A Calm in the Chaos

The book that I got to read but am not reading

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 02:35:00 +0000

Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I'm a library freak. F.R.E.A.K. I will devour anything that remotely looks interesting as I walk blissfully up and down the cherished book stacks of my local library.

On my latest venture to the avenue of books I happened to walk past this charmer and the title caught my attention: The Yes Factor.

Thought number 1: What am I saying yes to?

Thought number 2: Will this allow me to indulge in a guilt free shoe shopping excursion?

Then I looked at the subtitle: Get What You Want. Say What You Mean. The Secrets of Persuasive Communication.

"Oh!" I thought. Tantalizing! Get what you want, eh? (The possibilities are endless!) Say what you mean, eh? ("Clean your room or you'll be grounded until your 35!") The secrets of persuasive communication...really? I hoped on some level that the techniques contained therein would involve mind control so I picked it up and checked it out.

And haven't touched it since.

Ok, so I flipped through it. Looked at it. Gave it the cursory once over. The bottom line is...I didn't spend much time on it. But I did see that it's got chapters on body language, the power of gestures, and, my at-a-glance favorite, "Gender Differences in Communication". I couldn't make it past the first couple of pages, though. I need something gripping, like..mind control techniques. No mind control techniques were listed in the table of contents. I checked.

Much of what was listed I had already picked up in my Speech class a couple of years back. A few years in management has given me many of the listed techniques already (and a few others I'd have to charge you for divulging).

For the moment I'm abandoning this book, relegating it to the bedside table until I'm either a. really bored or b. taking it back to the library. But I feel like a book traitor. I'm sorry Ms. Reiman. If you write a book on mind control I promise to read it cover to cover in one sitting. Cross my heart and hope to die. May you make me stick a needle in my eye.

Now, after proofing this post I suddenly realized that this turned into a book review and I didn't mean for that to happen at all. I'm sure Ms. Reiman's book is very good. But now I feel bad. So I promise to read a whole chapter to make up for the guilt I feel for no longer wanting to read the book. Maybe there are hidden mind controls at work here after all.

A tangled mess

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 02:00:00 +0000

I don't mean to complain. Really, I don't. Because I know that in the grand scheme of things, my girls and I have it well off. We all have long, straight, glossy hair that we pull up, wear down, braid, pony tail, wrap in a bun, pig tail and, in those rare moments, wrap into those tight buns à la Princess Leia. We aren't bound by the hair obligations of some (think hot combs and tight, envy inducing curls) who spend countless hours and dollars to make their locks look lavish. We need conditioner, a comb and a hairbrush and we are set.

Today my husband announced that Abby had a knot in her hair that he couldn't get out. Comb in hand, I stepped up to the plate. This was my domain...and it would take a woman, a mom, to get that knot out.

I sized it up. It was a big one alright. A knot ostensibly born out of many hours spent in a pool yesterday and a complete avoidance of a hair comb today. (Don't judge me.) Fearless, I took to the challenge like a garden hose to a forest fire. Yep, I had a better chance of getting into Fort Knox than untangling that knot. I spent an hour and a half in a fruitless, desperate attempt to untangle that matted mess. Finally, after all the begging and pleading (some mine, some Abby's) I realized that I had been beat. Then I did what only a desperate mother can possibly do at that point. I cut it out.

I don't know exactly how much hair was in that matted little ball but it was a lot. Thank goodness the knot stemmed from a section underneath the top layers of hair so the cut bits should go unnoticed. Now I'm going to go into a corner and soothe my bruised ego...and then I'm going to check to see if my request for Chris Rock's Good Hair has come into the library yet.

I need a feather duster in here

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 31 May 2010 03:10:00 +0000

*cough cough*
Wow, look at the dust bunnies in this place! I can't believe it's been so long since I've last posted.
Ok, that's a lie. Of course it's been so long. I've been crazy busy with work and have otherwise been too exhausted to do anything else but curl into a ball and weep uncontrollably. (This statement is a slight exaggeration...but only slightly.)
So here I am. For a moment or two...I'm not sure. But I will say "Hello Lou!" to the guy who got me thinking about this place again.
I still need that feather duster if you have one handy...

Best For Last, indeed.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 15:02:00 +0000

I'm a music addict. If I were denied a life filled with music I think I would shrivel up like a dying worm and kick the bucket. Slightly dramatic, but fairly close to the truth.

Like the rest of the world I have my favorites. And I imagine that unlike the rest of the world, my favorites are stumbled upon and unexpected. My latest obsession I discovered flipping through the pages of an old magazine.

When you disconnect from the rest of the world little things slip by you, like the latest blockbuster movie starring someone you've never heard of or the marriage of yet another self absorbed Hollywood couple. But the downside is that I missed the boat when it came to hearing Adele as early as possible.

I was listening to 19, Adele's debut cd, the other day when I first heard Best For Last. That song shocked me into a stunned stillness. This chick has some pipes.

