Little Boy got his first fillings today, three of them, and a cap as well. I feel like a bad Mum when I think about that, why the hell didn't I floss more? Anyway. When he smiles, I can see the cap, an ugly silver chunk tucked in the corner of his beautiful smile. I hate it. It makes me want to cry. His perfect smile, changed forever. Now we'll have pictures from Before and After today.
Usually, the children grow and change in such tiny ways, we're spared the shock of it. Other days we come face to face with these changes, the little trials and tolls exacted upon the perfect bodies of our once newborn babies. There are fillings, scars, and tiny freckles that appear where there were none before. We know, because we are the mothers, and the warm, solid flesh of our children is our holy land, the place where we worship whatever Creator we are grateful to.
And so I mourn a little today, and I feel a little silly, because it's just a filling. It's not an amputation. The tooth will fall out. And anyway, he does still smile, after all.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Uh oh.
My daughter is nine months old. If you tell her "no," she gets a little glint in her eye, and then she smacks your mouth. It's consistent. It doesn't matter who you are, even beloved Daddy and Nanny Kisses have been disciplined for this transgression.
And so it begins.
And so it begins.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Church.
Took the kids to church last weekend, haven’t been to church in years, unless you count baptisms.
I’ve been debating whether to post on this, because I’m really not sure where I am with it in my own mind. But this is where I talk to myself when I’m hoping someone else will listen, and so here it is.
Little Boy thought God was the same sort of entity as Batman and Spiderman. I thought that was maybe not so bad. It wasn't as bad as when he used to think that Jesus lived way down in the toilet - I'll tell you that one another time. But at Christmas, and he asked me to take him to visit Jesus. I told him we could go to God’s house, and I explained that he can talk to Jesus whenever he wants, he only needs to pray. "But," I told him, "Jesus was born a long time ago, and then he grew into a boy and then a man and then he died."
“Jesus is DEAD???? WHAT????” Little Boy started to cry, and I was flabbergasted.
“Well,” I said, and I scratched my nose. “Yes, he’s in heaven with God.” But it was past bedtime and Little Boy had already begun to cry. That’s like rolling a ball downhill, so I scratched his back for a while and decided it was Time To Go To Church.
My Dad’s mum died when he was thirteen. As she lay dying she said to the boy my father, “Peter, raise your children in the Church.” And that is what he did, out of love for her, and for me.
The Catholic Church. It was a formal sort of place, you put on your Church Clothes and your Church Manners and you sat still until it was over. It was all pretty serious. There was a Childrens’ Liturgy so it was maybe not so stuffy as all that, but nonetheless, when I remember it is with a feeling of mild oppression. And yes, there is plenty wrong with the Catholic Church, but it is Mine. It is the faith given to me by my family, and my place in that community is as real a possession as my name.
But the Catholic church in my area has no Sunday school, and it’s a fifteen minute drive away.
At the bottom of my street there is an Anglican church. My neighbor (also Catholic) goes there and she said they have Sunday school and it’s a nice place. I don’t have to convert, she assured me. Nobody cares. So I bowed to the overwhelming convenience of it, and that’s where we went. I haven’t told my Dad, but I hope he’d rather we go to an Anglican church than not go to church at all.
Anyway, I put the kids in the car and steeled myself for the sort of Church experience I’m used to. I was all right with that, but it wasn’t much like what I remember at all.
Everybody in that building smiled at me at one time or another. The older people greeted my children, laying softly veined, arthritic hands upon their heads. A man, seeing me with Baby Girl in my arms, took our coats and hung them up. Someone gave me a prayer and a hymn book, and someone else asked my son’s name so he could have a name tag for Sunday School. A lady sitting behind us entertained Baby Girl with smiling and touching-fingers games throughout the service.
It was a little different from Mass, but not much. Many of the words and prayers were familiar, and honestly, I felt near to tears through much of it. I don’t know if it was the comfort of the ceremony itself or the feeling of welcome and community, but I was moved.
After the service, an older British lady - who incidentally had held Baby Girl in the grocery line a few weeks ago, something people don’t normally ask to do any more - came over to say what lovely children I had. She wasn’t the only one to say so.
There were cookies and juice, coffee and tea.
The lady behind me introduced us to Reverend Jane, who talked with me a few mintues before she pointed out that my children were welcome to receive the Eucharist. I was a little shocked. “But Little Boy hasn’t had his First Communion, maybe I should explain what it all means first…”
She was troubled by my response, I could see.
“Jesus didn’t say ‘Take this bread and understand,’” she told me softly. “He said, ‘Take this bread and eat it.”
Hmmm. That’s a very different sort of philosophy.
Throughout the week I’ve found myself thinking about the sense of peace and welcome that I felt there. I admit, there is a tiny voice that reminds me that my donation is as welcome as I, and of course they want new families to come. You can’t have a church without people.
Oh, shut up, I tell myself, you can’t have anything without money. If I’m going to enjoy the benefits of that community for myself and the kids, I should want to give back.
And I do want to go, for the kids. It’s not because I think God and Church are the same – they’re most patently not. If they have church when they’re little they’ll feel comfortable there when they’re grown. I think lot of people who have never gone to church have secret dark suspicions about what really goes on there, and when they’re forced to attend they look like they’d rather be at the dentist. From an educational standpoint, I want them to know what God and Jesus are all about. And who wouldn’t want a place for their children in the embrace of a community as warm as this?
But I also want to go for me – and I have no idea what to feel about that. I haven’t been a Churchgoer for so long it’s not a part of my self-definition any more. I know and respect lots of people who go to church, but I’m not comfortable with the label for me. I think that’s because when I was growing up, the church was a place where you didn’t show much of your real self. You were expected to act and be a certain way, and even as an adult part of me resists that. Can I have it both ways?
I guess we’ll see.
I’ve been debating whether to post on this, because I’m really not sure where I am with it in my own mind. But this is where I talk to myself when I’m hoping someone else will listen, and so here it is.
