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Tuesday, June 29, 2004

SPLINTER AAAUUGGHHH!!!

Just had the terribly unpleasant experience of having to pull a 5/8" sliver out of C's foot. Oh man. It took about fifteen minutes, and much of the time she was screaming like we were torturing her (and, well, from what I remember about having other people take splinters out of me, that's not far off). I was holding her and trying to use my body to block her view of Daddy and the tools he was using. T took over the actual removal early on, at my request, because he is so much steadier-handed than I am. Meanwhile I was stroking her head and singing to her and just generally trying to put her in a happy place, which actually helped, a little -- thinking about swimming lessons worked the best. I ended up using labor pain management techniques to help keep her from thrashing around. Hey, those lessons should go to some use, after all... I didn't end up needing them. Even the cats were getting in on the action -- Molly, who thinks a good ear-licking will fix anything, was doing her best to make the screaming stop, and Mary, who is normally a little leery of the kids, was rubbing up against her cheek. My respect for those pesky, destructive, cute little varmints went up several notches, I must say. Everyone except the cats needed ice cream afterward. With whipped cream.

And of course this is prime fodder for C's pity-me attitude. We just asked her how she was feeling, and she said it was hurting just as bad as ever. When we pointed out that she wasn't screaming, at least, she said, "I'm only screaming inside my head. Because I'm not supposed to scream outside my head." Little nut.

Monday, June 28, 2004

aah, motherhood

I guess motherhood and hedonism just don't mix. All day I've planned that I would take the afternoon off today -- the house is passably clean, and the laundry's caught up, and it's summer vacation. LT reads like a whiz and can write intelligible paragraphs and he knows about the water cycle and the life cycle and the food chain and money and something about the American Revolution and pioneer days and Native Americans, and he can add and subtract multiply and divide and tell time, and nobody taught him any of that stuff but me; HE gets a break during the summer, so I'm entitled to one too, right? At least one, an hour on the porch swing with a novel and a tall ice-rattling bottle of ice water? Except it never happens; there's just too much to do. It's not that I'm some workaholic or that I'm house-proud -- far from it, I'm afraid; I do manage to find myself sitting in front of this machine plenty of times when I thought I was folding laundry or what have you. But as far as just scheduling some down time for myself, something always comes up. This afternoon I thought I'd made it -- ballet and swimming lessons were over; the clothes were clean, dry, and folded; dishwasher emptied; kids fed and playing quietly in their rooms. I was about to get my diet Coke out of the fridge when I noticed that the counter could really use scrubbing. And the table too. And I may as well put away the laundry... and put back the couch cushions C messed up... and load the dishwasher. OK, then that was all done, and I picked up my book and noticed that the floor needed sweeping. Swept the floor. And then I remembered... I'm supposed to mail that letter for T today in TODAY's mail (we live in town which means we have no home delivery/pickup of mail; we have to go to the post office). So now I have to get the kids out of their quiet play (never mind, they just came out on their own and said they were hungry, could I fix them a snack?), get them all shod and combed and washed, and load us all into the car, and drive to the post office and back, and who knows if that golden moment of solitude and freedom will present itself again before next year... and it'll be time to get dinner going when we get back anyway.

sigh.

It's not that I'm not grateful. This is a life that I have chosen for myself, and I love it, and wouldn't trade it for any of the alternatives (after all, even if I did want to, I think I'd find that a "working mother" has to do all this stuff anyway, with the added frustration of dealing with coworkers from 8-5 and with children being raised by someone else's ideas the rest of the time). And granted, it is so. so. so much easier now than it was, say, three years ago, when my children were much less capable of doing things for themselves. But sometimes it just seems like it will never end until I'm faced with the rest of my life stretching ahead of me, childless -- at which point, of course, when I have the porch swing and the book and the solitude available full-time, I'll wonder why they ever looked so appealing in the first place.

Sunday, June 27, 2004

phone therapy

I think I need to go to a Phone Therapy Center. There must be such a place, right? Where they use, I dunno, shock therapy, to make spazzes like me more effective telephone communicators? Maybe after a course at the State Facility for Telephone Losers, I would be more confident about phone use, and wouldn't dread it so. Because right now, frankly, most of the time, my feeling is, why would God have invented the Internet, if he had wanted us to talk on the phone and make utter fools of ourselves? After a six-week commitment, though, that could all be changed.

Scene: Rachel is pretending to talk on a toy phone. Wires trail from electrodes attached to Rachel's shaved skull (hey, I've always wanted to shave off this unhealthy mess and start fresh. Another plus).

Rachel: says "like", as in, "So I was like" [ZOT!!] [begins to tell story she's told to this person twice already] [ZOT!!] exceeds limit of 15 words per second[ZOT!!] babbles. [ZOT!!] says, "so, ANYWAY" [ZOT!!] starts a friendly conversation with a person conducting a survey [ZOT!!]

At night they would play subliminal messages over the speakers in my cell in a soft, soothing monotone: "Nobody wants to hear your talk to your child for forty-five seconds in the middle of a conversation. You always spit out your gum before you answer the phone. Your voice does not sound nearly as nasal to others as it does inside your head. Other people know how to finish their own sentences...."

Do you think they'd have basket weaving? I've always wanted to learn basket weaving.

Saturday, June 26, 2004

a really, really nice Saturday

This is like the third or fourth weekend in a row that has just been fantastic. Today I made some playdough, mailed some packages (heads up, Susan and girls, including beautiful wee new Abigail, oh now I'm getting all clucky again, must move on), and went to the library, and then we went to a birthday party for one of my nieces (sort of), which culminated in the (large) group of us pretty much taking over the county pool. We had a great time. C (who is, for those of you who are new to blissful contentment -- hi! by the way -- 4 years old) wanted to jump off the diving board. Of course, since C's "swimming" consists of floating on her face and gently waving her arms, which propels her, um, not at all (as soon as she kicks, she sinks -- I really hope those swimming lessons she starts on Monday will do her some good), she couldn't do the diving board thing, but she DID dive(!) off the side of the pool and learn to do cannonballs -- with me there to catch her, of course. Even LT jumped off the side and showed off his new swimming-lesson skills. Then we went home and I crashed, because I am like a child that way. Put me in the sun and the water and as soon as I get out I want to go to sleep. C inherited this trait from me, apparently; when I woke up she was asleep on the couch in front of "Mary Poppins", looking like a baby angel with chlorinated hair. The boys were playing Legos, building a quite respectable model of Minas Tirith, which they've been plotting for weeks. I made tacos for supper and milkshakes for dessert; we watched "The Great Muppet Caper," during which T explained who was whom for me since I was more a Fraggle Rock type when I was little, and now everyone's ready for bed. Including me -- in a very happy way, it feels like it's been three days since I got up this morning. :)

Thursday, June 24, 2004

it's just not the same anymore.

