. I grabbed hold of the cast iron damper with my bare hand, at which time I heard my flesh sizzle.  The thumb of my right had was actually stuck to the cast iron and I had to yank it free.  I jumped back on my freshly injured ankle and cussed some more.  I considered rushing to the kitchen for ice but decided the bathroom was a safer alternative.

After dousing my crispified thumb with cold water I proceeded with my bedtime routine; tooth brushing.  This activity may not be as harmless as it may seem.  I have just had a crown place over a broken tooth.  I have had many, many, far too many visits to the dentist over this new tooth.  At present the crown is too short, meaning part of my raw, ravaged, sawed off tooth is still hanging out.  Standing at the sink, with tears in my eyes I gingerly began to brush. My leg is throbbing.  My thumb is throbbing.  I brush past the short crown and actually get the bristles of my tooth brush caught in the gap between crown and gum. At this point I let out a cacophony of cuss words that would make a sailor blush.  I turn, get tangled in a towel, loose my balance and grabbing a hold of the shower curtain for support,  I rip said curtain from its moorings.  I cuss some more. And stumble off to bed.


It was like a Charlie Chaplin movie with a Three Stooges flair.


So, today I am trying to take it easy.  I have my poor finger to consider. And darn near the whole rest of my body for that matter.

Listing

In keeping with the nautical theme of late, I am listing.  I have caught myself a few times leaning off to one side. I think the listing is due to the goop living between my ears. Sadly, it's not my brain that is turned to goop, (although this was my first thought)  it's mucus or a mucus-like substance, I'm not sure which.  I do know, that my ears have been plugged (think, flying in a airplane plugged, head under water etc.) for more than 2 weeks now.  I feel like I am living in a can. I am always yelling but can hear little.  I have been tossing back Sudafed and any other cold/sinus meds I had on hand that aren't expired (who's idea was it to put expiration dates on stuff anyway?).  Nothing is bringing relief, not even the listing....

Speaking of the listing, I made a random list of funny stuff that has popped out at me over the last several days. It might not be that funny in reality. I am sure its just  the cold/sinus meds talking, but you can judge for yourself. I have been sick for so long I have to take the joy where I can find it.


     ::  Silkie chickens' fuzzy little bottoms are the funniest thing to watch. If you don't have Silkie's, get thee some. 'Nuff said.
  
     :: Strange things you don't want to hear out of your 8yr old girl-child "Hey Mom! LOOK! I built a b*mb."
  
     :: The Pioneer Woman's  Sour Cream Noodle Bake is fabulous, amazingly simple, infinitely adaptable and a sure crowd pleaser.
    
     :: One of my Best Girlfriends told me that I reminded her of the Pioneer Woman. (P-dub, call me. I think we were separated at birth.)
  
     :: Chickens are like crack to me. SERIOUSLY, people!  I need a 12 Step Program for Chicken Lovers.   I luff,  love, lurve my multi colored flock of  chicks and chickens. The puffy cheeks...The fluffy bottoms...All the different color/pattern combinations send me right into a tail spin. I can't resist. I must buy more chickies. The soft fluffy cuteness of chicks is too much for my farm-girl self to bear.  Don't even get me started on the eggs.  The multi-colored eggs make me so happy I could sing.  Everyday is like Easter around here. Easter everyday, how great is that?!
  
     :: Chicken Crack. Buwhahaha! Seriously I need help.
  
     :: Wondering what to make of my soon to be 7yr old son sliding across the kitchen floor ala Tom Cruise in Risky Business (underwear, and air guitar included) singing "I'm on'a hiiiiiiwaaaaay ta helllllll!" followed with a fairy dance and the vocals "La-la-la-la-laaaah".  Boggles the mind doesn't it?


     :: When you have guests over the last thing you want to find in the Loo is poo in the pot with no paper.  Sorry about that one. Blame the cold meds. But wasn't that some great alliteration?


     :: Have you ever been "schooled" in what is "lame vs.cool"  from your 15 yr old man-child? If not you are missing out! I learned things I never wanted to know about Mario Bros., Star Wars,  and about being a Dweeb/Geek/Nerd in general. It made my brain hurt.

     ::We are studying Countries of the child's choosing for a Co-op project due this week.  When I told the kids to get on it one morning, my youngest child informed me that he "doesn't wanna be a Japanese boy"  any more, he wants to be a farmer boy.  I told him that Japan was a country and farmers were people and that we are studying Countries. He replied with his hands on his hips, " Farmers are from the country".   Alrighty then.