Little Boy thought God was the same sort of entity as Batman and Spiderman. I thought that was maybe not so bad. It wasn't as bad as when he used to think that Jesus lived way down in the toilet - I'll tell you that one another time. But at Christmas, and he asked me to take him to visit Jesus. I told him we could go to God’s house, and I explained that he can talk to Jesus whenever he wants, he only needs to pray. "But," I told him, "Jesus was born a long time ago, and then he grew into a boy and then a man and then he died."
“Jesus is DEAD???? WHAT????” Little Boy started to cry, and I was flabbergasted.
“Well,” I said, and I scratched my nose. “Yes, he’s in heaven with God.” But it was past bedtime and Little Boy had already begun to cry. That’s like rolling a ball downhill, so I scratched his back for a while and decided it was Time To Go To Church.
My Dad’s mum died when he was thirteen. As she lay dying she said to the boy my father, “Peter, raise your children in the Church.” And that is what he did, out of love for her, and for me.
The Catholic Church. It was a formal sort of place, you put on your Church Clothes and your Church Manners and you sat still until it was over. It was all pretty serious. There was a Childrens’ Liturgy so it was maybe not so stuffy as all that, but nonetheless, when I remember it is with a feeling of mild oppression. And yes, there is plenty wrong with the Catholic Church, but it is Mine. It is the faith given to me by my family, and my place in that community is as real a possession as my name.
But the Catholic church in my area has no Sunday school, and it’s a fifteen minute drive away.
At the bottom of my street there is an Anglican church. My neighbor (also Catholic) goes there and she said they have Sunday school and it’s a nice place. I don’t have to convert, she assured me. Nobody cares. So I bowed to the overwhelming convenience of it, and that’s where we went. I haven’t told my Dad, but I hope he’d rather we go to an Anglican church than not go to church at all.
Anyway, I put the kids in the car and steeled myself for the sort of Church experience I’m used to. I was all right with that, but it wasn’t much like what I remember at all.
Everybody in that building smiled at me at one time or another. The older people greeted my children, laying softly veined, arthritic hands upon their heads. A man, seeing me with Baby Girl in my arms, took our coats and hung them up. Someone gave me a prayer and a hymn book, and someone else asked my son’s name so he could have a name tag for Sunday School. A lady sitting behind us entertained Baby Girl with smiling and touching-fingers games throughout the service.
It was a little different from Mass, but not much. Many of the words and prayers were familiar, and honestly, I felt near to tears through much of it. I don’t know if it was the comfort of the ceremony itself or the feeling of welcome and community, but I was moved.
After the service, an older British lady - who incidentally had held Baby Girl in the grocery line a few weeks ago, something people don’t normally ask to do any more - came over to say what lovely children I had. She wasn’t the only one to say so.
There were cookies and juice, coffee and tea.
The lady behind me introduced us to Reverend Jane, who talked with me a few mintues before she pointed out that my children were welcome to receive the Eucharist. I was a little shocked. “But Little Boy hasn’t had his First Communion, maybe I should explain what it all means first…”
She was troubled by my response, I could see.
“Jesus didn’t say ‘Take this bread and understand,’” she told me softly. “He said, ‘Take this bread and eat it.”
Hmmm. That’s a very different sort of philosophy.
Throughout the week I’ve found myself thinking about the sense of peace and welcome that I felt there. I admit, there is a tiny voice that reminds me that my donation is as welcome as I, and of course they want new families to come. You can’t have a church without people.
Oh, shut up, I tell myself, you can’t have anything without money. If I’m going to enjoy the benefits of that community for myself and the kids, I should want to give back.
And I do want to go, for the kids. It’s not because I think God and Church are the same – they’re most patently not. If they have church when they’re little they’ll feel comfortable there when they’re grown. I think lot of people who have never gone to church have secret dark suspicions about what really goes on there, and when they’re forced to attend they look like they’d rather be at the dentist. From an educational standpoint, I want them to know what God and Jesus are all about. And who wouldn’t want a place for their children in the embrace of a community as warm as this?
But I also want to go for me – and I have no idea what to feel about that. I haven’t been a Churchgoer for so long it’s not a part of my self-definition any more. I know and respect lots of people who go to church, but I’m not comfortable with the label for me. I think that’s because when I was growing up, the church was a place where you didn’t show much of your real self. You were expected to act and be a certain way, and even as an adult part of me resists that. Can I have it both ways?
I guess we’ll see.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Life returns to that which we call normal.
Hokay. BamBam is back at school (touch wood) after a false start yesterday. He's ok, really more ok than I thought he could be sent home for, but whatever. I was only having brunch with my mother after two solid weeks housebound. I got it to go, and ate it with my fingers in the car en route.
So here I am with some time to think, and it's a strange sensation after the upheaval of the holidays. I'm cleaning out the house, filling bags for Value Village and whoever has a baby next. I think I need to do this in my mental space, as well.
THE WITCH OF BADENOCH is still alive, after six years of rewrites and bashing my forehead on the keyboard. I've learned a lot and changed even more, so I'm ready for a fresh start. I have a white-knuckle sort of approach sometimes, I try so hard it's like I'm holding my breath. I'm determined, and that's good, but you can't force this stuff. So maybe less thinking, more listening. I have the outline in my mind, and I'm not going to try to wrestle its flailing subplots and howling characters onto paper. For now, with so little time available, I'm going to put it all into the writing. And except for a bit of blogging, anything to do with writing that is not writing will have to go.
Do catch up with Damomma, if you haven't.
So here I am with some time to think, and it's a strange sensation after the upheaval of the holidays. I'm cleaning out the house, filling bags for Value Village and whoever has a baby next. I think I need to do this in my mental space, as well.