Watching Dirty Dancing as a mother is so very different from watching it as a 13-year-old.

Then: Ooh, that dance move is so sexy. I am going to imagine Patrick Swayze doing that with ME.
Now: Anyone even thinks about violating my wide-eyed innocent daughter's "dance space" in that manner and he'll be emasculated. By my fingernails.

Then: What a loser that Neil guy is. Loser loser loser.
Now: What a loser that Neil guy is. Loser loser loser.

Then: Ooh, that dance move is also very sexy. I am going to try to arch my back over like that. Hmm, not quite.
Now: Ouch.

Then: I will practice for months until I figure out how to shake my maracas like Cynthia Rhodes does in that gazebo scene.
Now: Ouch again.

It has been -- holy cow -- more than fifteen years since I watched this movie so many times that I wore out my pirated Beta videocassette of it. And yet, tonight I still knew exactly what everyone was going to say next. Why the heck couldn't, say, World History stick with me like that? Maybe if World History had starred Patrick Swayze (I don't think he frowns enough. Do you?) and involved a strangely satisfying combination of early 60's and mid-80's music, it would have worked better. I wonder if the California State Department of Education has a suggestion hotline for their curriculum standards division...

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

a book review. and my codependency (I think.)

I just took a break from reading Persuasion to read The Glorious Appearing, which had come in at the library for me after about six months of being in my hold list. In case you aren't up on your Christian-ese, The Glorious Appearing is the twelfth and final volume in that bestselling Christian fiction series about the end of time. I really hate to say it, but... the book sucked. The rest of the series I read and didn't mind too much, because the subject matter was of interest to me, even though the writing style (a poor attempt to be a Christian Tom Clancy) was off-putting to me. Not my style, nothing wrong with it, different strokes for different folks, all that. But in this last book, it's like instead of trying to channel Tom Clancy, the author decided to go for a kind of love-child-of-Nicholas-Sparks-and-Stephen-King kind of thing. And the scariest thing is, he succeeded. Ugh. I made myself finish just so I could finish off the series, and honestly, the last few chapters were better than the rest of the book. But now I feel like I need to go through a ritual cleansing before I can pick up Persuasion again, in all its crystalline, witty, romantic perfection. And I need to apologize to Jane too. Or at least read some Beverly Cleary or something, to cleanse my palate.

Total topic change: T has been so ridiculously stressed out lately, what with his job and all, that he's become (I think) borderline depressed. And I am so totally one of those people who is really distressed when those around me aren't happy. When my parents fought? end of the world. And oh good Lord the one time I saw my dad cry as a child was a nightmarish event of monumental proportions. DADDY CRIED. IT IS THE APOCALYPSE. Heck, even if there was trouble with the car, I was (quietly, because I come from a long line of men whose #1 Rule of Roadside Repairs is, "EVERYONE SHUT UP") really distraught. Now when those around me are unhappy, I just get this knot in my stomach and Nameless Dread starts making regular nightly visits (hello, ulcer -- which I think is probably the technical name for Nameless Dread, although I could be wrong) and generally life is less happy than I like it to be. So tonight I thought I would at least superficially cheer T up by giving him something to look forward to all day -- namely, his favorite dinner consisting of this kind of bastard offspring of Chicken Marsala and Chicken Parmigiana that I make, along with homemade rolls and a fancy (read: something besides lettuce, croutons, parmesan cheese, and bottled caesar dressing). It went well. T had a good relaxing evening. And I am officially Every Feminist's Nightmare, also known as The Codependent Betty Crocker.

File this one under "Things that Made Mommy Happy Today":



It's time for the Summer Reading Program, which means that this is a common sight around our house as the kids work toward pool passes and free French fries and who knows what all. Bribery: the best motivational tool for 8-year-olds in the world.

Update: My college-educated friend, who are smart about them there things, just told me (when I asked) that I'm not codependent. I'm just a worry-wart. You'd think there'd be a more technical term for it than that. Oh well. ;-)

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Ooh! They're playing the Cure!!

The Internet has provided me with yet another reason to never get anything done. (I think, if I haven't lost count somewhere along the line, that this is reason number five hundred and thirty-four). This new reason is that Yahoo Launch thing where you make your own freaking radio station. HOW totally cool is that, and why have I never done it before? This is only the kind of thing I have fantasized about since I was, oh, ten. I have always been a fan of radio -- all that music just coming to your ears for free, and you never know what's coming next, but if you find a good station or are open-minded it's a very happy thing. Then when I was an early teen the idea of "cable radio" was invented, and oh, I wanted it. No ads, no static, and a bazillion different genres to choose from. I never did get it. Also, just recently, the new stereo we put in our car when its stock one died is satellite-radio ready, and I'm just biding my time waiting to be able to spend the money to get that. I don't listen to the radio much anymore, except for talk radio, because I can't seem to find a station that fits my kinks; they either play too much heavy stuff or too much foul stuff or too much crappy new "country" or what have you. But now... my own radio station. I am fourteen again, and my IM conversations are peppered with "ooh! they're playing xxxx!" just like the letters I used to write to my friends in black fine-tip marker on peach-colored paper, with big circles for dots on the i's, and fold into ornate triangles or rectangles with a "pull here" tab.

Oooh! Now it's the new Alanis song!