    ::I was singing in church this last Sunday and everyone around me kept turning to look. I didn't comprehend at the time why they might be looking at me. This perplexed me most of the afternoon. I checked my crazy hair when I got home. Checked my teeth.  Did the sniff.... but couldn't sniff.  Then  I remembered that my ears are plugged. Yep, I was singing my heart out and couldn't hear a thing. I can only imagine the joyful noises I was making.  I think though, I experienced true worship for the first time in my life.  Thanks be to my mucus filled head.
 

Katie goes Indie

I am falling more and more in love with Indie music. Daily. Some songs are just the pick-me-up this Nor' Westerner needs to chase away the gray. They make me feel "like I could walk a hundred miles" through all this rain and mud.

Also, I am thinking I might want to be a Lobster Man's wife. Just sayin'.

Friends

I met my friend Lexie at Bible College some 18 years ago. As I remember it, we got along smashingly.  We have not looked back since.

Lexie is one of those amazing friends that no matter how much time has passed since our last visit (in some cases it has been years) we fall right back in step with each other, as though we spoke only yesterday. We marvel at this fact often.

We have been there and done that.  We have held each others colicky babies. Brought the other Big Mac's and French Fries when needed. We have supported each others Pampered Chef habit.  We have traveled across the country together. We have laughed uncontrollably.  We have shed tears together.  We have loved each other like sisters.

It should then come as no surprise that yesterday Lexie blogged about me.  Actually she wrote about her own self  but I know she was really blogging about me. It's true. She pulled a page right out of my book with this one. And I want to share it with y'all because I'm a good share-bear like that.  Some of you will see me right away, others will learn something new about me.  Others will shake their heads and wonder.  Don't judge too harshly.

Have I piqued your curiosity? Good. Go. Run. Skip. Whatever, just get thee over to Lexie's place.

What? Huh? What blog?

OK! So, I take full responsibility for the lack of posting here. I know, I know, it sucks to not have any witty poop stories to read, but ya know, life is hard. And I was busy doing other things....what can I say?


I actually forgot that I have a blog.

Now, some of you may be falling back in your computer chairs, feigning shock. Folks, life has been busy crazy here. And when life knocks on Katie's door, Katie has to answer. Albeit in her slippers and bathrobe, wielding her coffee mug defensively and grouchy as all get out that she has been drug away from the 'best post ever', dagnabit, Katie will answer that door!


While standing on the threshold of the front door of life, in my bathrobe I realized something. I spend far too much time worrying about my blog. "GASP!" you say, "how could this be?". I know this revelation may be incredibly shocking to your blogging system but I really do get sucked in. I find it exciting to read about the lives of people from all walks of life. I love to read about the little things my friends and family post as long as it has nothing to do with poop. I love to write about the little things not including poop.

I love to read and write blog posts. + I hate to do housework. = Holy crap (ha!), this place is a mess.

If that isn't an easy math equation, I don't know what is.

So....when faced with my husbands esteemed High School Chemistry teacher becoming a tutor for my oldest man child, and heaps of crap left over from our little foray to Idaho, I turned off the computer without a backward glance.


Hey, don't get me wrong, I did have little moments, early in the morning, when I would yearn for some blog time. I would make a plan for sneaking off to the library so that the children could "check out books" which is code for: blogging with out interruption or guilt of messy house, but I never did.

Mostly I just forgot that I had a blog. And readership.


I apologize.

****

Here, in the reflection of my freshly dusted computer screen, I vow to write more sans poop, ignore less in my bathrobe.

Yellow

{ yel·low-bel·lied }

adj.

1. Having a belly that is yellow or yellowish. Used of certain birds, for example.

2. Slang Cowardly.

Call me old yeller.



I hate contact sports. I suck at contact sports. I am afraid of getting hurt whilst playing any kind of sport. I am a big chicken, a yeller bellied chicken. I played softball in High School and spent the entire time WAY out in left field, deathly afraid of being hit by a flying ball. I am that bad. To add insult to injury, I am totally uncoordinated.


Yeller and uncoordinated.


This past June my husband decided that our kids should participate in our local Tae Kwon Do classes. When we inquired about classes the instructor encouraged "family" participation. This lit a fire under afore mentioned husband's belly. 'Think of the bonding," he said. "Imagine the skills learned," he urged. "Think of the weight you would loose..."

That one did it.

Not once in my entire life have I ever had the thought ' I want to do martial arts'. Never. This is probably in large part due to the fact that I am yeller AND uncoordinated (and fat). Yet, thinking of all the bonding, (shut up!) I tied a white belt around my waist and began my journey toward a new skills filled (shut UP!) martial artist self.