THE WITCH OF BADENOCH is still alive, after six years of rewrites and bashing my forehead on the keyboard. I've learned a lot and changed even more, so I'm ready for a fresh start. I have a white-knuckle sort of approach sometimes, I try so hard it's like I'm holding my breath. I'm determined, and that's good, but you can't force this stuff. So maybe less thinking, more listening. I have the outline in my mind, and I'm not going to try to wrestle its flailing subplots and howling characters onto paper. For now, with so little time available, I'm going to put it all into the writing. And except for a bit of blogging, anything to do with writing that is not writing will have to go.
Do catch up with Damomma, if you haven't.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Name Change
I've decided to change the name of this blog. I'd rather use a phrase that reflects an outflowing of creativity, a passion for the written word, rather than a cognitive blockage or mild psychosis.
I don't know what just yet, but I'll keep you, uh, posted!
Quick family update - BamBam is still running a fever and he's still not eating, it's over a week now. Doctor says his urine is fine but for a little protein and traces of blood - what the heck is that supposed to mean, I ask you??? They've sent it on to the hospital and they'll let us know. He functions as long as we keep him on Tylenol and/or Motrin, but I'd like my boy back, please.
Pebbles is just fine. Delightful. She's made up one of her own Baby Signs - she holds out one arm straight, hand fisted with the thumb on top, and lays her head on her shoulder. It means pick me up, or give me to that person there.
DH is doing all the night shifts with BamBam, so he's tired. I myself get to make a turkey dinner today - delayed reaction, maybe? - so I'm happy. We'll invite someone to share it with us, maybe my folks. Dad turned 55 yesterday.
No writing just yet, but do see Vicki's post on whining, if you haven't!
I don't know what just yet, but I'll keep you, uh, posted!
Quick family update - BamBam is still running a fever and he's still not eating, it's over a week now. Doctor says his urine is fine but for a little protein and traces of blood - what the heck is that supposed to mean, I ask you??? They've sent it on to the hospital and they'll let us know. He functions as long as we keep him on Tylenol and/or Motrin, but I'd like my boy back, please.
Pebbles is just fine. Delightful. She's made up one of her own Baby Signs - she holds out one arm straight, hand fisted with the thumb on top, and lays her head on her shoulder. It means pick me up, or give me to that person there.
DH is doing all the night shifts with BamBam, so he's tired. I myself get to make a turkey dinner today - delayed reaction, maybe? - so I'm happy. We'll invite someone to share it with us, maybe my folks. Dad turned 55 yesterday.
No writing just yet, but do see Vicki's post on whining, if you haven't!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
The truth is...
Me first, then you!
The truth is I have an open box of Toffifee hidden in my underwear drawer. I just had four, for my lunch.
The truth is I vacuumed the counter today because I saw how dirty it was while I was vacuuming, so I just...did.
The truth is I was impatient with my sick little boy today at the grocery store because the Baby wouldn't let me put her down and I was trying to put the groceries on the belt with one hand and Little Boy was about to cry because I wouldn't let him crawl into the cart. Part 2 - I hate it when strangers, especially checkout girls, see my not-so-good parenting moments.
The truth is I just had a glass of Bailey's in milk because I felt overwhelmed. Now I feel much better, but the groceries aren't put away, still, and the tree is up, still, and the hamster is dead, still. (S)
The truth is both my kids are asleep, so I know there is a God. Off to write a bit!
The truth is I have an open box of Toffifee hidden in my underwear drawer. I just had four, for my lunch.
The truth is I vacuumed the counter today because I saw how dirty it was while I was vacuuming, so I just...did.
The truth is I was impatient with my sick little boy today at the grocery store because the Baby wouldn't let me put her down and I was trying to put the groceries on the belt with one hand and Little Boy was about to cry because I wouldn't let him crawl into the cart. Part 2 - I hate it when strangers, especially checkout girls, see my not-so-good parenting moments.
The truth is I just had a glass of Bailey's in milk because I felt overwhelmed. Now I feel much better, but the groceries aren't put away, still, and the tree is up, still, and the hamster is dead, still. (S)
The truth is both my kids are asleep, so I know there is a God. Off to write a bit!
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Happy New Year, or not...
Hello!
I wish you all the very best this year. I hope your life is full of love and all your dreams come true.
Baby Girl has a tooth, and Little Boy has stopped throwing up, I think. Both of them are fever-free at the moment, and that's the best I've had to report in over a week. The hamster is dead, and the cat is gloating. I'm actually sick of chocolate, but I didn't gain any weight over the holidays. That's because Baby Girl has forsaken solid food of any sort and reverted to being solely breast-fed, so I'm churning through a bazillion calories trying to keep us both fed. I'm Mommy, the food processor.
Writing? Maybe after I get the tree down, and convince Pebbles here to sleep in her crib. Someone needs to go to the grocery store, and it's getting really, really dusty in here. (cough) DH and I both really need to sleep.
These are the dark days, and if I didn't have them I wouldn't remember to be grateful for my truly, truly wonderful life.
I wish you all the very best this year. I hope your life is full of love and all your dreams come true.
Baby Girl has a tooth, and Little Boy has stopped throwing up, I think. Both of them are fever-free at the moment, and that's the best I've had to report in over a week. The hamster is dead, and the cat is gloating. I'm actually sick of chocolate, but I didn't gain any weight over the holidays. That's because Baby Girl has forsaken solid food of any sort and reverted to being solely breast-fed, so I'm churning through a bazillion calories trying to keep us both fed. I'm Mommy, the food processor.
Writing? Maybe after I get the tree down, and convince Pebbles here to sleep in her crib. Someone needs to go to the grocery store, and it's getting really, really dusty in here. (cough) DH and I both really need to sleep.
These are the dark days, and if I didn't have them I wouldn't remember to be grateful for my truly, truly wonderful life.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
I'm okay!
It's all right, I'm okay. I'm just having some serious difficulties getting to my computer.
Had a really, really good idea today. Can't wait to see what happens with it!
Hope you're all well. Happy Holidays!
Had a really, really good idea today. Can't wait to see what happens with it!