Thursday, June 17, 2004

swimming lessons and deprivation

This has been LT's first week of swimming lessons for this summer. He is taking Basic Beginner. Again. This is due to the fact that the cautious side of his nature (which is substantial to begin with) takes on mammoth proportions around water -- which, hey, is good in a lot of ways, right? There's hope, though; last year it took him two weeks to get his head under the water and this year it only took two days. Every summer we have to work up to this again. I wonder if when he's forty he'll still have to spend a few days each summer getting over the panicky feeling that accompanies getting his face wet (even in the shower) before he can enjoy the pool.

I am trying not to think about how hungry I am. It's the 2:30 munchies setting in. From here till about eight o'clock it's always quite a struggle to keep myself from ruining all my hard work in the morning, eating a good healthy breakfast and lunch. Lately (OK, so since Thanksgiving) I've given in more often than not, which is why my weight is basically unchanged since December or January. But I keep recommitting (I remind myself of those people who go forward at Billy Graham crusades over and over and over), because the beach and my extra fifteen pounds are getting terribly close to a very unattractive collision. Those persnickety fifteen pounds! I know I can't lose them all by the time we go on vacation, but I'd like to at least lose half of them. :) So I will sit here and visualize a confident version of myself strolling on the beach in a swimsuit, and pretend that that makes up for the deprivation that comes with denying a craving. sigh.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

selling sickness

Yesterday I listed a few things on eBay. I don't do this very often. Maybe this is because when I have something for sale on that ultimate Internet yard sale*, I simply cannot let it rest. I have to check my "selling" page every time I am near the computer, and I manufacture inane excuses to be near the computer more and more often as the auctions progress. It is like a disease. (I say that a lot. I must be very, very ill. Do you think this qualifies me for disability?)

*It is one of my few sources of genuine smugness that I, who thought at the time (autumn of 1996) that I was the last person in the world to get Internet access, have been online long enough to remember eBay when it was small enough that you could browse through the entire books section in an ordinary bored Internet session. I am not kidding. I also remember when Amazon was just books. Really it was! Fine, don't believe me.

Friday, June 11, 2004

june weather, and sticky songs

Note: Due to Diaryland zaniness which has caused this post from yesterday to disappear into the great Internet void, I am reposting it. Now watch, all FIVE copies of this that I tried to post yesterday will magically appear.

It is crazy but nice. It is June. JUNE! High school graduation is tonight! But it is one of those days where it's warm, but it's too cold inside with the cooler on. I just went for a walk with my daughter and we didn't die of heat exhaustion. It's barely eighty degrees outside and I am loving every minute of it.

I am finding in reading other people's journals that the practice of deliberately humming or speaking a few bars of a particularly nauseatingly mind-sticky song, in order to cause one's friends to narrowly escape spontaneous combustion caused but the suppression of the HUMMING, is not limited to myself, my husband, and my high-school friends. I remember one song in particular, by Suzanne Vega, called, what, "Tom's Diner", or something? with this line that went "There's a woman On the outside Looking inside Does she see me? No she does not Really see me Cause she sees Her own reflection" -- and the tune was SO repetitive, it was insane. All I had to do to torture my then-boyfriend and his mullet-laden brother was to hum ONE SINGLE RIFF of that tune and they would be incapacitated for days.

You're welcome, by the way.

And so now it's your turn to get me back. What song do you use to torture your friends? Or to torture yourself? The comments section is open. Extra points if you can link to a sample. :)

Book list on STEROIDS, warning, this thing is HUGE

Oh dear Lord, why can't I resist these things? WHY??

* bold those books you've read
* parenthesize started-but-never-finished
* italicize if you've seen the movie ;)
* underline the ones you actually like
* as you get near the end, marvel at the number of books in existence that you've never ever heard of
* add three books you recommend
* post the whole conglomerated mess in your journal