But now I've been inspired. I will share my musical obsessions if you'll share yours. Deal?

Mushrooms are my friend

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 00:46:00 +0000

Here's another recipe that I've tried that I really enjoyed. If it has a good mushroom in it...I'm there.

Fusilli with Oyster Mushrooms and Artichokes
Serves 2

You'll need:
7 oz fusilli pasta (or any other "chunky" pasta) | 1 tsp olive oil | 1 garlic clove, crushed | 4 oz oyster mushrooms (torn if large) | 14 oz can artichoke hearts, drained and sliced (quartered works great too) | salt and pepper to taste | 6 sprigs basil, torn | sliced or shaved parmesan cheese to top

Cook your pasta. Neat idea for a pasta dish, right? The recipe calls for al dente, but I thought that al dente was a bit too...not done. I'd go one minute over what the cooking instructions recommend for al dente. While you're pasta is cooking...

...heat the oil in a skillet and fry up the garlic for a few seconds. Toss in the mushrooms and cook until tender (4-5 minutes). Add the artichokes, season with salt and pepper. I took half of the basil and tore it up and added it here and let it cook a bit longer--maybe four minutes or so on a low flame.

Once the pasta is done to your preference...drain and toss with the cooked mixture. Tear up and add the remaining basil leaves. Top with shaved or sliced parmesan and enjoy!

I should have taken a picture of this lovely little dish. It was yummy! I found this and the Shiitake mushroom recipe from Vegetarian Express. Great recipe book!

"Shiitake" is the word for the day

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 11:17:00 +0000

Nora had asked me to share my favorite recipes that I came across. Truth be told I've only tried two recipes out of the two cookbooks that I borrowed but I do have a LOT of recipes tagged to try.

Here's the first recipe that I tried and it was an amazing success. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

Crispy noodle cakes with shiitake mushrooms, bok choy and chili pepper!
(Serves 2)

You'll need: (for the cakes)
4 oz thin egg noodles | 1 tbsp low sodium soy sauce | salt | 1-2 tbsp sesame seed oil

For the veggies: 4 oz shiitake mushrooms | 10 oz bok choy | 4 tsp sesame seed oil
1 garlic clove, finely sliced | 1 tsp corn starch | 2 tbsp low sodium soy sauce
1 1/2 tsp red chili pepper sauce | 1/2 tsp water

Here's how to throw it all together:
Put the noodles into a sauce pan full of boiling water, cook for 3 minutes (or until al dente). Drain, add the soy sauce. Heat your sesame oil in a large skillet. Add half the noodles to the skillet, form them into a flat, oval cake slightly less than 1/2 inch thick. Scoot the cake on over (carefully!) to make room for another noodle cake (or just be a smart cookie and place the noodles on one side of the skillet unlike some *cough* people). Cook both cakes 4 mins or so on either side to crisp them up.

Meanwhile....stir fry your veggies. Knock of any dirt from your shiitakes and cut the stems down a bit. Wash the bok choy and trim off the bottom stalks. Slice diagonally and don't leave out any of the greens! Heat your other bits of oil in a wok or another skillet; add the garlic (I used pre-chopped garlic from a jar. I know, cheater cheater pumpkin eater). Cook garlic for 30 seconds then add the mushrooms. Stir fry over medium-high heat for 3 mins or until the mushrooms start to soften. Add the boy choy and stir fry for another 3 mins until the bok choy leaves are starting to wilt but still are crisp. Separately, mix the cornstarch with the low sodium soy sauce and add this concoction to the veggies. Cook another 1-2 minutes. Taste and add salt as needed (though soy sauce is already loaded with sodium I doubt you'll need more...unless you are a certifiable salt freak).

Lastly, mix the chili pepper sauce and water. Arrange your cooked noodle cake and half the veggies on each plate. Drizzle your chili pepper sauce around your noodle cake...and then dig in!

Some thoughts on this recipe... I LOVED THIS! I also noted that this itty bitty bit of the chili pepper sauce was not enough. I would suggest making more to have on the side and add it to taste as you like.

My husband remarked to me..."If this is eating vegetarian you can count me in!" I'm not trying to change anyone else's eating habits (aside from eating healthier in the general sense) but I was tickled that he loved this dinner. He wants me to make this again tonight. Shiitake shiitake shiitake!

Seeking Veggie Variety. Meat Need Not Apply.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 01:12:00 +0000

After I stopped eating meat I found myself eating zucchini, summer squash, portabello mushrooms and asparagus a lot. I'd sauté some or all of these lovely veggies and toss the colorful collection with angel hair or linguine and a fresh balsamic vinaigrette.

But what happens after you start getting sick of tossed asparagus? As much as I love my vinaigrette it seemed as though it was becoming as commonplace as, dare I say, ketchup. I need a variety of dishes that I can prepare and enjoy. Seeing as how meat is no longer appealing I can see myself stuck eating the same thing over and over and over again. Problem is, I'm not "natural" cook like some folks I know. I can't toss a random assortment of ingredients together and proclaim Voilà! I'm lucky that I can cook pasta al dente.