Hope you're all well. Happy Holidays!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
T'is the season
I've just gotta tell you all (especially Sara, she'll get it) that I just made my very first ever butter tarts and THOSE BABIES ARE PERFECT!!!!
They didn't overflow or burn and the pastry is golden, crispy heaven. The insides aren't runny, or tootoo sweet. (S)
Preheat the oven to 325.
you'll need either store-bought pastry shells (I've always found those to be too greasy, but maybe the ones in your 'hood are better) or you can make whatever pastry recipe you normally use (mine's on the Sno-Flake bucket) Roll it thin, and use approximately 4" rounds in your muffin tins.
The filling:
1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup butter
2 tablespoons heavy cream
pecans, a few handfuls
So, spray your muffin tins and pat the pastry in, and scatter some pecan pieces in the bottom of each. Cream together the other ingredients and spoon over the pecans, no more than half full. Bake 20-25 minutes, watch out, they can burn easily.
I don't know how many pastry shells you'll need, I had enough pastry for 19 but the filling would have made maybe two dozen. Luckily, the filling will keep in the fridge for a few days. These ones aren't going to make it to the freezer, I'll have to make them again.
They didn't overflow or burn and the pastry is golden, crispy heaven. The insides aren't runny, or tootoo sweet. (S)
Preheat the oven to 325.
you'll need either store-bought pastry shells (I've always found those to be too greasy, but maybe the ones in your 'hood are better) or you can make whatever pastry recipe you normally use (mine's on the Sno-Flake bucket) Roll it thin, and use approximately 4" rounds in your muffin tins.
The filling:
1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup butter
2 tablespoons heavy cream
pecans, a few handfuls
So, spray your muffin tins and pat the pastry in, and scatter some pecan pieces in the bottom of each. Cream together the other ingredients and spoon over the pecans, no more than half full. Bake 20-25 minutes, watch out, they can burn easily.
I don't know how many pastry shells you'll need, I had enough pastry for 19 but the filling would have made maybe two dozen. Luckily, the filling will keep in the fridge for a few days. These ones aren't going to make it to the freezer, I'll have to make them again.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Snippet
All right, here's a snippet. Our lovers are only just acquainted in this bit.
From THE WITCH OF BADENOCH
Copyright me, 2006
Copper was passing the door that led out to the bailey when it opened, the draft extinguishing her candle. She jumped, squeaked and swore. This part of the castle was not often used at night, and no torches had been lit. There was a shifting sound in the darkness as whoever had opened the door paused, then pushed the door shut with a soft thud.
“Who’s there?”
A deep chuckle was the only answer she received, and a pair of impertinent fingers pinched her on the buttock. She squeaked again, but in surprise this time, more than alarm.
“Kieran Gordon!”
The chuckle filled the air around her, warm and infectious, and a broad hand closed around her upper arm, guiding her through the darkness.
“This way [little mouse], I’ll get you a light.”
“What are you doing, creeping about in the dark?” She scolded, heart still rattling against her ribs.
“Coming in from the loch. Step up, here.”
“Ah.” Now he mentioned it, he smelled of water, fresh and dark and cool. He kept his hold on her arm as they mounted the steps. She was uncertain of her footing, and more than once the backs of his fingers brushed the side of her breast. She tried to ignore that, but the heat that rushed up inside her at his touch was distracting.
“Last one,” he thoughtfully warned her, but she could see now. A short distance down the wall a torch burned, and he stepped away from her to light her candle from it.
He had been swimming, and the reason why he’d crept in the back way was now obvious. He was dressed only in his breeks, and they hung damp and carelessly fastened from his hips, threatening to slip with every movement. His skin was still wet, and the light glistened on his chest and the wide, solid angle of his shoulders.
Taking her arm again, even though they were now surrounded by yellow candle-glow, he turned her back toward the stair and up to the next floor. They went down a corridor and around the bend to her room, but she didn’t want him to leave. The nearness - and near-nakedness - of him was making her warm. He chatted, casually unaware, and paused at her door to finish whatever it was he’d been saying, something about a missing calf.
A droplet of water fell from his hair and streaked down his chest to hide in the soft fuzz on his belly. Her eyes followed it, enchanted, and the soft rhythm of his voice faded. His eyes had darkened by several shades when she looked up, several heartbeats later.
“I’ll be saying goodnight, then, Lass.” Now, her eyes fastened on his lips. She heard the husky warning in his voice, but her fingers drifted of their own accord, lightly brushing up along the path of the droplet, up to the soft curve of his bottom lip. At her touch his shoulders stiffened and he froze, eyes locked on her, fire (was it really from the candle?) flickering in their depths. A small sound came from his throat, and he caught her fingers, kissing the tips before pressing the candle into her hand. He disappeared around the corner without a word of good e’en.
Smiling, Copper let herself into her room, and went to bed.
From THE WITCH OF BADENOCH
Copyright me, 2006
Copper was passing the door that led out to the bailey when it opened, the draft extinguishing her candle. She jumped, squeaked and swore. This part of the castle was not often used at night, and no torches had been lit. There was a shifting sound in the darkness as whoever had opened the door paused, then pushed the door shut with a soft thud.
“Who’s there?”
A deep chuckle was the only answer she received, and a pair of impertinent fingers pinched her on the buttock. She squeaked again, but in surprise this time, more than alarm.
“Kieran Gordon!”
The chuckle filled the air around her, warm and infectious, and a broad hand closed around her upper arm, guiding her through the darkness.
“This way [little mouse], I’ll get you a light.”
“What are you doing, creeping about in the dark?” She scolded, heart still rattling against her ribs.
“Coming in from the loch. Step up, here.”
“Ah.” Now he mentioned it, he smelled of water, fresh and dark and cool. He kept his hold on her arm as they mounted the steps. She was uncertain of her footing, and more than once the backs of his fingers brushed the side of her breast. She tried to ignore that, but the heat that rushed up inside her at his touch was distracting.
“Last one,” he thoughtfully warned her, but she could see now. A short distance down the wall a torch burned, and he stepped away from her to light her candle from it.