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker�s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
8. 1984, George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte (re-read it recently and liked it better than before -- still not my favorite though)
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger (this one, I dunno, I just don't get the whole 20th-century American despair movement, I guess)
16. (The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame)
17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
19. Captain Corelli�s Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
20. (War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy)
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter And The Sorcerer�s/Philosopher�s Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D�Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. (A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving)
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck (it said underline if you like it, not if you love it)
30. Alice�s Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. (Dune, Frank Herbert)
40. Emma, Jane Austen
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. (The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald)
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. (Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy)
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
71. Perfume, Patrick Susskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones�s Diary, Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. (Brave New World, Aldous Huxley) someday I will finish this.  It's short, just disturbing.
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. (On The Road, Jack Kerouac)
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. (The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel)
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot (these are a fun escape)
100. Midnight�s Children, Salman Rushdie
101. Three Men In A Boat, Jerome K. Jerome
102. Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
103. The Beach, Alex Garland
104. Dracula, Bram Stoker
105. Point Blanc, Anthony Horowitz
106. (The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens) - I actually am working on this right now, slooowly :)
107. Stormbreaker, Anthony Horowitz
108. The Wasp Factory, Iain Banks
109. The Day Of The Jackal, Frederick Forsyth
110. The Illustrated Mum, Jacqueline Wilson
111. Jude The Obscure, Thomas Hardy
112. The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 1/2, Sue Townsend
113. The Cruel Sea, Nicholas Monsarrat
114. Les Miserables, Victor Hugo
115. The Mayor Of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy
116. The Dare Game, Jacqueline Wilson
117. Bad Girls, Jacqueline Wilson
118. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
119. Shogun, James Clavell
120. The Day Of The Triffids, John Wyndham
121. Lola Rose, Jacqueline Wilson
122. (Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray) had to turn it in at the library before I finished it -- it's on my to-buy-used list
123. The Forsythe Saga, John Galsworthy
124. House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski
125. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
126. Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett
127. Angus, Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison (funny, funny series)
128. The Hound Of The Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle
129. Possession, A. S. Byatt  (hated the movie though)
130. The Master And Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov
131. The Handmaid�s Tale, Margaret Atwood
132. Danny The Champion Of The World, Roald Dahl
133. East Of Eden, John Steinbeck
134. George�s Marvellous Medicine, Roald Dahl
135. Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett
136. The Color Purple, Alice Walker saw this years ago as a child; it hardly counts...
137. Hogfather, Terry Pratchett
138. The Thirty-Nine Steps, John Buchan
139. Girls In Tears, Jacqueline Wilson
140. Sleepovers, Jacqueline Wilson
141. All Quiet On The Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
142. Behind The Scenes At The Museum, Kate Atkinson
143. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby
144. It, Stephen King
145. James And The Giant Peach, Roald Dahl
146. The Green Mile, Stephen King
147. Papillon, Henri Charriere
148. Men At Arms, Terry Pratchett
149. Master And Commander, Patrick O�Brian
150. Skeleton Key, Anthony Horowitz
151. Soul Music, Terry Pratchett
152. Thief Of Time, Terry Pratchett
153. The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett
154. Atonement, Ian McEwan
155. Secrets, Jacqueline Wilson
156. The Silver Sword, Ian Serraillier
157. (One Flew Over The Cuckoo�s Nest, Ken Kesey)
158. Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
159. Kim, Rudyard Kipling
160. Cross Stitch/Outlander, Diana Gabaldon (one of my favourite books!)
161. Moby Dick, Herman Melville
162. River God, Wilbur Smith
163. Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbon
164. The Shipping News, Annie Proulx
165. The World According To Garp, John Irving
166. Lorna Doone, R. D. Blackmore
167. Girls Out Late, Jacqueline Wilson
168. The Far Pavilions, M. M. Kaye
169. The Witches, Roald Dahl
170. Charlotte�s Web, E. B. White
171. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
172. They Used To Play On Grass, Terry Venables and Gordon Williams
173. (The Old Man And The Sea, Ernest Hemingway)
174. The Name Of The Rose, Umberto Eco
175. (Sophie�s World, Jostein Gaarder)
176. Dustbin Baby, Jacqueline Wilson
177. Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl
178. Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov
179. Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, Richard Bach
180. The Little Prince, Antoine De Saint-Exupery
181. The Suitcase Kid, Jacqueline Wilson
182. Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens
183. The Power Of One, Bryce Courtenay
184. Silas Marner, George Eliot (I love this book!)
185. American Psycho, Bret Easton Ellis
186. The Diary Of A Nobody, George and Weedon Grossmith
187. Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh
188. Goosebumps, R. L. Stine
189. Heidi, Johanna Spyri
190. Sons And Lovers, D. H. Lawrence
191. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
192. Man And Boy, Tony Parsons
193. The Truth, Terry Pratchett
194. The War Of The Worlds, H. G. Wells
195. The Horse Whisperer, Nicholas Evans
196. A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
197. Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
198. The Once And Future King, T. H. White
199. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
200. Flowers In The Attic, Virginia Andrews
201. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
202. The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan
203. The Great Hunt, Robert Jordan
204. The Dragon Reborn, Robert Jordan
205. Fires of Heaven, Robert Jordan
206. Lord of Chaos, Robert Jordan
207. Winter�s Heart, Robert Jordan
208. A Crown of Swords, Robert Jordan
209. Crossroads of Twilight, Robert Jordan
210. A Path of Daggers, Robert Jordan
211. As Nature Made Him, John Colapinto
212. Microserfs, Douglas Coupland
213. The Married Man, Edmund White
214. Winter�s Tale, Mark Helprin
215. The History of Sexuality, Michel Foucault
216. Cry to Heaven, Anne Rice
217. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe, John Boswell
218. Equus, Peter Shaffer
219. The Man Who Ate Everything, Jeffrey Steingarten
220. Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
221. Ella Minnow Pea, Mark Dunn
222. The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice
223. Anthem, Ayn Rand
224. The Bridge To Terabithia, Katherine Paterson
225. Tartuffe, Moliere
226. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
227. The Crucible, Arthur Miller
228. The Trial, Franz Kafka
229. Oedipus Rex, Sophocles
230. Oedipus at Colonus, Sophocles
231. Death Be Not Proud, John Gunther
232. A Doll�s House, Henrik Ibsen
233. Hedda Gabler, Henrik Ibsen
234. Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
235. A Raisin In The Sun, Lorraine Hansberry
236. ALIVE!, Piers Paul Read
237. Grapefruit, Yoko Ono
238. Trickster Makes This World, Lewis Hyde
240. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
241. Chronicles of Thomas Convenant, Unbeliever, Stephen Donaldson
242. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
242. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
243. Summerland, Michael Chabon
244. (A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole)  (I hated this.  SO pointless and just vulgar and stupid.  I lost all faith in the Pulitzer as a gauge for good reading material when I tried this.)
245. Candide, Voltaire
246. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, Roald Dahl