God bless the library. Do you have any idea of the sheer number of cookbooks that they have? While I look for vegetarian cookbooks my eyes glaze over the spines of such books as:

High Fiber, High Flavor: More Than 180 Recipes for Good Health

(I'm not looking to get that intimate with my diet)

A Taste of Murder: Diabolically Delicious Recipes From Contemporary Mystery Writers

(Should I be worried that these dishes will do me in?)

Beer-can Chicken and 74 Other Offbeat Recipes For The Grill

(Beer. Can. Chicken. Seriously?)

Cookies to die for!

(Lead me not into temptation...)

I finally run across a couple of vegetarian cookbooks that I like and pull them from the shelves. They had pictures. I gotta have the pictures. If there aren't any pictures how the hell am I suppose to know what the meal is supposed to look like?

With cookbooks finally in hand the next order of business will be deciding which I will try first: the Spaghetti with Black Olive and Mushroom Sauce or the Honey-roasted Eggplant with Sesame and Hummus in Pita Bread?

Decisions, decisions. Wish me luck.

Picture Day Mania

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 00:20:00 +0000

Nothing sets a mother's nerves on edge more than the dreaded Picture Day. If you are a smart parent you will mark this occasion on your calendar as a reminder. Perhaps you may find the time to purchase your kids a new shirt for the special event that will capture their spirit, those special smiles, that twinkling of their eyes. You might even treat the lovelies to a trim.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps you will fail to remember that Picture Day is coming, much less that it's TOMORROW. You might say a prayer of thanks because all of the laundry is done. But then it's likely that as you dig through baskets of clothes that have yet to be put away you will notice that your child's wrinkled khaki capris have dirt stains from playground jaunts that are stubborn enough to stay put and refuse all efforts to wash out. You will likely hope that the photographer will grant your wish and go for a head shot only and not focus (both literally and figuratively) on the fact that you have purposely sent your child off to school with khaki capris (freshly ironed!) that are dirt stained.

After the Picture Day Outfit crisis has passed you will still fret over Picture Day Smiles. "Don't cheese too hard!" you'll beg in the same breath that you pleaded "Smile naturally!" Equally intimidating is the dreaded Picture Day Hair Faux Pas. Was it brushed properly? Is there a goofy hair sticking up? Are you really going to think in 20 years that spraying half a can of Aqua Net on your head to get your hairstyle just right was truly the look for you in the 9th grade?

Thank God for Picture Day Retakes. Bring it on.

The Amazing Catapults!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 15:31:00 +0000

Look at what my ingenious girls came up with! After you're done watching...think about how closely "ingenious" and "evil genius" resemble each other.

Nim's Island, the inspiration for this little piece of work, is a really great family film, catapults and all.

(I don't know why the video is showing up so much darker than the one I took but hopefully you get the idea.)

This healthy living is going to kill me

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 17:32:00 +0000

I recently stopped eating meat. This piece of news has been met with dumbfounded stares and disbelieving gasps from my carnivorous acquaintances. Was I becoming....a vegetarian? Well, not if you ask a vegetarian, I wasn't. I was thoroughly enjoying fish--a vegetarian no-no. I was happy in my healthy lifestyle choices. I was biking, I was eating healthy, I was losing weight. What could possibly go wrong under these circumstances?

Last week, after a satisfying lunch of tuna fish and crackers (light on the mayo, thank you!), I had a sensation of a crushing weight on my chest. It came on lightning quick and it was so intense that I was a shallow breath away from a ride to the emergency room. Having paid $463 for essentially a Band Aide for my last ER visit when I was bit by a dog I was very hesitant in going again unless I was dying. And there was a moment there were I thought I might be. But the pressure finally subsided, my breathing returned to normal and I made a mental note to call my doctor for an appointment. I was convinced I had developed a fish allergy and I was pissed. Was I truly going to have to become a vegetarian after all? I had just discovered fish tacos!

My doctor wasn't buying the fish allergy though. Despite my assertions that I had been having little attacks like this for the past few weeks, most often right after eating fish, he wasn't convinced. My doctor thought I had an "esophageal spasm". A blood test was in order, definitely, to rule out the food allergy. And because I had chest pain I was destined for an EKG (I never considered that I might be having a heart attack). But I wasn't prepared for my doctor to tell me that I needed an Upper GI. Huh? Isn't that for *looks around* old people?

I had my innards x-rayed the next morning after an unsatisfying swig of barium. I saw all my bits on a monitor, and it was odd watching the gulps of this liquid chalk that I swallowed travel down to my tummy. A roll left, a roll right and then I was done.

A call from my doctor the next day both elated and frustrated me. My blood tests were back and I wasn't allergic to fish. (Game on, fish tacos!) But the upper GI showed that I had "abnormalities" and I required a scope down the old gullet to confirm either the presence of gastritis or ulcers. Until then take this prescription for Zantac. Take this Epi Pen just in case. And avoid caffeine and spicy foods.