He had been swimming, and the reason why he’d crept in the back way was now obvious. He was dressed only in his breeks, and they hung damp and carelessly fastened from his hips, threatening to slip with every movement. His skin was still wet, and the light glistened on his chest and the wide, solid angle of his shoulders.
Taking her arm again, even though they were now surrounded by yellow candle-glow, he turned her back toward the stair and up to the next floor. They went down a corridor and around the bend to her room, but she didn’t want him to leave. The nearness - and near-nakedness - of him was making her warm. He chatted, casually unaware, and paused at her door to finish whatever it was he’d been saying, something about a missing calf.
A droplet of water fell from his hair and streaked down his chest to hide in the soft fuzz on his belly. Her eyes followed it, enchanted, and the soft rhythm of his voice faded. His eyes had darkened by several shades when she looked up, several heartbeats later.
“I’ll be saying goodnight, then, Lass.” Now, her eyes fastened on his lips. She heard the husky warning in his voice, but her fingers drifted of their own accord, lightly brushing up along the path of the droplet, up to the soft curve of his bottom lip. At her touch his shoulders stiffened and he froze, eyes locked on her, fire (was it really from the candle?) flickering in their depths. A small sound came from his throat, and he caught her fingers, kissing the tips before pressing the candle into her hand. He disappeared around the corner without a word of good e’en.
Smiling, Copper let herself into her room, and went to bed.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
We have snow!
Well, it was a bit of a surprise. We were expecting rain, but alas. Snow!
You'd think after centuries of being, you know, Canadian, we'd have the hang of this winter thang. Apparently not, somehow it always catches us off-guard. The roads become jammed with commuters who looked out the window of their cozy office jobs and saw a white fluffy excuse to leave early sailing down. It was taking people three and four hours to get home. Probably because half of them don't have snow tires and the other half don't know how to drive.* I'd like to scoff, but:
"Mom! Our truck is touching Donna's truck!"
Oy. Apparently, when you don't actually put the vehicle into 4-wheel drive before parking it on a hill, the math looks like this:
gravity + ice = dent
I'm such a clever bunny, sometimes.
I will be playing Mrs. Mitty's game of posting a snip, hopefully tomorrow. Where's yours? (C'mon, all the kids are doing it...)
*Disclaimer - Author realizes this is a gross exaggeration and is only trying to be funny.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I'm it!
The last time Susan tagged me, I had no idea what that meant. Now I get it, so here goes!
1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Eggnog. With rum and ice, please.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree? Santa wraps almost everything unless it's silly to bother. Most presents are from Mom and Dad.
3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? Same answer as Susan: No lights on the house, but colored twinkly lights on the tree. I have fond memories of the big ones, but we use the little mini-bulbs. I miss those big bulbs.
4. Do you hang mistletoe? Yes, in the office door at work, because it's fun to see the men blush when you threaten to kiss them. They're not supposed to be peeking in the office anyway.
5. When do you put your decorations up? Second week of December. We take them down after the first week of January.
6. What is your favorite holiday dish? I love love bread stuffing with cranberries, apples and pecans, with gravy on it. Turkey, and cranberries.
7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child: I got a pony for Christmas when I was eleven. I was both paralyzed and speechless - it's never happened since.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? It was so gradual, I don't even know when the truth finally settled in for good.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? When we were kids. My Auntie Marian always gave me a new nightie and a book, so I always opened hers. It was the only time I remember wearing something new that hadn't been washed yet.
10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? Lights, some colored balls, some Hallmark ornaments, some homemade stuff. Gave up tinsel when the cats ate it - found it trailing out the bad end of Rudy and quit it right there. (shudder)
11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? Love it until it's dirty, or until the end of February.
12. Can you ice skate? Yes, at least I think I still can.
13. Do you remember your favorite gift? That would be the pony. Hard to top that, really. Oh, um, I supposed I did get engaged on Christmas Eve. (G) I can't pick.
14. What’s the most important thing about the Holidays for you? The family, the lights, the whole atmosphere. The food, being cozy inside with Christmas carols when it's cold out. The magic.
15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? Pecan pie, I think. But in our family we don't choose one dessert, my aunt makes five or six and we have some of everything. Then we lay on the floor and groan. Just kidding. We sit in chairs and groan.
16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Opening presents, and Christmas dinner.
17. What tops your tree? An angel, lit from within and holding two candles.
18. Which do you prefer: giving or receiving? Giving.
19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? Hmmm. I like silver bells the best, I think.
20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum? Meh. They're nothing to do with chocolate, after all.
Ok. passing this on to Renee, even though she's awol. And Jenny.
1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Eggnog. With rum and ice, please.
2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree? Santa wraps almost everything unless it's silly to bother. Most presents are from Mom and Dad.
3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? Same answer as Susan: No lights on the house, but colored twinkly lights on the tree. I have fond memories of the big ones, but we use the little mini-bulbs. I miss those big bulbs.
4. Do you hang mistletoe? Yes, in the office door at work, because it's fun to see the men blush when you threaten to kiss them. They're not supposed to be peeking in the office anyway.
5. When do you put your decorations up? Second week of December. We take them down after the first week of January.
6. What is your favorite holiday dish? I love love bread stuffing with cranberries, apples and pecans, with gravy on it. Turkey, and cranberries.
7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child: I got a pony for Christmas when I was eleven. I was both paralyzed and speechless - it's never happened since.
8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? It was so gradual, I don't even know when the truth finally settled in for good.
9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? When we were kids. My Auntie Marian always gave me a new nightie and a book, so I always opened hers. It was the only time I remember wearing something new that hadn't been washed yet.
10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? Lights, some colored balls, some Hallmark ornaments, some homemade stuff. Gave up tinsel when the cats ate it - found it trailing out the bad end of Rudy and quit it right there. (shudder)
11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? Love it until it's dirty, or until the end of February.