247. Ringworld, Larry Niven
248. The King Must Die, Mary Renault
249. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
250. A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L�Engle
251. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
252. The House Of The Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne
253. The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
254. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan
255. The Great Gilly Hopkins, Katherine Paterson
256. Chocolate Fever, Robert Kimmel Smith
257. Xanth: The Quest for Magic, Piers Anthony
258. The Lost Princess of Oz, L. Frank Baum
259. Wonder Boys, Michael Chabon
260. Lost In A Good Book, Jasper Fforde
261. Well Of Lost Plots, Jasper Fforde
261. Life Of Pi, Yann Martel
263. The Bean Trees, Barbara Kingsolver
264. A Yellow Rraft In Blue Water, Michael Dorris
265. Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder
267. Where The Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls
268. Griffin & Sabine, Nick Bantock
269. Witch of Blackbird Pond, Joyce Friedland
270. Mrs. Frisby And The Rats Of NIMH, Robert C. O�Brien (LOVE this book)
271. Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt
272. The Cay, Theodore Taylor
273. From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg
274. The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster
275. The Westing Game, Ellen Raskin
276. The Kitchen God�s Wife, Amy Tan
277. The Bone Setter�s Daughter, Amy Tan
278. Relic, Duglas Preston & Lincolon Child
279. Wicked, Gregory Maguire
280. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
281. Misty of Chincoteague, Marguerite Henry
282. The Girl Next Door, Jack Ketchum
283. Haunted, Judith St. George
284. Singularity, William Sleator
285. A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
286. Different Seasons, Stephen King
287. Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
288. About a Boy, Nick Hornby
289. The Bookman�s Wake, John Dunning
290. The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns
291. Illusions, Richard Bach
292. Magic�s Pawn, Mercedes Lackey
293. Magic�s Promise, Mercedes Lackey
294. Magic�s Price, Mercedes Lackey
295. The Dancing Wu Li Masters, Gary Zukav
296. Spirits of Flux and Anchor, Jack L. Chalker
297. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice
298. The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices, Brenda Love
299. Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace
300. The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
301. The Cider House Rules, John Irving
302. Ender�s Game, Orson Scott Card
303. Girlfriend in a Coma, Douglas Coupland
304. The Lion�s Game, Nelson Demille
305. The Sun, The Moon, and the Stars, Stephen Brust
306. Cyteen, C. J. Cherryh
307. Foucault�s Pendulum, Umberto Eco
308. Cryptonomicon, Neal Stephenson
309. Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
310. Camber of Culdi, Kathryn Kurtz
311. The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
312. War and Rememberance, Herman Wouk
313. The Art of War, Sun Tzu
314. The Giver, Lois Lowry
315. The Telling, Ursula Le Guin
316. Xenogenesis (or Lilith�s Brood), Octavia Butler
317. A Civil Campaign, Lois McMaster Bujold
318. The Curse of Chalion, Lois McMaster Bujold
319. The Aeneid, Publius Vergilius Maro (Vergil)
320. Hanta Yo, Ruth Beebe Hill
321. The Princess Bride, William Goldman
322. Beowulf, Anonymous
323. The Sparrow, Maria Doria Russell
324. Deerskin, Robin McKinley
325. Dragonsong, Anne McCaffrey
326. Passage, Connie Willis
327. Otherland, Tad Williams
328. Tigana, Guy Gavriel Kay
329. Number the Stars, Lois Lowry
330. Beloved, Toni Morrison
331. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ�s Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore
332. The mysterious disappearance of Leon, I mean Noel, Ellen Raskin
333. Summer Sisters, Judy Blume
334. The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo
335. The Island on Bird Street, Uri Orlev
336. Midnight in the Dollhouse, Marjorie Filley Stover
337. The Miracle Worker, William Gibson
338. The Genesis Code, John Case
339. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevensen
340. Paradise Lost, John Milton
341. Phantom, Susan Kay
342. The Mummy or Ramses the Damned, Anne Rice
343. Anno Dracula, Kim Newman
344: The Dresden Files: Grave Peril, Jim Butcher
345: Tokyo Suckerpunch, Issac Adamson
346: The Winter of Magic�s Return, Pamela Service
347: The Oddkins, Dean R. Koontz
348. My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
349. The Last Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
350. At Swim, Two Boys, Jaime O�Neill
351. Othello, by William Shakespeare
352. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas
353. The Collected Poems of William Butler Yeats
354. Sati, Christopher Pike
355. The Inferno, Dante
356. The Apology, Plato
357. The Small Rain, Madeline L�Engle
358. The Man Who Tasted Shapes, Richard E Cytowick
359. 5 Novels, Daniel Pinkwater
360. The Sevenwaters Trilogy, Juliet Marillier
361. Girl with a Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier
362. To the Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf
363. Our Town, Thorton Wilder
364. Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King
365. The Interpreter, Suzanne Glass
366. The Moor�s Last Sigh, Salman Rushdie
367. The Mother Tongue, Bill Bryson
368. A Passage to India, E.M. Forster
369. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephen Chbosky
370. The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux
371. Pages for You, Sylvia Brownrigg
372. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
373. Howl�s Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones
374. Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
375. Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo
376. Shosha, Isaac Bashevis Singer
377. Travels With Charley, John Steinbeck
378. The Diving-bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby
379. The Lunatic at Large by J. Storer Clouston
380. Time for Bed by David Baddiel
381. Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold
382. Quite Ugly One Morning by Christopher Brookmyre
383. The Bloody Sun by Marion Zimmer Bradley
384. Sewer, Gas, and Eletric by Matt Ruff
385. Jhereg by Steven Brust
386. So You Want To Be A Wizard by Diane Duane
387. Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
388. (The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte)
389. Road-side Dog, Czeslaw Milosz
380. The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
381. Neuromancer, William Gibson
382. The Epistemology of the Closet, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick
383. A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr
384. The Mask of Apollo, Mary Renault
385. The Gunslinger, Stephen King
386. Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
387. Childhood�s End, Arthur C. Clarke
388. A Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman
389. Ivanhoe, Walter Scott
390. The God Boy, Ian Cross
391. The Beekeeper�s Apprentice, Laurie R. King
392. Finn Family Moomintroll, Tove Jansson
393. Misery, Stephen King
394. Tipping the Velvet, Sarah Waters
395. Hood, Emma Donoghue
396. The Land of Spices, Kate O�Brien
397. The Diary of Anne Frank
398. Regeneration, Pat Barker
399. Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald
400. Dreaming in Cuban, Cristina Garcia
401. A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
402. The View from Saturday, E.L. Konigsburg
403. Dealing with Dragons, Patricia Wrede
404. Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Lynne Truss  (I WANT THIS BOOK.)
405. A Severed Wasp - Madeleine L�Engle
406. Here Be Dragons - Sharon Kay Penman
407. The Mabinogion (Ancient Welsh Tales) - translated by Lady Charlotte E. Guest
408. The DaVinci Code - Dan Brown
409. Desire of the Everlasting Hills - Thomas Cahill
400. The Cloister Walk - Kathleen Norris
401. My Antonia, Willa Cather
402. Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
403. The Moonstone, Wilkie Collins
404. Conceived Without Sin, Bud MacFarlane Jr.
405. Pierced by a Sword, Bud MacFarlane, Jr.
406. Tully, Paullina Simons
407. On the Beach, Nevil Shute
408. Cat's Eye, Margaret Atwood
409. Earth Abides, George R. Stewart
410. Alan Mendelsohn, the Boy From Mars, Daniel K. Pinkwater
411. The Talisman, Stephen King and Peter Straub
412. Black House, Steven King and Peter Straub
413. Please Don't Eat the Daisies, Jean Kerr
414. The Golden Spiders, Rex Stout
415. Pippi Longstocking, Astrid Lindgren
415. The gift of Sex, C & J Penner
416. Dominion, Randy Alcorn
417 Trixie Belden and the secret of the mansion, Julie Campbell
418. The Shaman, Noah Gordon
419. Pope Joan, Donna W. Cross
420. The Bible
421.  Emily of New Moon, L.M. Montgomery
422.  Into the Wilderness, Sara Donati
423.  Homestead, Rosina Lippi