Fan-friggin-tastic. Don't these people know that I live on caffeine and spicy foods? I have a cast iron stomach for goodness sake!

So for right now I can eat fish again but go easy on the seasoning. No garden fresh peppers on my homemade pizzas (mushrooms only please!) and I should avoid a spicy Chana Masala and make my Coriander Chutneys milder. This is going to suck.

But damnit, I'm NOT giving up my coffee.

Read This Book: The Wet Nurse's Tale

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 00:56:00 +0000

"My name is Susan Rose. Here I sit in a lady's house with a lady's babe at my breast, and it's where I've been before though the house was different and the baby too. I've got what rich ladies need right here in front of me and I learned to do what I do by example. It's my mother's milk that washed me upon this shore. It has got me to places far from my own mother, and it has got me close to those I should have avoided and it has got me far from my own hopes, but I dream still. Nursing's good for dreaming, for it takes a good deal of sitting still."---Erica Eisdorfer, The Wet Nurse's Tale

It's not everyday that you get the opportunity to write your own book review. So now that I've read this fantastic book, invested both time and emotion into this character's world, I've come to the point of pulling all of my thoughts together about this story and find that I have a classic case of Writer's Block. (Reviewer's Block?)

So instead of trying to come up with something fancy to wow the pants off of you I will simply tell you what captured and held my attention with Susan Rose and her story.

I realized that I was in for a treat when Susan likened the beautiful, raw experience of childbirth to "shitting a pumpkin". I laughed out loud and immediately liked this woman.

This character's voice came off the page so vividly in my mind, and I imagined hearing the lilt in her English accent as she describes a chance encounter with the young Master of the Great House while she was eating an apple in a tree. "Master Freddie finished his piss and I thanked God but he didn't put it away! Instead he held it for a minute and seemed to look at it, for I know not what reason, and then I belched out of the sheer shame of it and the apple, too. It was a huge belch and he started and looked up and there I was looking straight down at him, straight into his eyes." Susan's colorful turn of phase was a constant source of entertainment for me as I read this book.

A shocking act of betrayal forces Susan to travel to Victorian London where she soon finds herself employed as a wet nurse in the home of a lady half addled. Given the circumstances I can hardly imagine how Susan manages to keep her wits about her, her focus steady. I won't give away the twists and turns that this story takes; suffice it to say that my heart ached for Susan's plight. "When I woke, I found that I had cried in my sleep, for my cheeks were wet."

Erica Eisdorfer has created an amazing character in Susan Rose. The hardships that Susan experiences are extraordinary and the willpower that allows her to persevere doesn't feel contrived. I empathized with Susan, I cried for her and I cheered for her. This would have been a woman I would have loved to have been friends with.

Getting taken for a ride

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 25 May 2009 20:35:00 +0000

Today we picked up new bikes for the girls. We ended up buying two from Wal-Mart, the seventh circle of hell on a rainy Memorial Day, and I really struggled with our choices. The only bikes that the girls really liked (and truly fit on) were a Bratz and a Hannah Montana bike.

Insert heavy sigh here.

My kids don't have Bratz dolls. We don't buy into the Hannah Montana craze. I refuse to spend my money on dolls that look like prostitutes and I won't play into the machine that is Hannah Montana/High School Musical or whatever else is popular this week. I'm a mean mom and a marketing executive's worst nightmare.

So what's a mean mom and a marketing executive's worst nightmare to do when she finally caves and makes the dreaded purchase? She removes all the stickers off of the bikes of course! Take that you evil doers, you corrupter of children and depleters of college funds!

I still feel dirty, though.

And Abby came tumbling after

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 18 May 2009 01:24:00 +0000

Today the family took a bike ride south along the river, pedaling our bikes on top of the levy that serves as one of the many bike trails that are in Madison county. Most of these trails parallel state highways.

Abby and I rode together ahead of Jim and Emily (those slowpokes!). I rode closest to the road, and Abby was riding in the middle of the divided trail. We went from having a fantastic time as a family, out on a lovely Sunday afternoon, to a state of perpetual terror as my youngest daughter suddenly found herself off the trail, careening down a steep hill towards a gravel path and a chain link fence. There she was, screaming bloody murder down the hill as I jumped off of my bike, running down after her. "Abby, FALL! ABBY FALL!" Just before she hit the gravel path she fell, a tangle of braids, arms and legs and tires and pedals. She was terrified and in tears. I pulled the bike off of her and was amazed to find that she didn't have a scratch on her. Abby was very lucky that she didn't hurt herself (despite the rendering above Abby was wearing a bike helmet). She was a brave bug and rode her bike back to the car.

When she got home she drew the experience. The cloud says, "I bit the dust". Abby's yelling, "Ahhhhh!" As I am running after her (you can see a leg bent in the drawing) I'm yelling "Bug!" although "Abby FALL!" is what I actually said (the liberties some artists take!). There are other bicyclists in the picture at the top of the trail; a family had come upon us just after I reached Abby and had offered assistance.