12. Can you ice skate? Yes, at least I think I still can.
13. Do you remember your favorite gift? That would be the pony. Hard to top that, really. Oh, um, I supposed I did get engaged on Christmas Eve. (G) I can't pick.
14. What’s the most important thing about the Holidays for you? The family, the lights, the whole atmosphere. The food, being cozy inside with Christmas carols when it's cold out. The magic.
15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? Pecan pie, I think. But in our family we don't choose one dessert, my aunt makes five or six and we have some of everything. Then we lay on the floor and groan. Just kidding. We sit in chairs and groan.
16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Opening presents, and Christmas dinner.
17. What tops your tree? An angel, lit from within and holding two candles.
18. Which do you prefer: giving or receiving? Giving.
19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? Hmmm. I like silver bells the best, I think.
20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum? Meh. They're nothing to do with chocolate, after all.
Ok. passing this on to Renee, even though she's awol. And Jenny.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
And life goes on
DH came upstairs at around 11:30 last night, to find me wearing a few weary tears and a seven-month-old baby on my shoulder.
"It'd be nice if you could sleep during the day," he commented, taking the baby from me. It would be nice, but I've always found that idea to be just that - a nice idea. In practical terms it doesn't work.
"It's not about sleep," I told him, "it's about free time. That fifteen-minute bath is the only time I've had to myself all day."
So he's gone out to run some errands today - and get groceries! - and little boy is with him. Baby girl is asleep. And later, he's taking them both to Karate, so another hour alone for me. Yay!
I'm engrossed in Robert McKee just at present, so I'll I think I'll spend a precious half-hour on that. Then I'll write a bit. Why am I blogging? Greasing the joints, I think. Cheers!
Things I'm grateful for today:
"It'd be nice if you could sleep during the day," he commented, taking the baby from me. It would be nice, but I've always found that idea to be just that - a nice idea. In practical terms it doesn't work.
"It's not about sleep," I told him, "it's about free time. That fifteen-minute bath is the only time I've had to myself all day."
So he's gone out to run some errands today - and get groceries! - and little boy is with him. Baby girl is asleep. And later, he's taking them both to Karate, so another hour alone for me. Yay!
I'm engrossed in Robert McKee just at present, so I'll I think I'll spend a precious half-hour on that. Then I'll write a bit. Why am I blogging? Greasing the joints, I think. Cheers!
Things I'm grateful for today:
- It's sunny.
- I have time alone. Wahoooo!
- I chose well, and we made some beautiful kids.
- Christmas is coming!
- Last night, while Baby had her bath, little boy sat beside me on a heap of dirty laundry and looked at a book about the solar system. It was one of those moments that I know I'll remember, even though it wasn't important, exactly.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Erg!
Baby seems to have added a new nap to her day, from 8 pm until 8:30 pm, at which time she awakes refreshed and ready to charm the pants off her tired mother until 11 pm. In the last three days I have spent zero time soaking in the tub, about one hour reading, and about half an hour writing. I feel a little tantrum coming on. (S)
Since she's asleep, I'm going to do something pointless and restful. Dunno what yet, but it's fer sure going to be useless, and I'll probably eat some of Little Boy's Halloween candy.
Hope y'all are doing well. I'll make the blog rounds later on. After the dentist and winter-boot shopping and...oh, nevermind.
Since she's asleep, I'm going to do something pointless and restful. Dunno what yet, but it's fer sure going to be useless, and I'll probably eat some of Little Boy's Halloween candy.
Hope y'all are doing well. I'll make the blog rounds later on. After the dentist and winter-boot shopping and...oh, nevermind.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Spent the morning nap so far futzing with my blog, and yes, I know it looks the same as it did. I'm going to make my own header, though, and I want to change the background, too. I'll figger it out, just you watch.
No writing. None. I've now got a contemporary paranormal and a historical paranormal in the works, and I'm feeling a little excited about the historical. That's the one I've been slogging for five years. And yes, I'm supposed to have given it up, but it won't go away. It keeps talking to me. I woke up the other day and realized that the MC is a trifle, well, dull. Too nice. So I'm going to give her red hair and a temper, change her backstory, her name, and her attitude. It ain't about the nice girl who learns to stand up for herself any more. Now it's about a spirited lass (named Copper, of all things, who names their kid Copper, anyway???) who flies in the face of peoples' expectations - and she won't say sorry, either. She still needs to learn to control the powers she was born with. She still has to make peace with her mother's rejection of her. Was her parents' death really an accident? She still thinks Kieran is hot. And hey, can't blame her. He is.
So, I'm feeling good. Will I fall on my face again? Probably. Do I think I'm an idiot going back to this WIP again? Yep. Just following my nose. See where it goes...
Things I'm grateful for today:
I'm alive, I get another chance.
Somewhere in this house there's a hot cup of tea, if I could just remember where I put it.
It's room temperature. Outside!
No writing. None. I've now got a contemporary paranormal and a historical paranormal in the works, and I'm feeling a little excited about the historical. That's the one I've been slogging for five years. And yes, I'm supposed to have given it up, but it won't go away. It keeps talking to me. I woke up the other day and realized that the MC is a trifle, well, dull. Too nice. So I'm going to give her red hair and a temper, change her backstory, her name, and her attitude. It ain't about the nice girl who learns to stand up for herself any more. Now it's about a spirited lass (named Copper, of all things, who names their kid Copper, anyway???) who flies in the face of peoples' expectations - and she won't say sorry, either. She still needs to learn to control the powers she was born with. She still has to make peace with her mother's rejection of her. Was her parents' death really an accident? She still thinks Kieran is hot. And hey, can't blame her. He is.
So, I'm feeling good. Will I fall on my face again? Probably. Do I think I'm an idiot going back to this WIP again? Yep. Just following my nose. See where it goes...
Things I'm grateful for today:
I'm alive, I get another chance.
Somewhere in this house there's a hot cup of tea, if I could just remember where I put it.