Thursday, June 10, 2004

pearls slipping off a string

If and only if (I was going to abbreviate that the way we did in algebra class, as "iff", but I thought that would just look like a typo, and what if we were the only ones to do it that way and then I looked really REALLY stupid. So. If and ONLY if) you have a half-hour or so to waste right now (like I didn't, but oh well), go here and browse through RetroCrush's 50 Greatest Song Parts collection. What a cool idea. I have to say, though, that there's a part of Rossini's William Tell Overture (and if you want me to adore you for life, it's easy; just don't call this "the Lone Ranger theme". I know it's hard to resist. But please. It's not as bad as "Rhapsody in Blue" being known as "the United Airlines theme," because at least the Lone Ranger is kind of an icon in and of himself, but still) which would, in my opinion, blow ALL their song parts completely out of the water. (that sounds graphic and vaguely bloody.) Unfortunately without lyrics I can't just tell you which part. You'll just have to listen to the finale and form your own opinion. :)

I am having a series of nice days, which is such a pleasant change from the series of crappy days I seemed to have been stuck in for a while, a few weeks ago. I'm reminded of an L.M. Montgomery book with a line about "days following one another like pearls slipping off a string;" that's exactly what my week has been like. Just ordinary things, nothing worth journaling about, but a blessing all the same -- the kids are loving and cooperative; I'm happy even though I am thoroughly ticked off at my good old womanly parts; even money stresses etc. haven't dampened my serene outlook. I've been reading good books (speaking of L.M. Montgomery, I'm reading the EMilies for the first time in years and enjoying them more than I ever did before), getting some crocheting done, doing a little housework and laundry, eating sanely but not terribly restrictively... you know. Good times.

Now we'll see, since I've made a note of how calm everything is, if tomorrow everything hits the fan. Gee, what a fun experiment.

And for your further journal edification, here is a survey about online journaling. Or blogging. Or diary-ing. Or whatever the heck you want to call it. ahem. Anyway.


Do you try to look hot when you go to the grocery store just in case someone recognizes you from your blog? Um, no. Chances are totally nil that anyone in my town who doesn't already know me, would have a clue about me from my blog.

Are the photos you post Photoshopped or otherwise altered? No, I just pick pictures where I think I look OK.

Do you like it when creeps or dorks email you? Never happened.

Do you lie in your blog? No. But I consciously leave stuff out.

Are you passive-aggressive in your blog? I don�t think so.

Do you ever threaten to quit writing so people will tell you not to stop? No. I hate that manipulative stuff.

Are you in therapy? If not, should you be? If so, is it helping? I am not in therapy.

Do you delete mean comments? Do you fake nice ones? I have deleted a few rude ones.

If your readers knew you in person, would they like you more or like you less? Less. Clumsiness and social awkwardness are endearing in print. In person, not so much.

Do you have a job? No.

If someone offered you a decent salary to blog full-time without restrictions, would you do it? I wouldn't begin to know what to write about that much. So no.

Which blogger do you want to meet in real life? hmm... sundry, Dusty (porktornado), mom-on-roof, rdhdprincess. Except that I would be so totally intimidated by them.

Does your family read your blog? My sister-in-law does. My mom's read one entry but I don't think she's read anything since. My husband reads it occasionally.

How old is your blog? Not quite a year.

Do you get more than 1000 pageviews per day? Do you care? Not even NEAR that. Does anyone, other than the celebrity bloggers? And no, I don't care. I write for myself mostly; while the possibility of someone else reading it is what makes me keep writing (as opposed to abandoning it like I always have my paper diaries), I really don't care how many people do. It's just the possibility of it.

Do you have another secret blog in which you write about being depressed, slutty, or a liar? Well, not about those things exactly, but I do have one that nobody who knows me knows about. Except now they know about it... but they still don't know where it is.

Have you ever given another blogger money for his/her writing? No.

Is blogging narcissistic? To a degree, yes.

Do you feel guilty when you don't post for a long time? Yes. Especially if the most recent entry is stupid.

Do you have enemies? Not that I know of.

Are you lonely? For adult female conversation, sometimes.

Why bother? It's an interesting way to keep track of what I do and share it with other people.

Sunday, June 06, 2004

a real weekend

Ahh, finally, a weekend that felt like a weekend. It is so nice (and rare) when our family is together for all of both days and we (especially T, because really, other than the fact that he's home and we don't have sit-down school, weekends are pretty much like any other day for the kids and me) can really feel recharged on Sunday night. We went fishing on Saturday morning (which means T and the kids fished, and I read a book; both kids caught the first fish of their lives almost as soon as they put their hooks in the water); we had LT's friend here pretty much all day Saturday; I fried the fish for dinner and they were actually edible. Today we went to a flea market, and then T's back went berserk so we turned around and came home before we got to church, and lazed around all day. GOOD TIMES, oh yeah.

I'm really not feeling terribly creative or funny at ALL tonight; I can't think of a single witty thing to say. (I can hear you asking, and that is different because....?). So here, in lieu of a genuine entry, is yet. another. survey. Because I am such a sucker for them. At least with this one I deleted the questions I've answered a gazillion times. :)

Can you roll your tongue? Yes.

Can you raise one eyebrow? Sort of.

Can you blow spit bubbles? Um, ew? I could in first grade; haven't tried since.