Abby's no worse for wear after this afternoon's adventure. But I shudder to think what might have happened if she and I were on opposite sides; her closest to the road and high above the highway and had lost control of her bike then. I only get so far into that dark thought before my mind shuts out the image and retreats back to what actually happened.
We are very lucky, indeed.

*The color on Abby's drawing has been adjusted somewhat to bring out some of the detail in it*

Where the hell did March go?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 00:39:00 +0000

So much for my "return to blogging". Anyway, March was overrated. Everything and nothing happened. And it's hard to cover all of that.

Did I tell you that I swore off fast food for a year? (Of course not!) I can't recall the exact date but I made the oath in the first part of March--I think. The only exception to the "no fast food" rule is if I find myself in a pickle (between a sesame seed bun...I kid) and have to eat at a FFR then the exception is that I can eat there only if I eat a salad. Eating at a proper restaurant doesn't count as FF either but that doesn't mean that going overboard is authorized. Because it's not.

Why all the fuss? Two guesses.

And I have to start exercising again. Because again... two guesses. And short's weather is around the corner. Gotta tone up those legs!

Slumber Party Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 18:44:00 +0000

To say that my Abigail's slumber party bombed last night is something of an understatement. This came as a complete and utter shock, considering that when I wrote about Emily's slumber party for her 7th birthday a year and a half ago I had expected the worst and was pleasantly surprised that the house didn't crash down around my ears. I followed the basic premise of the previous party: stand back and let the kids take the lead.

That was the mistake that ended in the Worst Slumber Party Experience On Record. Apparently, Spooky Stories don't always sit well with a group of 7 year old girls--not even the one who told the story.

Abigal, sufficiently creeped out by this Scary Story, ended up in my lap crying. She told me then that she wished she never had a slumber party. I spent time calming her down and Abby finally fell asleep, spending the next hour completely oblivious of the drama unfolding around her. Tucked in their sleeping bags the other girls worked themselves into a hysterical frenzy over this Scary Story and came downstairs and announced that they wanted to go home.

ALL OF THEM.

This is how, at ten thirty at night, I came to be dialing all of these girls' parents, telling them that a crisis had arisen and that their child wanted to come home. In between phone calls one of the girls repeated over and over, "I want my mommy!" ("She's on her way honey") "This house it haunted!" ("The house is not haunted") "I want to go home NOW!" (I can arrange that) and "I never want to come back here EVER AGAIN!" (I can arrange that, too. Trust me.)

My daughter, shafted by time and circumstance in having a proper party on her actual birthday, had no idea that her long awaited slumber party was dissolving around her. She would wake up wondering why only one girl remained out of the original five--incidentally the same girl who told the Scary Story in the first place (I couldn't reach her granddad).

Abby took the news this morning in stride but I can't help feeling that I've somehow let her down because her party wasn't a success. How do I make this experience up to her?

@#$%!

Massaging monologue

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 15:33:00 +0000

Yesterday I had a day spa experience. I walked out of that building with my brows waxed, hair cut and styled (if you consider a two inch tall bump at the back of my head a style then I was all over it), face suitably scrubbed and "aroma-therapied", fingers and toes properly painted, and my body massaged for one full hour.
I had a hard time relaxing for my massage though. There I was, laying on what I can safely describe as something akin to a hydraulic lift with a sheet covering me and my head lifted on a stack of folded towels. The lights were dimmed. Soft music was playing behind me, trying to lull me into a state of relaxation. Colleen started at my feet and worked her way up, massaging me with warm oil in a very rhythmic, precise fashion. And instead of allowing myself to drift off into a state of perpetual bliss my mind decided to go on full alert and take notes.
I should have had my toes done first.
It's a good thing I shaved this morning.
Make a note to apologize for my bony tibias.
Make a note to apologize for there being more of me to massage lately.
Jim should really have this done.
Ow! Ah!
Wow, that hurts.
Wha?! Thank GOD I shaved this morning!
Hey! They really do that karate chop thing!
I didn't expect to get my ass massaged today.
Karate ass chopping, the next Extreme Sport.
Ooooh, work that knot out.
There's another one.
I wonder if she's going to tell me where I carry all of my tension.
"I hope you enjoyed your massage today, Elizabeth", Colleen said to me in her smooth, relaxed voice. It had been an hour already?
My mind was on overdrive but at least my body felt pretty damned good.

Flush! Wash!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 00:09:00 +0000

What ever do I say after being away for so long? The last thing I want to do is give a play by play of the drama over the last month and a half so I'll spare you the gory details and simply say, "Hello there".

That's not to imply that everything is coming up roses and life is just hunky dory. It's not. But, as the title of this entry implies, I'm going to flush all the "bad" away and wash my hands clean. I'll also be keeping my fingers crossed that the toilet doesn't back up.

What's that smell?