It's room temperature. Outside!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Mediterranean Chicken and Sausage Stew
All right, fine. Here's my secret recipe for chicken and sausage stew. I think it might be even better left over.
4 big sausages (mild italian is nice, you could go spicier if you want)
2-3 chicken breasts, cut in 1" cubes
1/2 each red and green peppers, chopped
2 large potatoes, peeled and cut in 1" cubes
2 cups sliced mushrooms
1 large onion, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 large cloves garlic, minced
2 cups chicken broth
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes, with juice
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried basil - or 1/2 chopped fresh
1/2 cup ketchup - I like the broth thick and just a little sweet, omit ketchup if you don't
salt and pepper
Slice sausages and brown in biggish soup pot, set aside. Brown chicken, set aside. Stir-fry peppers, mushrooms, onion, garlic, celery until tender. Add meat, chicken broth, oregano, tomatoes and ketchup (and basil if you're using dried) and simmer 20-25 minutes. Stir occasionally. Add basil last if it's fresh, plus salt + pepper if you need it.
I often serve this with garlic bread and cold milk, but biscuits are good too.
4 big sausages (mild italian is nice, you could go spicier if you want)
2-3 chicken breasts, cut in 1" cubes
1/2 each red and green peppers, chopped
2 large potatoes, peeled and cut in 1" cubes
2 cups sliced mushrooms
1 large onion, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 large cloves garlic, minced
2 cups chicken broth
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes, with juice
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried basil - or 1/2 chopped fresh
1/2 cup ketchup - I like the broth thick and just a little sweet, omit ketchup if you don't
salt and pepper
Slice sausages and brown in biggish soup pot, set aside. Brown chicken, set aside. Stir-fry peppers, mushrooms, onion, garlic, celery until tender. Add meat, chicken broth, oregano, tomatoes and ketchup (and basil if you're using dried) and simmer 20-25 minutes. Stir occasionally. Add basil last if it's fresh, plus salt + pepper if you need it.
I often serve this with garlic bread and cold milk, but biscuits are good too.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
I have a tendency to be a doormat. I’m a nice person, sometimes too much so. I love to be and do what the people around me need at any given time.
Thank heavens I come from a generation in which that quality is neither expected nor particularly admired – because if the giving and being and doing goes on too long, I begin to harbour secret resentments and frustrations. Then I go back and forth between feeling sorry for myself and wanting to stand up and holler. I eventually do the latter – usually over something petty and/or bizarrre – leaving the unlucky recipient of my sudden wrath both bewildered and hurt, and me feeling like a right proper ass.
Don’t get me wrong – I am loved. My needs are important to my family, and my husband will go any distance to meet them. Trick is, I don’t like to say what those needs are. I feel guilty asking for time to myself when I know the house is dirty and he’s tired and the kids are cranky and there’s laundry piling up in all the corners. As for any mother, there is always some little thing I could be doing, I’ll just do that and then I’ll sit down, but then Baby’s hungry, and I’m fine, it's okay, I’ll just put this laundry in…
FOR GOD’S SAKE WHY ARE THERE SO MANY TOYS IN THIS HOUSE I’LL BET THERE AREN’T THIS MANY TOYS IN ALL OF AFRICA!
Ahem.
So. Something for me to work on, and I suspect y’all are guilty of this too. So sometime this week, bat your eyelashes at the man who loves you, pass him the youngest child, and tell him you’re taking a bubblebath and then having a date with your keyboard. I’m going to.
Things I'm grateful for today:
The grocery stores are open Sundays now, so I can go buy a potroast for supper.
It's nice out, and Boy is getting some fresh air.
Baby's asleep, and I can have a quiet lunch - alone.
Thank heavens I come from a generation in which that quality is neither expected nor particularly admired – because if the giving and being and doing goes on too long, I begin to harbour secret resentments and frustrations. Then I go back and forth between feeling sorry for myself and wanting to stand up and holler. I eventually do the latter – usually over something petty and/or bizarrre – leaving the unlucky recipient of my sudden wrath both bewildered and hurt, and me feeling like a right proper ass.
Don’t get me wrong – I am loved. My needs are important to my family, and my husband will go any distance to meet them. Trick is, I don’t like to say what those needs are. I feel guilty asking for time to myself when I know the house is dirty and he’s tired and the kids are cranky and there’s laundry piling up in all the corners. As for any mother, there is always some little thing I could be doing, I’ll just do that and then I’ll sit down, but then Baby’s hungry, and I’m fine, it's okay, I’ll just put this laundry in…
FOR GOD’S SAKE WHY ARE THERE SO MANY TOYS IN THIS HOUSE I’LL BET THERE AREN’T THIS MANY TOYS IN ALL OF AFRICA!
Ahem.
So. Something for me to work on, and I suspect y’all are guilty of this too. So sometime this week, bat your eyelashes at the man who loves you, pass him the youngest child, and tell him you’re taking a bubblebath and then having a date with your keyboard. I’m going to.
Things I'm grateful for today:
The grocery stores are open Sundays now, so I can go buy a potroast for supper.
It's nice out, and Boy is getting some fresh air.
Baby's asleep, and I can have a quiet lunch - alone.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
I have a killer immune system. I’m never sick. The whole family can be hacking and wheezing and retching all around me and I stand healthy, the bearer of Puffs and the occasional bowl of chicken soup. Or an empty bowl, if that’s really necessary.
But oh, we’ll not be bragging about that today.
I have a sinus thing, and a runny nose and I’m cranky. The grocery store had no ginger, and I’m running very low, so soon I won’t be able to make my I’m-sick-and-I’m-going-to sulk-about-it-now-tea. Insert huge, pained sigh here and let’s move on.
Hearing test for Little Boy turned up with mild bilateral conductive hearing loss again. It should be treatable, it looks like it’s just fluid in the inner ear. Or too much fluid, I mean, I think there’s fluid there in any case…So, back to the family doctor and perhaps a specialist.