This past Monday evening, I stood in front of a panel of judges and tested for my yellow belt. Despite back pain, nerves, Christmas break (in which I practiced too little and ate too much) and just plain fear of failure, I faced my fears and began a battle I never imagined I would fight.

In order to participate in the testing process, the ATA association decided that students must pass a fitness test. (read: Katie is overweight and old and her back has been bugging her for weeks) This new, (as in, was not the case at my previous testing) fit test required that I execute 8 perfect push-ups and 20 sit-ups in the space of a minute each. This revelation has made me reconsider my journey on the Tae Kwon Do road. I can kick butt and take names later, but I can't do a push-up to save my life! For two months I have practiced. I have sweat and swore. I have done no where near 8 push-ups.


On Monday evening though, I kicked butt. Not only did I pull off my required 8 perfect push-ups but I churned out 18! I soared through my testing on my utterly exhausted wings. I passed on to the next belt level.


Yellow. How ironic.




To say that my self confidence has been boosted is a blatant understatement. I am totally jazzed! I don't really know what it means to be a yellow belt, in the world of martial arts that is, but for me, it means that I can achieve more than I thought I was able. I can persevere. And, just maybe, I'm not as klutzy or as yeller as I thought.

Weighty issue

I have been trying to focus on the positive lately. This is quite hard to accomplish. You see the pessimist in me just takes over sometimes and I can't snap out of the grumps. Optimism is not my strong suit.

A couple of weeks ago, for some strange reason, I seemed to be getting a lot of compliments from my hubby and friends. "You are lookin' good" they would say. I would grumble back a thankless thank you, as I was sure they were lying to me. Pessimist takes over.

I decided to try my hand at a self portrait. This was the best of the lot. It's not good by any means but it helped me to see that I am starting to look better if not "good".


Blasted pessimistic nature!


All told, in the last year I have lost 45 pounds. That is nothing to shake a stick at. And by golly it has been a long year chalk full of one stressful event after another. So, maybe I can step back and let loose the optimist in me and pat myself on the shoulder and say...."I'm lookin' good"....

better at least.

Optimism is not my strong suit.

Generation:

I am an old soul.


You might ask; how does one go about finding whether one is an old or young soul?

Well.

Put 2 and 2 together, take away 3, multiply by 1875 then go read a Jane Austen novel. That is how I come to my much debated, overly thought out and much anticipated, hypothesis.



Being born into the wrong century is surely a terrible fate. A fate for which there is no reconciling the differences between my soul's age and my actual age. You see 1975 and 1875 somehow got their signals crossed and I got dropped into the wrong time zone.




I have felt the antiquity of my soul since I was small child. I have always ran with the older set; settling in to chat with the older folks rather than the young. Visiting with more mature people just suited me.


My generation is called "Gen X". This is such an incredibly depressing and uninspired title for my peers and I to carry through our lifetime. It seems so un-just, un-fair and well just, un.

My soul's generation is called "The Great Generation". It begs to be remembered. "The Great Generation" rings with valiant deeds and romance. It sings a different tune and walks to a different beat. This generation sang a song filled with grandeur and elegance. This is my generation.


I am an old soul.

*******************

Reader, what generation does your soul claim?

Just a blog at twilight.....

So. Today I was at the local library and just happened to ask if any of my books had come in. Guess what? One of the many books I have on order was there, waiting for me. I have been waiting for a month and a half for this book to come in; checking often to see where I was on the waiting list.

Whoot-Whoot! Hooray for me!

Breaking Dawn was gently placed in my chubby little hand by the sweet librarian. (Wow, just look at those adjectives!) She snickered a comment about the movie being out soon and sent me on my way.

I admit, I wasn't all for this Vampire love story bit but at the strong urging (the gift of the first book) from my friend Misty, I gave it a shot.

I must also admit, I had been in a reading funk as of late. Nothing felt right. I just couldn't seem to get immersed into the depths of the stories. Try as I might, I just had not found a good book to read.

Then came Twilight.

I voluntarily climbed aboard the Love Boat and sailed for Forks, WA. I stepped from the ship into the shallow waters and was instantly sucked beneath the waves. I felt myself floating, then bobbing along with the characters and loved every drippy minute.

I plowed right through to Book Two: New Moon. (For which I have my loving husband to thank. One night he came home and asked me if there was going to be a new moon tonight, to which I replied: I dunno. And he handed me the book. What a man!)

Toward the end of the new moon I felt myself start to loose faith in my doggie paddle. I was starting to drown. The characters were too much for me to keep afloat.

Then came Book Three: Eclipse. (Yes, I was lame enough to ask my hubby if there was going to be an Eclipse soon. And yes he did finally buy me the book.)