A trip home may be in order

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 04:32:00 +0000

I don't think I truly appreciated my dad for who he was until recently. When I was growing up he was a fuddy duddy, out of touch and totally uncool. The music he listened to, the vehicles he drove, the way he'd embarrass me in front of my friends, the whole bit, made me nuts.

And then I had my own kids.

Suddenly my perspective had a major shift. It was like cleaning off a smoke covered pane of glass; the way I viewed the world took on new meaning. I finally began to understand my father even though we were 1700 miles apart. Even more important, I began to appreciate him in ways that still surprise me.

My dad's not perfect. The way he raised my sister and me wasn't perfect. But I believe now with all my heart that he did the best he could with what he had. I only wish now, many years later, that I had the sense to appreciate that while I was a child. I feel as though I have robbed myself of something very special in waiting this long to come to this simple realization.

My dad's not been in the best of health lately. I've lost count of the number of times he's been in and out of the hospital. My sister has been the one, always the one, it seems, to be at his side when he finds himself under doctor's orders that yes, he must stay for a procedure. Today it was for an echo cardiogram to check out a couple of blood clots that developed after he had bypass surgery done on his legs last Tuesday. Did I mention that I found that out only yesterday? My dad didn't want me to worry. Or be mad at him. He's in the hospital, getting poked and proded and he's worried about me being mad at him.

Generally I worry when there's something to be worried about. I won't panic. I'm the levelheaded one to keep everyone calm until the facts are in. I'm losing that ability right now. I'm worried that I'm running out of time. Time to appreciate my dad. Time to tell him that I love him dearly, and I'm sorry that, as a kid, my friend and I put peanut butter and salt and pepper and Lord knows what else into the pot of hamhocks and beans that he was making for dinner. Time to tell him that it was sorta cool of him not to freak out when, while having a slumber party, my friends and I had a shaving cream fight in the middle of the street and we rinsed off our victories and defeats by jumping into the pool.

What I do know now, with a crystalline clarity, is that if I waste any more time I will be unable to forgive myself.

I had to open my big mouth

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 23 Nov 2008 21:12:00 +0000

Other titles for this post include:
"What I am doing instead of what I should be doing"
"How not to spend your Sunday"
and, my personal favorite
"The Power of Procrastination"

"Why don't we compare and contrast two speeches?" she said, offering up a suggestion for the Political Science paper that we would have to do for class. ("She" in this instance refers to me.)

"Oh! I love presidential speeches" she (not the aforementioned she but the She who grades my papers) said, pulling out a massive book from her bag that had each inaugural speech since the time of Washington printed inside. I had no idea she had that book hidden in there.

And that's how we got our assignment. The "Annotated bibliography, due November 12th. Outline, due November 17th. Rough draft, due November 24th. Final paper, due December 8th." Did I leave out that this paper must be 8 pages long? Rough draft included?

You might ask yourself why I put off drafting this paper until the day before it's due. Excellent question. I suppose it's because I didn't have a moment to spare for it until today. And now my bottom is becoming flattened from sitting in this chair for so long.

I probably should get back to writing it.

My child psych paper. Because I have nothing else to post.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 02:28:00 +0000

I turned in this paper last Friday and am awaiting my grade. Posting this is way to get out of putting much thought into a proper entry.

An hour spent critically observing Emily B. while she participated in a gymnastics class proved to be a very insightful experience into Erikson’s psychosocial stage of Industry vs. Inferiority. In this developmental stage, experienced by those six to eleven years, “children busily learn to be competent and productive in mastering new skills or feel inferior and unable to do anything well”. In my observation of Emily’s social interactions and skill building activities I was able to monitor her successes and failures and to thereby discern how these events affected her self confidence, self-concept, and to note whether these gave rise to competition within the class.

J. Eccles notes in The Development of Children Ages 6 to 14 in The Future of Children (Fall 1999) that “…children are expected to control themselves, cultivating good “work habits,” sitting quietly for long periods of time, and complying with rules and expectations for personal conduct that are set by adults.” It is precisely these expectations that Emily finds herself trying to adhere to while attending this gymnastics class. There are roles that must be filled by adults, roles that must be filled by the kids. The lines of acceptable behavior and unacceptable behavior are sometimes blurred but are generally thought of as safe to cross… or at minimum, safe to tip toe over.

Before making statements regarding Emily as it pertains to my observations in this particular gymnastics class it is important for Emily to be introduced, not as a character in a book or a faceless child under the watchful eye of a casual observer but as a young girl, full of life, love and laughter. Emily is a bright, eager, excited 8 year old girl who embodies the term “bookworm”, a third grader in the gifted program at school, and a child for whom most everything has come easy for in her short years. She enjoys making banana bread with her father, playing video games with her sister, and cuddling with her mother. She squeals with delight, growls in frustration, openly chases boys at recess (much to the distress of her mother), and has the tendency to entice others into a state of hyperactivity. Self-contained this child is not.