I’ve cleaned my desk and I’ve cleaned the hamster cage and the baby will be up soon. My poor, whithered mind, deprived of sleep and entertainment lo these past two weeks, is starting to stir and stretch. I miss my mc, and though I’ve only known her a short while, she wants me to get on with her story. Her mother needs me, too, and so it looks as though I’ll be having two protags this time around as well.
So, it’s back to the land of the writing. See you there.
Things I'm grateful for:
My slow cooker.
Baby's having a nice long nap.
I've got a little work done this morning.
I've still got a few minutes left for me.
I have a killer immune system. I’m never sick. The whole family can be hacking and wheezing and retching all around me and I stand healthy, the bearer of Puffs and the occasional bowl of chicken soup. Or an empty bowl, if that’s really necessary.
But oh, we’ll not be bragging about that today.
I have a sinus thing, and a runny nose and I’m cranky. The grocery store had no ginger, and I’m running very low, so soon I won’t be able to make my I’m-sick-and-I’m-going-to sulk-about-it-now-tea. Insert huge, pained sigh here and let’s move on.
Hearing test for Little Boy turned up with mild bilateral conductive hearing loss again. It should be treatable, it looks like it’s just fluid in the inner ear. Or too much fluid, I mean, I think there’s fluid there in any case…So, back to the family doctor and perhaps a specialist.
I’ve cleaned my desk and I’ve cleaned the hamster cage and the baby will be up soon. My poor, whithered mind, deprived of sleep and entertainment lo these past two weeks, is starting to stir and stretch. I miss my mc, and though I’ve only known her a short while, she wants me to get on with her story. Her mother needs me, too, and so it looks as though I’ll be having two protags this time around as well.
So, it’s back to the land of the writing. See you there.
Things I'm grateful for:
My slow cooker.
Baby's having a nice long nap.
I've got a little work done this morning.
I've still got a few minutes left for me.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Dusting myself off...
I hope November is starting out well for you!
I know at least a few of you will share my pain when I say that the writing thing has just not been working this past week or so. With some sleep issues and stress from work, plus the usual stuff we have to get done, I haven't written at all in over a week.
So yesterday I decided to let Baby Girl have a little cry. The gentler ways to encouraage her to go to sleep on her own just seemed like tearing a band-aid off really sloooowly, for both of us. So sink or swim, little fishy! It took an hour the first time for her to fall asleep - and three minutes the second time. Whew. And this morning, about five minutes. I think we're going to be all right.
That said, it's a new month. A new start, and back on the horse for me. 500 words a day. Amazing how I've lost touch already.
I'm fighting the urge to rewrite as I go. I know the scenes I've started are so very sketchy that my plot leaps forward at a lightning pace with not nearly enough words to describe what's really there. I'm already geting stuck, even thought I know what happens next! So I'm forcing myself on to the next scene, just to keep going until I get to the end. I will rewrite once I've written! Maybe the whole thing will come out to 30K. C'est la vie. At least it will be whole, and I can fix that.
I know at least a few of you will share my pain when I say that the writing thing has just not been working this past week or so. With some sleep issues and stress from work, plus the usual stuff we have to get done, I haven't written at all in over a week.
So yesterday I decided to let Baby Girl have a little cry. The gentler ways to encouraage her to go to sleep on her own just seemed like tearing a band-aid off really sloooowly, for both of us. So sink or swim, little fishy! It took an hour the first time for her to fall asleep - and three minutes the second time. Whew. And this morning, about five minutes. I think we're going to be all right.
That said, it's a new month. A new start, and back on the horse for me. 500 words a day. Amazing how I've lost touch already.
I'm fighting the urge to rewrite as I go. I know the scenes I've started are so very sketchy that my plot leaps forward at a lightning pace with not nearly enough words to describe what's really there. I'm already geting stuck, even thought I know what happens next! So I'm forcing myself on to the next scene, just to keep going until I get to the end. I will rewrite once I've written! Maybe the whole thing will come out to 30K. C'est la vie. At least it will be whole, and I can fix that.
Monday, October 30, 2006
I'm thirtysomething, hear me roar.
I washed my hair this morning, but I refuse to put on any makeup. I asked the baby and the hamster, and they both think I look just fine, so the people at the grocery store will just have to be all right with that.
There was a time when I wouldn’t leave the house without everything just so, as far as makeup and hair went. I think it was my teens and twenties. You know, I wouldn’t go back there. I’m not thrilled to be thirtysomething, but there are good points. And hey, it ain’t so bad, I know.
One thing I’ve noticed about my thirties is that I’m much more confident. As I said to my Mom earlier, when I described an encounter with a very rude customer, people like that just can’t touch me like they used to. My kids are healthy, my family loves me, and I’ve learned that I don’t have to let that kind of poison get on my skin. There’s an incredible amount of freedom in that – the freedom to be happy and at peace even when people are jerks. The freedom to face adversity with confidence and a smile. The freedom to sit in my own driver's seat, and go my own way - and not to ask what others think of my decisions. Somehow, somewhere along the line, this people-pleaser has grown up.
And given birth to a baby who does not sleep.
Gotta go!
There was a time when I wouldn’t leave the house without everything just so, as far as makeup and hair went. I think it was my teens and twenties. You know, I wouldn’t go back there. I’m not thrilled to be thirtysomething, but there are good points. And hey, it ain’t so bad, I know.
One thing I’ve noticed about my thirties is that I’m much more confident. As I said to my Mom earlier, when I described an encounter with a very rude customer, people like that just can’t touch me like they used to. My kids are healthy, my family loves me, and I’ve learned that I don’t have to let that kind of poison get on my skin. There’s an incredible amount of freedom in that – the freedom to be happy and at peace even when people are jerks. The freedom to face adversity with confidence and a smile. The freedom to sit in my own driver's seat, and go my own way - and not to ask what others think of my decisions. Somehow, somewhere along the line, this people-pleaser has grown up.
And given birth to a baby who does not sleep.
Gotta go!
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