This one lost me. It took forever to finish. I had a hard time not giving up, not sinking to the briny depths with the rest of the characters. It just went too far. And I was tired of swimming.

This brings us to today.

I have securely fastened my life vest. I have packed some snacks in case I get lost at sea. I am ready to again board the Love Boat and venture out to sea, to Forks.

I have great hopes that I won't jump ship or accidentally get bitten by a gorgeous vampire, but who knows.....

A little cute goes along way...

I was ironing this morning and thought to myself:

Self, you are lookin' pretty dang cute today. You should take a picture and blog this cuteness.

So I did.

I should have ironed the adorable cocktail apron before I took the pic but ya know the moment would have been lost. I just had to roll with it.

I just love no, lurrve, my flirty little blue apron. It makes doing my chores so much more fun.

********

Reader, do you have a favourite apron? One that you don to help scare away those doldrums of housework?

Before I was a Mom

Before I was a mommy……



I was 18 years young, in love and MARRIED. So, before I was a mommy I was just a kid myself.


I was really interested in being a singer/actor but never let it drive me to say, CA or NY to start a career. I was unofficially trained as an opera singer by my H.S. Choir teacher but, now am afraid to sing in public. Friends tell me all the time what a lovely voice I have. I think, the better to scream harmoniously at my children: "LEAVE YOUR SISTER. AlooooooooonE!" You know I hit the high notes with that one.





I was: a waitress, funny, skinny, a florist, a vagabond, artsy/crafty, unafraid of life. I was a free spirit. I was weird and geeky, SKINNY, loved to laugh and I liked everyone and everyone liked me, at least I thought they did, ( I guess that means that I was sorta arrogant, eh?)





I did not know how to drive. I didn't know how to manage a checkbook (Note to self: get a homeschool version of Personal Finance... And teach the kids how to drive). Worked too many jobs; jobs which I had to beg other kids to take me to because I couldn't drive. Oh, yeah I was THAT girl!




I watched Day of our Lives, religiously.




Did you catch that I was skinny?




I wore the most hideous purple Mickey Mouse T-Shirt. ALL. THE. TIME. Which I probably still have in a box of crap somewhere.




I painted and drew beautiful art work.



Before I was a mommy I was sure that being one was, NO. BIG. DEAL. Women had been rearing children for centuries. NO BIG DEAL. Wehehehehellllll! Boy was I wrong. Being a mommy has been the Biggest Deal of my Life.

That Girl

I am that girl that you saw in Walmart today. The one with the screaming, mimi throwing, toddler. That was me, trying in vain, to convince him to shut up long enough to grab some rice, applesauce and folder tabs, with only a quick jaunt over to fabrics. I, so desperately wanted to go down the aisle with the duct tape. The temptation was too much for me to handle. My threat's met deaf (most likely a side effect of the blood curdling screams) ears. But how would you know any of this? You just lurked in the shadows, watching. Waiting.

I am that girl you saw standing on her head, butt crack showin', trying to force a billion pound bag of Jasmine Rice under the shopping cart. You gape in wonder at my behind. (yes it really does make African girls jealous, and NO I can't find pants that fit the dang thing) I am the one who, standing up red faced and adjusting all of her clothes, gave her 12 and 9 year old children the look of death for laughing. 'Just wait till your FATHER gets home'...........

I am that girl at the check out with the danger mite child who is determined to climb out of the shopping cart. You look to see if I notice the escapee. You draw in a sharp breath as I deftly snatch the air born toddler from the stratosphere and plop him back into the seat of the cart, barely saving his life. He is ungrateful. He screams like a banshee. You wonder if the clerk can move any faster.

I am that girl you saw in the feed store wearing pink cords, a sparkly shirt and ballerina flats. You gave me THE look. I was trying my darnedest to load the chick starter, oyster shell, dog food, rabbit food, chicken scratch and layer crumble into the back of my Suburban. I was trying not to get too schmutzy. You were repulsed by all of the Juice Boxes, Pull-Ups, Toys, McDonald's paraphernalia, extra Clothes and Shoes, I was trying to force out of my way in order to shove all the feed into the back of my truck. You wondered when I would go back to the city from whence I came.

I am that girl you noticed in the Goodwill. The one with a gazillion kids. The one whose kids were either pickin-N-flickin' boogers or peeling the price tags off all the glassware. Yes, it was I, who meandered over to the book nook, the one next to all of the noisy toys, just to annoy you. I told my kids to have at'ter. 'No fighting now, there is plenty of annoying junk for all of you.' You had the nerve to glare.

I am that girl.

The pesky shopper. The ridiculous farm chick wanna be. The goodwill stealer. THAT mom with the screamin' kid.