The gymnastics class begins with stretching. Emily finds herself at the back of the group of roughly fifteen girls in the corner. This gives her plenty of room to perform jumps, backbends, and “tuck and rolls” and enough distance from the group leaders so she can converse with her neighbors unobtrusively. She makes friends and initiates conversations easily. While the loosely structured group jumps, bends and rolls it is noted that Emily is neither more physically advanced than her peers or capable than the others as a whole. Rather, she is middle of the road; her efforts aren’t better or worse than the next girl. This “average” experience for Emily is likely humbling; she is used to being a leader. As the class continues their warm ups they parade around in a circle, a semi organized amoeba moving in fits and starts. Emily begins laughing and running around this group as fast as she can, seemingly barely able to contain the energy she has reserved for this hour. At one point an instructor politely asks her to slow down. Settling Emily is a commonality among adults.

The class moves on to tumbling practice. Emily has had previous frustrations with the aspects of this portion of class. During this period cartwheels and somersaults are practiced. After one particular roll Emily announces, “I can do it!” Cartwheels have frustrated her to the point of tears in earlier classes; while they have improved significantly they aren’t anywhere near the skill level of the majority of girls in this class. One article remarks, “Even the most secure child who has developed a strong sense of identity, willpower and initiative is frustrated by now not being the "best" in everything….” It’s worth noting that Emily has since reacted to her skill level challenges as a something to get better at, not something to give up on. This child will try, try and try again. “Watch me!” she shouts out as she attempts a cartwheel. This attempt did not fare well and she falls. Emily feels it necessary to apologize for her failure (“Mama, I’m sorry I can’t do cartwheels”). I don’t quite know what Erikson would make of Emily apologizing for her failed attempts but I find her tenacity encouraging; she appears to be quite industrious in her own right.

As the class moves on to practicing back bends and flips Emily pals up with two other young girls. They talk and laugh amongst themselves as they wait their turn in line to be guided through the backbend. As the line moves forward the girls continue to chat; their individual successes or failures in attempting this next skill are overlooked by the group. Once Emily is at the head of the line, her focus shifts to the instructor and she pays strict attention to what is going on around her. “Hey, that works!” she exclaims when she gets the backbend right and smiles. She seems more confident the next time she head up the line, artfully positioning herself in preparation for the backbend. Her success through the motions bolsters this confident feeling; Emily eagerly waits for the next challenge with a grin and, if you look carefully enough, you just might see her self-efficacy grow a bit bigger in the twinkle of her eyes.

The girls move on to practicing on the uneven bars. At this level of skill the girls attempt to jump up on the lower bar and hold themselves in a locked-arm position for a handful of seconds. Very few of the girls appear to be proficient in this task but they all appear to be enjoying themselves. This class period has become a social hour in addition to an instructional period. They continue to talk in groups, each seemingly comfortable with their positions in relation to each other. Emily suddenly says, “Stop it, I mean it!” to a girl who was pulling on her leg. After giving the offender a stern look Emily goes back to talking to another girl, apparently comfortable enough with her peers to dust off a slight aggravation in favor of continued conversation. While Emily is up on the bar practicing a girl approaches me and asks if I’m Emily’s mom. I tell her that yes, I am, and the girl responds to me that Emily is “annoying her”. “What did she do?” I ask. The girl shrugs. It’s not clear if this girl was the “leg puller”. No further interaction is noted between this girl and Emily. Neither seems to have dwelled on this incident too much as it isn’t mentioned any further and both girls continue to enjoy the lesson separately. This display is encouraging; Emily’s attitude doesn’t appear to indicate that her enjoyment of the class is dependent on finding herself in the good graces of the other girls. Minutes later Emily takes her turn on the bar (“…watch me go up!”), first trying to jump up by herself into position and then, smiling, uses a block to step on before jumping up into position. It appears that Emily enjoys feeling as though she has mastered a challenge.

The next activity is rope climbing. The girls will actually be climbing a rope “wall” that extends from about 3 feet from the ground to roughly 22 feet upwards. This distance is enough to make any observer distressed but I am practicing the “letting go” parent-child agreement and instead continue to observe Emily despite the butterflies fluttering about in my stomach. Emily approaches the rope wall with enthusiasm and makes a mad dash upward. She is intent on mastering this rope wall, pushing herself further up, testing her nerve, as she climbs. Her resolve is steadfast in the beginning of her climb. As she climbs higher she begins to climb more carefully with each step; with each foot fall Emily seems to test the rope rung as if ensuring that it’s still strong enough to support her. At various points she pauses in hesitation, deciding whether to venture further up the rope or head back down. She glances over at the two other girls climbing on the rope to her side, perhaps gauging how far she’ll travel depending on what they do. Emily climbs one or two more steps upward and then decides that she’s gone far enough. Her track down the rope is measured and cautious as she begins her descent, which becomes quicker the closer she gets to the mat. Once off of the rope wall Emily wonders aloud, “What if somebody fell?” I find it interesting that this question was asked after she came down off the rope, not before she climbed it.