Can you cross your eyes? Yes. But I couldn't until after I got glasses in junior high and my left eye got stronger.

Do you make your bed daily? Most days. T and I have a joke/ritual where if he comes home and I've made the bed he has to kiss me my favorite way (which means with his hands on the sides of my head under my hair; I jokingly call it a "trash novel kiss" because as a preteen I read more than my share of Silhouette romances and the heroines were always being "held motionless with no pressure" by the heroes, for kisses in this style).

Which shoe goes on first? I never noticed until just now, but I do put on my right shoe first almost every time, now that I think of it.

Speaking of shoes, have you ever thrown one at anyone? I don't think I've thrown shoes but I've thrown other stuff. And not AT people. At walls generally.

On the average, how much money do you carry in your wallet? MAYBE some change. I am so awful about NEVER carrying cash unless I have a specific reason to.

What jewelry do you wear 24/7? My wedding ring.

Favorite outfit for everyday? My No-panty-lines underwear, Eddie Bauer TALL jeans, white satin bra, and either a white button-down blouse or a shaped t-shirt.

Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Twirl.

Have you ever eaten Spam? Plenty of times but not recently. My mom fries it for breakfast pretty regularly.

How many cereals in your cabinet? About 5.

Favorite fast food, other than The Big Two? Panda Express

Do you cook? All. The. Time.

How often do you brush your teeth? Usually twice a day.

Hair drying method? Towel and then air dry.

Have you ever colored/highlighted your hair? I used to do this a lot, from the time I was about 18 until I was 25. Then I started letting it grow out so I haven't colored it in years -- it's in sad enough shape as it is.

Do you swear? No.

Do you ever spit? Well, "ever" is a big word. If I have something foreign in my mouth, like say a bug, then yes. But not recreationally.

-- WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE --

Animal? Horses. I'm like a ten-year-old girl about horses. Well, not QUITE.

Shoe Brand? The ones that are on sale at Big 5. For dress shoes, Payless, baby.

Way to eat eggs? In an omelet.

Thing to do in the spring? sit outside in my porch swing and enjoy the weather

Thing to do in the summer? swim, and hang clothes on the line

Thing to do in the fall? wear red sweaters and eat apples

Thing to do in the winter? Sit inside by the fire and read.

Children's book? hmm... I like a lot of kid lit and even a good number of picture books. Probably, though, Curious George Flies a Kite is my favorite -- I think that's the one with the baby bunny and the little bird that says, "Bad monkey!" which always makes my husband and me smile.

Thing to order at Denny's? Garlic mushroom swiss burger. YUM.

* * * * * * * * *

Person you talk most on the phone with? T at work, closely followed by my dad, who calls several times most days.

Ever taken a cab? Yes, years ago.

Do you regularly check yourself out in store windows and mirrors? All the time. It's like a disease since I lost weight. "Is it still gone? really gone? It is!")

What color is your bedroom? It has dark-stained pine walls. We did paint our room a nice colonial blue, but we changed the bedrooms around to give our kids each their own room, and because of the way the house is laid out (we really don't want a window between our room and our son's, which is an enclosed porch), we gave that room to our daughter. *sob*

Do you use an alarm clock? T does. I do sometimes.

Window seat or aisle? Window, window, window.

What's your sleeping position? I turn over and over until I finally fall asleep. Usually when I fall asleep I'm either on my side or my stomach. One of the very hardest things about being pregnant (which otherwise I pretty much loved) was, toward the end, having to be in ONE position all the time in bed (left side, best for the circulation). ugh.

Even in hot weather do you use a blanket? A sheet and a light blanket. I feel like I'm just napping otherwise.

Do you snore? I think I do sometimes.

Do you sleepwalk? No.

Do you talk in your sleep? I used to, but I haven't heard T comment on it in a while so I don't know.

Do you sleep with the light on? No.

Do you fall asleep with the TV or radio on? No. I did all the time when I was younger though -- I couldn't go to sleep in silence. When I got married I had to change my habits since we used the radio as the alarm (because T claims the SCREECH SCREECH SCREECH would give him a heart attack); I had to get used to having it wake me up instead of putting me to sleep.

OFF THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD... no peeking!

What's in your car's tape deck or CD player? I have a 12-cd changer; currently it has Bach, Vivaldi, Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition" (great for listening to with the kids), a CD of "power classics", a collection of preludes and overtures, an "alternative" compilation, an instrumental compilation (heavy on Enya and Loreena McKennitt), a kids' music compilation, my Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, a Gershwin CD with "Rhapsody in Blue", "An American in Paris", and "Lullaby for Strings"... and I can't remember the rest.

What station is your radio tuned to? Probably Christian talk radio.

What's on your dresser? Clothes. I put them on the bed meaning to sort them and put them away (they're folded and neatly stacked) but if T goes to bed before I do, which he generally does, he just puts them on the dresser. Also, there are a few of my husband's Mopar magazines, and our alarm clock radio.

What's on your nightstand? A few books, a book of word puzzles, a lamp, and a picture of my kids. And dust.

What time is it (don't look!)? hmm... eleven?

OK, now you can look, what time is it really? 11:04!

What color are your mother's eyes? Almost exactly the same shade of brown as mine -- just a teeny bit less goldenish.

Is your dishwasher clean or dirty? ack! I do not remember! Wait, clean, cause it was running during dinner and I haven't emptied it yet.

What pictures are in your hallway, along the stairs, whatever? hmm. My senior picture (which taunts me, because every time I go past it it says to me, "ha! You thought you were ugly and fat when you were me! Loser! You didn't know how good you had it!"), my husband's Navy boot-camp graduation portrait (wherein he looks like a BABY, not only because he was only 18, but because it was the only time since he was capable of having any, except for an agonizing few weeks right after we got married when he shaved it all off as an experiment, when he did not have facial hair -- even now if he shaved it off, he'd look fourteen), a family portrait, a collage of pictures of each of the kids, a picture of C and LT together when C was a newborn, a framed set of C's handprints from when she got into my lipstick as a toddler and covered herself with it, and, on the other wall, T's destruction derby plaques.

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

Saturday, June 05, 2004

half mast

We've known this day had to come, and really, one of the people I admire most in the world, who shaped my childhood and the world I (and we all) live in in so many ways, stopped suffering today and began rejoicing. Still, the world seems emptier without Ronald Reagan in it.

Of all the tributes I've read so far, Margaret Thatcher's says it best, in my opinion: "He will be missed not only by those who knew him and not only by the nation that he served so proudly and loved so deeply, but also by millions of men and women who live in freedom today because of the policies he pursued."

Requiescat in pace, Mr. President.

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mid-day ramble

I am less enamored with my inline skates than I was this morning. Let's just say that while I know and am grateful that falling full length on my side, somehow managing to avoid landing on any part of my body wearing protective padding while hitting every OTHER part, and impacting the ground in a most spectacularly forceful way -- I am envisioning it in a Bill Nye video, repeated several times backed by frenetic music and then played in slow-mo -- anyway, as I was saying, I realize that this is much easier on my 29-year-old body than it would be in, say, forty years. As in, I'm still alive. But dang. It is also a LOT less fun than it was when I was ten, you know? OUCH.

With that out of the way, I'll move on. We had our first swim of the year today, in the neighbor kids' pool. I love that feeling of coming home from swimming and changing out of my suit, and my skin is still all cool, so the warm air in the room feels a little bit pleasant, and I almost want to put on something long-sleeved just because I could wear it for five minutes without passing out from the heat. Have I mentioned I really don't like summer? The only things I like about it are the ones that temporarily put summer ickiness on hold -- like swimming, or being at the beach where the temperature is ALWAYS in the sixties or seventies. For the rest -- blah. Except for clothesline-dried sheets. Those are bliss and summer's the only time I can have them. Still and all I'd trade if I could.

I'm going to have a sappy moment right now. You can leave if you want to. Today my daughter began to read for the first time. As if that weren't emotional enough for me as it is. But then right after she did that, her brother was watching a home video, and there was my one-year-old daughter, saying her first word (which was "hat"). Sniff.

*C is an unschooler's dream. For all you mainstream people who don't know what unschooling is ;-), it's basically extreme homeschooling, where not only does the child not go to school, but the family doesn't even "do school" at home. They just kind of absorb knowledge as they go and study what they're interested in. Now, we don't do this. I don't quite have the guts for it and I'm always a little afraid that my kids would grow up with gaps in their knowledge -- like say the times tables, because who ever wants to learn those? -- although I am closer to it than I ever thought I would be. For example, instead of starting Sit Down School with C at 3, like I did with her brother, I have never done any of that with her at all, and she's been able to just play and color and do little workbook pages she liked or whatever while her brother does school. And yet she is reading at exactly the same age he did.

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Friday, June 04, 2004

more unconnected bits

A few random bits...

My shoulder still aches from the fall I took on my skates yesterday. I am such a whiner -- today, telling my dad about it (Dad, bless him, suffers from a veritable laundry list of physical ailments, but pushes himself too hard and never complains), I felt like one of those REALLY ANNOYING size five women who whine about how fat they are. (Note: If you wear a size 5 and say, "I'm so fat," within my hearing, be prepared to be sat upon.) But the fact remains that I keep being reminded of the spectacularness of my crash every time I attempt to do something mundane with my left arm, like raise my hand to move my hair out of my face, or hang clothes on the line. Ouch.

LT is having his first sleepover tonight. One of his friends is going fishing with him (and his sister, father, and grandpa) tomorrow morning bright and early, so we invited him to spend the night tonight. It is really touching, how excited my little boy is. He's actually cleaning his room without being told. And making the bottom bunk of his bed. I know. If I'd known this was all it would take I'd have started inviting his friends over to spend the night years ago. Hey, I bet I can get the best and quickest school work out of him ever if I tell him that his friend can come up as soon as we're done with school this afternoon. I'm gonna go find out. ;-)

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Tuesday, June 01, 2004

cleanliness elf. But wait! There's more!

Will the cleanliness elf who took over my body over the weekend please not leave, at least until the end of today? Thank you.

Would you believe that the last dirty load of laundry in our possession is in the washing machine right now? I didn't even know my sorting hamper had a bottom -- I thought it was just like that bag of grain in the Bible that just kept being full no matter how much I took out of it. Also, in order to use the clothesline yesterday, I had to go move the rest of the wood that we'd left lying around after taking down LT's playhouse -- so the whole family got into that and now our backyard looks much better. It's still mown, mostly dead field weeds, with patches of bare red soil, but the key thing is that the wood is all sorted and neatly stacked, either on pallets ready to be chopped into kindling, or on sawhorses ready to be built into THE NEW FORT [insert trumpet fanfare]. AND my tomatoes have been watered twice a day since Friday. AND the sheets are clean (mmm, clothesline sheets) on all the beds AND the beds are made. I don't know what's gotten into me.

However, the dishwasher and dishes need to be dealt with, and the living room is in dire need of some one-on-one time with the dust mop, and someone (why is this always my job?) should deal with the kitty litter. I just don't want to take my eyes off that hamper lest it fill itself back up when I'm not looking.

One project we'll be doing in school today will be countdown paper chains. You know, like you used to make in elementary school at Christmas time, where you pull off one chain every evening and watch the chain get shorter and shorter until finally there is only one chain left one chain and I just pulled that one off so tomorrow morning is Christmas it's Christmas I'll never be able to sleep tonight no never! Well, we do not restrict this sort of anticipatory activity to the holiday season, oh no. We're going to make a chain today which will mark the beginning of swimming lessons, the beginning of our beach vacation, and possibly also the Fair, although a chain with 90 links would be pretty cumbersome, so chances are we'll leave that for after we get back from the beach.

Find of the day: If you have a Regal Cinemas theater near you, check out their Free Family Film Festival this summer. I am amazed; I think this is just a great idea. (and I wonder exactly how scummy it would be for me to smuggle in snacks in my purse instead of supporting their endeavor by dropping $20 at the snack bar for two candy bars and three drinks?)

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