If Erikson’s psychoanalytic theory is correct, then resolution of the various developmental crises found in the first five stages prior to adulthood will shape a child’s future self. Active children will have many opportunities to face a wide assortment of challenges. These children will be either mastering those challenges or feeling inferior because of an inability to do so. A sound family and social support structure is crucial to encouraging children to make the many attempts necessary to feel competent in their efforts. In my observation of Emily I have learned that she appears to be right on target to resolving the Industry vs. Inferiority crisis. She is constantly moving, learning, and challenging herself to be more productive as she learns her place in the world.

Step 1: Vote. Step 2: Operation Media Blackout

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 01:30:00 +0000

I think I'm going to skip the election coverage this year. I think we've endured enough already. After I perform my civic duty and vote I'm going to try to avoid all coverage of the presidential race. In doing so I'll miss exit polls that are generally skewed, round table discussions by people I don't know and a media blitz unlike we've seen ever. I'm going to skip news websites and political blogs and avoid having discussions about the election with friends of mine who are polarized over the outcome of tomorrow's historic race. It's finally coming to an end and I couldn't be more relieved.
Come Wednesday morning I'm hoping to wake up, enjoy a cup of coffee and then turn on The World and see which direction our nation has decided to go. No matter what your opinion on the candidates or this election is you can't argue with the fact that Times Are 'A Changing.
See you on the flip side.

Taking refuge in the bomb shelter

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 14:56:00 +0000

Never has there been a class I've disliked more than my online marketing class. I thought my sports psychology class was bad... but boy, this tames in comparison.
I have zero interest. None. Nada. Zip. Truth be told (and would I lie to you anyway?) I am morally opposed to this marketing class right now because it teaches those who would be in marketing how to better manipulate us as a society to get us to spend our money. Child psychologists are hired so that they may offer better insights into getting our kids the right amount of exposure to their products so that they can whine us into oblivion before we finally cave and spend our money. Even so, I have to take this class.
I have tried to force myself to read the material. It just makes me aggravated.
I have feigned interest. I am swiftly reminded that I would rather stab myself repeatedly in the heart with a spork.
I'm stuck.
It's mid term. And that means Mid Terms. Guess which one I had to take yesterday? This is also my final semester. In all my other classes I've nailed an A. In biology and anatomy and physiology I gratefully took a B. I think this marketing class will be my first failed class. Maybe, maybe not. I could get a D.

Ohmigoodness Ohmigoodness!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 01:00:00 +0000

When I watched this video I got that old familiar feeling of hollow anticipation in my tummy and I remember wondering, long ago, if I could take off and fly away.
Wow!

Now you see me, now you don't

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 14:27:00 +0000

This entry is being written along side a cup of coffee and a dwindling slice of toast with peanut butter. In between bites of bread and swigs of coffee I'm sifting through email, looking for anything that I need to answer immediately. An email to confirm an Indian lunch on Monday qualifies.
My first two classes canceled this morning so I've got a few extra minutes to sift through the classwork that the girls brought home from school. Emily recently did a group presentation on the nervous system and got an A+ for her efforts. It was noted on her Rubric that she needed to give her partners a chance to talk. Abby brought home another graded spelling test. Pick, park, tack, back, sack, sick, big, in, hold, and so were all spelled correctly. So were kick, and, will, sit, and have.
The timer just went off on the stove. Jim is cooking rice for the leftover Chana Masala that I brought home from work last night. ("That's so freakin' good" he tells me later.) Letting him have my leftover Indian food is my penance for getting it in the first place. Who can afford to buy dinner out these days?
Crap! I just looked at the clock. I need to leave for my only class in about thirty minutes, then I'll run home and get ready to blast out for work. The good news is that (at this time anyway) I'll have the whole weekend off. Just enough time to get my house clean before some contractors show up to give us estimates on how much it will cost to replace or repair our roof.
Shoot me.

See...I got this promotion at work...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 05:35:00 +0000

and I've been living in a cone of silence since I accepted it. I wanted to talk about it, boy... did I EVER... but I couldn't until, well, until I could.
But now I can.
Basically I'm going to be running my department. I did that once before, years ago, but there was a "restructuring" of the department and it was "decided" that they didn't need a manager anymore. Bull Puckey, I said. That was several years ago. I've been wooed a couple of times since then when it was decided that yes, we did indeed need a manager in there. And now that's me. Again.
I'm thrilled that my company has agreed to work with my unique schedule needs until December when I finish up school. I'll assume the full role then and will slowly integrate myself in the days leading to my graduation.
The negotiations for my promotion were intense. I asked for a company car and a parking space. I was told to go pound sand. I insisted on a coffee cup. Again, no dice. That coffee cup was almost the deal breaker, I tell you. I will, however, get a Blackberry. I was hoping for an iPhone with one of those cool but pointless lighter applications but was turned down flat. I didn't want to be an elitist anyway. ;)